Guthrie-Plotinus: man

  

Thus a worthy man, perceiving in a youth the character of virtue, is agreeably impressed, because he observes that the youth harmonizes with the true type of virtue which he bears within himself. Thus also the beauty of color, though simple in form, reduces under its sway that obscurity of matter, by the presence of the light, which is something incorporeal, a reason, and a form. Likewise, fire surpasses all other bodies in beauty, because it stands to all other elements in the relation of a form; it occupies the highest regions; it is the subtlest of bodies because it most approaches the incorporeal beings; without permitting itself to be penetrated by other bodies, it penetrates them all; without itself cooling, it communicates to them its heat; by its own essence it possesses color, and communicates it to others; it shines and coruscates, because it is a form. The body in which it does not dominate, shows but a discolored hue, and ceases being beautiful, merely because it does not participate in the whole form of color. Once more, thus do the hidden harmonies of sound produce audible harmonies, and also yield to the soul the idea of beauty, though showing it in another order of things. Audible harmonies can be expressed in numbers; not indeed in any kind of numbers, but only in such as can serve to produce form, and to make it dominate. [Ennead I,6 (1) 3]

But reason is not yet satisfied; reason wonders why these veritable beings give the soul which experiences them the property of exciting love, from which proceeds this halo of light which, so to speak, crowns all virtues. Consider the things contrary to these beautiful objects, and with them compare what may be ugly in the soul. If we can discover of what ugliness consists, and what is its cause, we shall have achieved an important element of the solution we are seeking. Let us picture to ourselves an ugly soul; she will be given up to intemperance; and be unjust, abandoned to a host of passions, troubled, full of fears caused by her cowardliness, and of envy by her degradation; she will be longing only for vile and perishable things; she will be entirely depraved, will love nothing but impure wishes, will have no life but the sensual, and will take pleasure in her turpitude. Would we not explain such a state by saying that under the very mask of beauty turpitude had invaded this soul, brutalized her, soiled her with all kinds of vices, rendering her incapable of a pure life, and pure sentiments, and had reduced her to an existence obscure, infected with evil, poisoned by lethal germs; that it had hindered her from contemplating anything she should, forcing her to remain solitary, because it misled her out from herself towards inferior and gloomy regions? The soul fallen into this state of impurity, seized with an irresistible inclination towards the things of sense, absorbed by her intercourse with the body, sunk into matter, and having even received it within herself, has changed form by her admixture with an inferior nature. Not otherwise would be a man fallen into slimy mud, who no longer would present to view his primitive beauty, and would exhibit only the appearance of the mud that had defiled him; his ugliness would be derived from something foreign; and to recover his pristine beauty he would have to wash off his defilement, and by purification be restored to what he once was. [Ennead I,6 (1) 5]

Thus, according to the ancient (Platonic or Empedoclean) maxim, “courage, temperance, all the virtues, nay, even prudence, are but purifications.” The mysteries were therefore wise in teaching that the man who has not been purified will, in hell, dwell at the bottom of a swamp; for everything that is not pure, because of its very perversity, delights in mud, just as we see the impure swine wallow in the mud with delight. And indeed, what would real temperance consist of, if it be not to avoid attaching oneself to the pleasures of the body, and to flee from them as impure, and as only proper for an impure being? What else is courage, unless no longer to fear death, which is mere separation of the soul from the body? Whoever therefore is willing to withdraw from the body could surely not fear death. Magnanimity is nothing but scorn of things here below. Last, prudence is the thought which, detached from the earth, raises the soul to the intelligible world. The purified soul, therefore, becomes a form, a reason, an incorporeal and intellectual essence; she belongs entirely to the divinity, in whom resides the source of the beautiful, and of all the qualities which have affinity with it. [Ennead I,6 (1) 6]

But how shall we train this interior vision? At the moment of its (first) awakening, it cannot contemplate beauties too dazzling. Your soul must then first be accustomed to contemplate the noblest occupations of man, and then the beautiful deeds, not indeed those performed by artists, but those (good deeds) done by virtuous men. Later contemplate the souls of those who perform these beautiful actions. Nevertheless, how will you discover the beauty which their excellent soul possesses? Withdraw within yourself, and examine yourself. If you do not yet therein discover beauty, do as the artist, who cuts off, polishes, purifies until he has adorned his statue with all the marks of beauty. Remove from your soul, therefore, all that is superfluous, straighten out all that is crooked, purify and illuminate what is obscure, and do not cease perfecting your statue until the divine resplendence of virtue shines forth upon your sight, until you see temperance in its holy purity seated in your breast. When you shall have acquired this perfection; when you will see it in yourself; when you will purely dwell within yourself; when you will cease to meet within yourself any obstacle to unity; when nothing foreign will any more, by its admixture, alter the simplicity of your interior essence; when within your whole being you will be a veritable light, immeasurable in size, uncircumscribed by any figure within narrow boundaries, unincreasable because reaching out to infinity, and entirely incommensurable because it transcends all measure and quantity; when you shall have become such, then, having become sight itself, you may have confidence in yourself, for you will no longer need any guide. Then must you observe carefully, for it is only by the eye that then will open itself within you that you will be able to perceive supreme Beauty. But if you try to fix on it an eye soiled by vice, an eye that is impure, or weak, so as not to be able to support the splendor of so brilliant an object, that eye will see nothing, not even if it were shown a sight easy to grasp. The organ of vision will first have to be rendered analogous and similar to the object it is to contemplate. Never would the eye have seen the sun unless first it had assumed its form; likewise, the soul could never see beauty, unless she herself first became beautiful. To obtain the view of the beautiful, and of the divinity, every man must begin by rendering himself beautiful and divine. [Ennead I,6 (1) 9]

Man is not a simple being; he contains a soul and a body, which is united to this soul, either as tool, or in some other manner. This is how we must distinguish the soul from the body, and determine the nature and manner of existence (“being”) of each of them. [Ennead IV,7 (2) 1]

The soul, which is the principal part of man, and which constitutes man himself, should bear to the body the relation of form to matter, or of a workman to his tool; in both cases the soul is the man himself. [Ennead IV,7 (2) 1]

The same reflections may be made about pain, and one’s feeling of it. When a man’s finger is said to give him pain, this, no doubt, is a recognition that the seat of the pain is in the finger, and that the feeling of pain is experienced by the directing principle. Consequently, when a part of the spirit suffers, this suffering is felt by the directing principle, and shared by the whole soul. How can this sympathy be explained? By relay transmission, (the Stoic) will answer; the sense-impression is felt first by the animal spirit that is in the finger, and then transmitted to the neighboring part, and so on till it reaches the directing part. Necessarily, if the pain is felt by the first part that experiences it, it will also be felt by the second part to which it is transmitted; then by the third, and so on, until the one pain would have caused an infinite number of sensations. Last the directing principle will perceive all these sensations, adding thereto its own sensation. Speaking strictly, however, each of these sensations will not transmit the suffering of the finger, but the suffering of one of the intermediate parts. For instance, the second sensation will relay the suffering of the hand. The third, that of the arm, and so on, until there will be an infinity of sensations. The directing principle, for its part, will not feel the pain of the finger, but its own; it will know none but that, it will pay no attention to the rest, because it will ignore the pain suffered by the finger. Therefore, relayed sensation is an impossibility, nor could one part of the body perceive the suffering felt by another part; for the body has extension, and, in every extension, parts are foreign to each other (the opposite of the opinion of Cleanthes, Nemesius). Consequently, the principle that feels must everywhere be identical with itself; and among all beings, the body is that which is least suitable to this identity. [Ennead IV,7 (2) 7]

(11). (If, as Stoics claim, man first was a certain nature called habit, then a soul, and last an intelligence, the perfect would have arisen from the imperfect, which is impossible). To say that the first nature of the soul is to be a spirit, and that this spirit became soul only after having been exposed to cold, and as it were became soaked by its contact, because the cold subtilized it; this is an absurd hypothesis. Many animals are born in warm places, and do not have their soul exposed to action of cold. Under this hypothesis, the primary nature of the soul would have been made dependent on the concourse of exterior circumstances. The Stoics, therefore, posit as principle that which is less perfect (the soul), and trace it to a still less perfect earlier thing called habit (or form of inorganic things). Intelligence, therefore, is posited in the last rank since it is alleged to be born of the soul, while, on the contrary, the first rank should be assigned to intelligence, the second to the soul, the third to nature, and, following natural order, consider that which is less perfect as the posterior element. In this system the divinity, by the mere fact of his possessing intelligence, is posterior and begotten, possessing only an incidental intelligence. The result would, therefore, be that there was neither soul, nor intelligence, nor divinity; for never can that which is potential pass to the condition of actualization, without the prior existence of some actualized principle. If what is potential were to transform itself into actualization — which is absurd — its passage into actualization will have to involve at the very least a contemplation of something which is not merely potential, but actualized. Nevertheless, on the hypothesis that what is potential can permanently remain identical, it will of itself pass into actualization, and will be superior to the being which is potential only because it will be the object of the aspiration of such a being. We must, therefore, assign the first rank to the being that has a perfect and incorporeal nature, which is always in actualization. Thus intelligence and soul are prior to nature; the soul, therefore, is not a spirit, and consequently no body. Other reasons for the incorporeality of the soul have been advanced; but the above suffices (as thought Aristotle  ). [Ennead IV,7 (2) 8]

(16). What sensible man, after having thus considered the nature of the soul, could still doubt of the immortality of a principle which derives life from naught but itself, and which cannot lose it? How could the soul lose life, since she did not borrow it from elsewhere, and since she does not possess it as fire possesses heat? For, without being an accident of fire, the heat, nevertheless, is an accident of its matter; for fire can perish. But, in the soul, life is not an accident that comes to add itself to a material subject to constitute a soul. In fact, there is here an alternative: either life is a genuine “being,” which is alive by itself; in which case this “being” is the soul that we are seeking to discover, and immortality cannot be refused her; or the soul is a composite, and she must be decomposed until we arrive at something immortal which moves by itself; and such a principle could not be subject to death. Further, when (Stoics) say that life is only an accidental modification of matter, they are thereby forced to acknowledge that the principle that imparted this modification to matter is immortal, and incapable of admitting anything contrary to what it communicates (that is, life, as said Plato, in his Phaedo  ), but there is only a single nature that possesses life in actualization. [Ennead IV,7 (2) 11]

(19). What about the souls of animals inferior to man? The (rational) souls that have strayed so far as to descend into the bodies of animals are nevertheless still immortal. Souls of a kind other (than rational souls), cannot proceed from anything else than the living nature (of the universal Soul); and they necessarily are the principles of life for all animals. The case is the same with the souls that inhere in plants. Indeed, all souls have issued from the same principle (the universal Soul), all have an individual life, and are indivisible and incorporeal essences (“beings”). [Ennead IV,7 (2) 14]

If everything that happens has a cause, it is possible to discover such fact’s proximate causes, and to them refer this fact. People go downtown, for example, to see a person, or collect a bill. In all cases it is a matter of choice, followed by decision, and the determination to carry it out. There are, indeed, certain facts usually derived from the arts; as for instance the re-establishment of health may be referred to medicine and the physician. Again, when a man has become rich, this is due to his finding some treasure, or receiving some donation, to working, or exercising some lucrative profession. The birth of a child depends on its father, and the concourse of exterior circumstances, which, by the concatenation of causes and effects, favored his procreation; for example, right food, or even a still more distant cause, the fertility of the mother, or, still more generally, of nature (or, in general, it is usual to assign natural causes). [Ennead III,1 (3) 1]

To stop, on arriving at these causes, and to refuse further analysis, is to exhibit superficiality. This is against the advice of the sages, who advise ascending to the primary causes, to the supreme principles. For example, why, during the full moon, should the one man steal, and the other one not steal? Or, why, under the same influence of the heavens, has the one, and not the other, been sick? Why, by use of the same means, has the one become rich, and the other poor? The difference of dispositions, characters, and fortunes force us to seek ulterior causes, as indeed the sages have always done. [Ennead III,1 (3) 2]

To begin with, even if we do admit such atomic principles, their existence does not in any way inevitably lead to either the necessity of all things, or fatality. Let us, indeed, grant the existence of atoms; now some will move downwards — that is, if there is an up and down in the universe — others obliquely, by chance, in various directions. As there will be no order, there will be nothing determinate. Only what will be born of the atoms will be determinate. It will therefore be impossible to guess or predict events, whether by art — and indeed, how could there be any art in the midst of orderless things? — or by enthusiasm, or divine inspiration; for prediction implies that the future is determined. True, bodies will obey the impulses necessarily communicated to them by the atoms; but how could you explain the operations and affections of the soul by movements of atoms? How could atomic shock, whether vertical or oblique, produce in the soul these our reasonings, or appetites, whether necessarily, or in any other way? What explanation could they give of the soul’s resistance to the impulsions of the body? By what concourse of atoms will one man become a geometrician, another become a mathematician and astronomer, and the other a philosopher? For, according to that doctrine we no longer produce any act for which we are responsible, we are even no longer living beings, since we undergo the impulsion of bodies that affect us just as they do inanimate things. [Ennead III,1 (3) 3]

To this we answer that our astrologer attributes indirectly to the stars all our characteristics: will, passions, vices and appetites; he allows us no r?le other than to turn like mills, instead of responsibility, as befits men, producing actions that suit our nature. On the contrary, we should be left in possession of what belongs to us by the observation that the universe limits itself to exercising some influence on what we possess already thanks to ourselves, and which is really characteristic of us. Moreover, one should distinguish the deeds in which we are “active,” from those in which we are necessarily “passive,” and not deduce everything from the stars. Nobody, indeed, doubts that the differences of place and climate exert an influence over us, imparting to us, for instance, a cool or warm-hearted disposition. Heredity also should be considered; for children usually resemble their parents by their features, form, and some affections of the irrational soul. Nevertheless, even though they resemble them by their facial features, because they are born in the same place, they may differ in habits and thoughts, because these things depend on an entirely different principle. In addition, we can adduce to the support of this truth the resistance which the soul offers to the temperament and to the appetites. As to the claim that the stars are the causes of everything, because one can predict what is to happen to each man from a consideration of their positions, it would be just as reasonable to assert that the birds and the other beings which the augurs consult as omens produce the events of which they are the signs. [Ennead III,1 (3) 5]

This leads us to consider, more in detail, what sort of facts may be predicted according to the inspection of the positions occupied by the stars presiding over the birth of a man. They who, from the assertion that the stars indicate a man’s future, draw the consequence that the stars produce them, are in error. In some person’s horoscope which indicates birth from noble parents, on either maternal or paternal side, this nobility of birth cannot be attributed to the stars, as this nobility subsisted already in the parents before the stars had taken the position according to which the horoscope is cast. Besides, astrologers pretend they can discover the parent’s fortune from the birth of their children, and from the condition of the parents the disposition and fate of the unborn offspring. From a child’s horoscope, they announce his brother’s death; and from a woman’s horoscope, the fortunes of her husband, and conversely. It is unreasonable to refer to the stars things which evidently are necessary consequences of parental conditions. We then reach a dilemma: the cause lies either in these antecedent conditions, or in the stars. The beauty and ugliness of children, when they resemble their parents, must evidently be derived from them, and not from the course of the stars. Moreover, it is probable that at any one moment are born a crowd of human and animal young; now, inasmuch as they are born under the same star, they all ought to have the same nature. How does it then happen that, in the same positions, stars produce men and other beings simultaneously (as Cicero asks)? [Ennead III,1 (3) 5]

Each being derives his character from his nature. One being is a horse because he is born from a mare, while another is human, because born from a human mother; and more: he is that particular horse, and that particular man because he is born from such and such a horse, or woman. Doubtless, the course of the stars may modify the result, but the greatest part of the influence must be allowed to heredity. [Ennead III,1 (3) 6]

The stars act on the body only in a physical way, and thus impart to them heat, cold, and the variety of temperament which results therefrom. But how could they endow the man with habits, tastes, and inclinations which do not seem to depend on the temperament, such as the avocation of a surveyor, a grammarian, a gambler, or an inventor? [Ennead III,1 (3) 6]

From their birth, men exercise their senses, earlier than their intelligence, and they are by necessity forced to direct their attention to sense-objects. Some stop there, and spend their life without progressing further. They consider suffering as evil, and pleasure as the good, judging it to be their business to avoid the one and encompass the other. That is the content of wisdom for those of them that pride themselves on being reasonable; like those heavy birds who, having weighted themselves down by picking up too much from the earth, cannot take flight, though by nature provided with wings. There are others who have raised themselves a little above earthly objects because their soul, endowed with a better nature, withdraws from pleasures to seek something higher; but as they are not capable of arriving at contemplation of the intelligible, and as, after having left our lower region here, they do not know where to lodge, they return to a conception of morality which considers virtue to consist in these common-place actions and occupations whose narrow sphere they had at first attempted to leave behind. Finally a third kind is that of those divine men who are endowed with a piercing vision, and whose penetrating glance contemplates the splendor of the intelligible world, and rise unto it, taking their flight above the clouds and darkness of this world. Then, full of scorn for terrestrial things, they remain up there, and reside in their true fatherland with the unspeakable bliss of the man who, after long journeys, is at last repatriated. [Ennead V,9 (5) 1]

All things that we consider to be essences are composites; nothing is simple or single, either in works of art, or in the products of nature. Works of art, indeed, contain metal, wood, stone, and are derived from these substances only by the labor of the artist, who, by giving matter its form makes of it a statue, or bed, or house. Among the products of nature, those that are compounds or mixtures may be analyzed into the form impressed on the elements of the compound; so, for instance, we may in a man, distinguish a soul and body, and in the body four elements. Since the very matter of the elements, taken in itself, has no form, every object seems composed of matter and of some principle that supplies it with form. So we are led to ask whence matter derives its form, and to seek whether the soul is simple, or whether it contains two parts, one of which plays the parts of matter, and the other of form, so that the first part would be similar to the form received by the metal of a statue, and the latter to the principle which produces the form itself. [Ennead V,9 (5) 3]

Why should we not, on arriving at the Soul, stop there, and consider her the first principle? Because Intelligence is a power different from the Soul, and better than the Soul; and what is better must, by its very nature, precede (the worst). The Stoics are wrong in thinking that it is the Soul which, on reaching her perfection, begets Intelligence. How could that which is potential pass into actualization unless there were some principle that effected that transition? If this transition were due to chance, it could not have occurred at all. The first rank must therefore be assigned to that which is in actualization, which needs nothing, which is perfect, while imperfect things must be assigned to the second rank. These may be perfected by the principles that begat them, which, in respect to them, play a paternal part, perfecting what they had originally produced that was imperfect. What is thus produced is matter, as regards the creating principle, and then becomes perfect, on receiving its form from it. Besides, the Soul is (often) affected; and we need to discover some thing that is impassible, without which everything is dissolved by time; therefore there is need of some principle prior to the soul. Further, the Soul is in the world; now there must be something that resides outside of the world, and which consequently would be superior to the Soul; for since that which inheres in the world resides within the body, or matter, if nothing existed outside of the world, nothing would remain permanent. In this case, the (seminal) reason of man, and all the other reasons could be neither permanent nor eternal. The result of all these considerations, as well as of many others that we could add thereto, is the necessary assertion of the existence of Intelligence beyond the Soul. [Ennead V,9 (5) 4]

What then are the things contained within the unity of Intelligence which we separate in thinking of them? They must be expressed without disturbing their rest, and we must contemplate the contents of Intelligence by a science that somehow remains within unity. Since this sense-world is an animal which embraces all animals, since it derives both its general and special existence from a principle different from itself, a principle which, in turn, is derived from intelligence, therefore intelligence must itself contain the universal archetype, and must be that intelligible world of which Plato (well) says; “Intelligence sees the ideas contained within the existing animal.” Since an animal, whose (seminal) reason exists with the matter fit to receive it, must of course be begotten, so the mere existence of a nature that is intellectual, all-powerful, and unhindered by any obstacle — since nothing can interpose between it and the (substance) capable of receiving the form — must necessarily be adorned (or, created) by intelligence, but only in a divided condition does it reveal the form it receives, so that, for instance, it shows us on one hand a man, and on the other the sun, while intelligence possesses everything in unity. [Ennead V,9 (5) 9]

If the intelligible world contains the idea of Man, it must also contain that of the reasonable man, and of the artist; and consequently the idea of the arts that are begotten by Intelligence. We must therefore insist that the intelligible world contains the ideas of the universals, the idea of Man as such, and not, for instance, that of Socrates  . Still we shall have to decide whether the intelligible world does not also contain the idea of the individual man, that is, of the man considered with the things that differ in each individual; for one may have a Roman nose and the other a pug nose. These differences are indeed implied within the idea of man, just as there are differences within the idea of animal. But the differences between a Roman or a snub nose are derived from matter. Likewise, amidst the varieties of colors, some are contained within the seminal reason, while others are derived from matter and space. [Ennead V,9 (5) 12]

It remains for us to study whether the intelligible world contains only what is in the sense-world, or whether we should distinguish from the individual soul the Soul itself, from the particular intelligence, Intelligence itself, as we have above distinguished the particular man from Man himself. We should not consider all things here below as images of archetypes, for instance, the soul of a man as the image of the Soul herself. Only degrees of dignity differentiate souls; but these souls are not the Soul itself. As the Soul itself exists really, it must also contain a certain wisdom, justice and science, which are not images of wisdom, justice, and intelligible science, as sense-objects are images of intelligible entities, but which are these very entities located here below in entirely different conditions of existence; for they are not locally circumscribed. Therefore when the soul issues from the body, she preserves these things within herself; for the sense-world exists only in a determinate place, while the intelligible world exists everywhere; therefore all that the soul contains here below is also in the intelligible world. Consequently if, by “sense-objects” we really mean “visible” things, then indeed the intelligible world contains entities not present in this sense-world. If, on the contrary, we include within the “sense-world” the soul and all she implies, then all things that are above are present here below also. [Ennead V,9 (5) 13]

All the arts concerned with things natural to man are contained within the ideas of Man himself. The Art that is universal is prior to the other arts; but Art is posterior to the Soul herself, or rather, to the life that is in Intelligence before becoming soul, and which, on becoming soul, deserves to be called the Soul herself. [Ennead V,9 (5) 14]

In the first place, if the souls of myself and of another man form but one soul, this does not necessarily imply their being identical with their principle. Granting the existence of different beings, the same principle need not experience in each the same affections. Thus, humanity may equally reside in me, who am in motion, as in you, who may be at rest, although in me it moves, and it rests in you. Nevertheless, it is neither absurd nor paradoxical to insist that the same principle is both in you and in me; and this does not necessarily make us feel the identical affections. Consider a single body: it is not the left hand which feels what the right one does, but the soul which is present in the whole body. To make you feel the same as I do, our two bodies would have to constitute but a single one; then, being thus united, our souls would perceive the same affections. Consider also that the All remains deaf to a multitude of impressions experienced by the parts of a single and same organism, and that so much the more as the body is larger. This is the state of affairs, for instance, with the large whales which do not feel the impression received in some one part of their body, because of the smallness of the movement. [Ennead IV,9 (8) 2]

On the other hand, observation teaches us that we sympathize with each other, that we cannot see the suffering of another man without sharing it, that we are naturally inclined to confide in each other, and to love; for love is a fact whose origin is connected with the question that occupies us. Further, if enchantments and magic charms mutually attract individuals, leading distant persons to sympathize, these effects can only be explained by the unity of soul. (It is well known that) words pronounced in a low tone of voice (telepathically?) affect a distant person, and make him hear what is going on at a great distance. Hence appears the unity of all beings, which demands the unity of the Soul. [Ennead IV,9 (8) 3]

The soul imparts unity to all things when producing them, fashioning them, and forming them. Should we, therefore, after rising to the Soul, say that she not only imparts unity, but herself is unity in itself? Certainly not. The soul that imparts form and figure to bodies is not identical with form, and figure. Therefore the soul imparts unity without being unity. She unifies each of her productions only by contemplation of the One, just as she produces man only by contemplating Man-in-himself, although adding to that idea the implied unity. Each of the things that are called “one” have a unity proportionate to their nature (“being”); so that they participate in unity more or less according as they share essence (being). Thus the soul is something different from unity; nevertheless, as she exists in a degree higher (than the body), she participates more in unity, without being unity itself; indeed she is one, but the unity in her is no more than contingent. There is a difference between the soul and unity, just as between the body and unity. A discrete quantity such as a company of dancers, or choric ballet, is very far from being unity; a continuous quantity approximates that further; the soul gets still nearer to it, and participates therein still more. Thus from the fact that the soul could not exist without being one, the identity between the soul and unity is suggested. But this may be answered in two ways. First, other things also possess individual existence because they possess unity, and nevertheless are not unity itself; as, though the body is not identical with unity, it also participates in unity. Further, the soul is manifold as well as one, though she be not composed of parts. She possesses several faculties, discursive reason, desire, and perception — all of them faculties joined together by unity as a bond. Doubtless the soul imparts unity to something else (the body), because she herself possesses unity; but this unity is by her received from some other principle (namely, from unity itself). [Ennead VI,9 (9) 1]

(Aristotle) suggests that in each of the individual beings which are one, being is identical with unity. Are not being and essence identical with unity, in every being and in every essence, in a manner such that on discovering essence, unity also is discovered? Is not being in itself unity in itself, so that if being be intelligence, unity also must be intelligence, as intelligence which, being essence in the highest degree, is also unity in the first degree, and which, imparting essence to other things, also imparts unity to them? What indeed could unity be, apart from essence and being? As “man,” and “a man” are equivalent, essence must be identical with unity; or, unity is the number of everything considered individually; and as one object joined to another is spoken of as two, so an object alone is referred to as one. [Ennead VI,9 (9) 2]

If the essence of each thing be manifoldness, and as unity cannot be manifoldness, unity must differ from essence. Now man, being both animal and rational, contains a manifoldness of elements of which unity is the bond. There is therefore a difference between man and unity; man is divisible, while unity is indivisible. Besides, universal Essence, containing all essences, is still more manifold. Therefore it differs from unity; though it does possess unity by participation. Essence possesses life and intelligence, for it cannot be considered lifeless; it must therefore be manifold. Besides, if essence be intelligence, it must in this respect also be manifold, and must be much more so if it contain forms; for the idea is not genuinely one. Both as individual and general it is rather a number; it is one only as the world is one. [Ennead VI,9 (9) 2]

Nevertheless a philosophical study of unity will follow the following course. Since it is Unity that we seek, since it is the principle of all things, the Good, the First that we consider, those who will wish to reach it must not withdraw from that which is of primary rank to decline to what occupies the last, but they must withdraw their souls from sense-objects, which occupy the last degree in the scale of existence, to those entities that occupy the first rank. Such a man will have to free himself from all evil, since he aspires to rise to the Good. He will rise to the principle that he possesses within himself. From the manifold that he was he will again become one. Only under these conditions will he contemplate the supreme principle, Unity. Thus having become intelligence, having trusted his soul to intelligence, educating and establishing her therein, so that with vigilant attention she may grasp all that intelligence sees, he will, by intelligence, contemplate unity, without the use of any senses, without mingling any of their perceptions with the flashes of intelligence. He will contemplate the purest Principle, through the highest degree of the purest Intelligence. So when a man applies himself to the contemplation of such a principle and represents it to himself as a magnitude, or a figure, or even a form, it is not his intelligence that guides him in this contemplation for intelligence is not destined to see such things; it is sensation, or opinion, the associate of sensation, which is active in him. Intelligence is only capable of informing us about things within its sphere. [Ennead VI,9 (9) 3]

Self-knowledge reveals the fact that the soul’s natural movement is not in a straight line, unless indeed it have undergone some deviation. On the contrary, it circles around something interior, around a centre. Now the centre is that from which proceeds the circle, that is, the soul. The soul will therefore move around the centre, that is, around the principle from which she proceeds; and, trending towards it, she will attach herself to it, as indeed all souls should do. The souls of the divinities ever direct themselves towards it; and that is the secret of their divinity; for divinity consists in being attached to the Centre (of all souls). Anyone who withdraws much therefrom is a man who has remained manifold (that is, who has never become unified), or who is a brute. [Ennead VI,9 (9) 8]

Is the centre of the soul then the principle that we are seeking? Or must we conceive some other principle towards which all centres radiate? To begin with, it is only by analogy that the words “centre” and “circle” are used. By saying that the soul is a circle, we do not mean that she is a geometrical figure, but that in her and around her subsists primordial nature. (By saying that she has a centre, we mean that) the soul is suspended from the primary Principle (by the highest part of her being), especially when she is entirely separated (from the body). Now, however, as we have a part of our being contained in the the body, we resemble a man whose feet are plunged in water, with the rest of his body remaining above it. Raising ourselves above the body by the whole part which is not immerged, we are by our own centre reattaching ourselves to the Centre common to all beings, just in the same way as we make the centres of the great circles coincide with that of the sphere that surrounds them. If the circles of the soul were corporeal, the common centre would have to occupy a certain place for them to coincide with it, and for them to turn around it. But since the souls are of the order of intelligible (essences), and as the One is still above Intelligence, we shall have to assert that the intercourse of the soul with the One operates by means different from those by which Intelligence unites with the intelligible. This union, indeed, is much closer than that which is realized between Intelligence and the intelligible by resemblance or identity; it takes place by the intimate relationship that unites the soul with unity, without anything to separate them. Bodies cannot unite mutually; but they could not hinder the mutual union of incorporeal (essences) because that which separates them from each other is not a local distance, but their distinction and difference. When there is no difference between them, they are present in each other. [Ennead VI,9 (9) 8]

Above existence, therefore, is the One. This has by us been proved as far as could reasonably be expected, and as far as such subjects admit of demonstration. In the second rank are Existence and Intelligence; in the third, the Soul. But if these three principles, the One, Intelligence, and the Soul, as we have said, obtain in nature, three principles must also obtain within us. I do not mean that these three principles are in sense-objects, for they are separate therefrom; they are outside of the sense-world, as the three divine principles are outside of the celestial sphere, and, according to Plato’s expression, they constitute the “the interior man.” Our soul, therefore, is something divine; it has a nature different (from sense-nature), which conforms to that of the universal Soul. Now the perfect Soul possesses intelligence; but we must distinguish between the intelligence that reasons (the discursive reason), and the Intelligence that furnishes the principles of reasoning (pure intelligence). The discursive reason of the soul has no need, for operation, of any bodily organ; in its operations, it preserves all its purity, so that it is capable of reasoning purely. When separated from the body, it must, without any hesitation, be ranked with highest intellectual entities. There is no need of locating it in space; for, if it exist within itself, outside of body, in an immaterial condition, it is evidently not mingled with the body, and has none of its nature. Consequently Plato says, “The divinity has spread the Soul around the world.” What he here means is that a part of the Soul remains in the intelligible world. Speaking of our soul he also says, “she hides her head in heaven.” He also advises us to wean the soul from the body; and he does not refer to any local separation, which nature alone could establish. He means that the soul must not incline towards the body, must not abandon herself to the phantoms of imagination, and must not, thus, become alienated from reason. He means that the soul should try to elevate to the intelligible world her lower part which is established in the sense-world, and which is occupied in fashioning the body. [Ennead V,1 (10) 10]

How does it happen that we possess principles that are so elevated, almost in spite of ourselves, and for the most part without busying ourselves about them? For there are even men who never notice them. Nevertheless these principles, that is, intelligence, and the principle superior to intelligence, which ever remains within itself (that is, the One), these two principles are ever active. The case is similar with the soul. She is always in motion; but the operations that go on within her are not always perceived; they reach us only when they succeed in making themselves felt. When the faculty that is active within us does not transmit its action to the power that feels, this action is not communicated to the entire soul; however, we may not be conscious thereof because, although we possess sensibility, it is not this power, but the whole soul that constitutes the man. So long as life lasts, each power of the soul exercises its proper function by itself; but we know it only when communication and perception occur. In order to perceive the things within us, we have to turn our perceptive faculties towards them, so that (our soul) may apply her whole attention thereto. The person that desires to hear one sound must neglect all others, and listen carefully on its approach. Thus we must here close our senses to all the noises that besiege us, unless necessity force us to hear them, and to preserve our perceptive faculty pure and ready to listen to the voices that come from above. [Ennead V,1 (10) 12]

We may say that there is a procession from the First to the last; and in this procession each occupies its proper place. The begotten (being) is subordinated to the begetting (being). On the other hand, it becomes similar to the thing to which it attaches, so long as it remains attached thereto. When the soul passes into the plant, there is one of her parts that unites thereto (the power of growth); but besides, it is only the most audacious and the most senseless part of her that descends so low. When the soul passes into the brute, it is because she is drawn thereto by the predominance of the power of sensation. When she passes into man, it is because she is led to do so by the exercise of discursive reason, either by the movement by which she proceeds from Intelligence, because the soul has a characteristic intellectual power, and consequently has the power to determine herself to think, and in general, to act. [Ennead V,2 (11) 2]

The principle which informs matter will give it form as something foreign to its nature; it will also introduce magnitude and all the real properties. Otherwise, it would be enslaved to the magnitude of matter, and could not decide of the magnitude of matter, and magnitude would be dependent on the disposition of matter. A theory of a consultation between it and the magnitude of matter would be an absurd fiction. On the contrary, if the efficient cause precede matter, matter will be exactly as desired by the efficient cause, and be capable of docilely receiving any kind of form, including magnitude. If matter possessed magnitude, it would also possess figure, and would thus be rather difficult to fashion. Form therefore enters into matter by importing into it (what constitutes corporeal being); now every form contains a magnitude and a quantity which are determined by reason (“being”), and with reason. That is why in all kinds of beings, quantity is determined only along with form; for the quantity (the magnitude) of man is not the quantity of the bird. It would be absurd to insist on the difference between giving to matter the quantity of a bird, and impressing its quality on it, that quality is a reason, while quantity is not a form; for quantity is both measure and number. [Ennead II,4 (12) 8]

Let us grant that matter has no quality, because, by virtue of its nature, it does not participate in a quality of any other thing. What, however, would hinder this property, because it is a qualification in matter, from participating in some quality? This would be a particular and distinctive characteristic, which consists of the privation of all other things (referring to Aristotle)? In man, the privation of something may be considered a quality; as, for instance, the privation of sight is blindness. If the privation of certain things inhere in matter, this privation is also a qualification for matter. If further the privation in matter extend to all things, absolutely, our objection is still better grounded, for privation is a qualification. Such an objection, however, amounts to making qualities and qualified things of everything. In this case quantity, as well as “being,” would be a quality. Every qualified thing must possess some quality. It is ridiculous to suppose that something qualified is qualified by what itself has no quality, being other than quality. [Ennead II,4 (12) 13]

Let us now examine if matter be privation, or if privation be an attribute of matter. If you insist that privation and matter are though logically distinct, substantially one and the same thing, you will have to explain the nature of these two things, for instance, defining matter without defining privation, and conversely. Either, neither of these two things implies the other, or they imply each other reciprocally, or only one of them implies the other. If each of them can be defined separately, and if neither of them imply the other, both will form two distinct things, and matter will be different from privation, though privation be an accident of matter. But neither of the two must even potentially be present in the definition of the other. Is their mutual relation the same as that of a stub nose, and the man with the stub nose (as suggested by Aristotle)? Then each of these is double, and there are two things. Is their relation that between fire and heat? Heat is in fire, but fire is not necessarily contained in heat; thus matter, having privation (as a quality), as fire has heat (as a quality), privation will be a form of matter, and has a substrate different from itself, which is matter. Not in this sense, therefore, is there a unity (between them). [Ennead II,4 (12) 14]

It is to this (universal) Soul especially that may be applied these words of Plato: “The general Soul cares for all that is inanimate.” The other (individual) souls are in different conditions. “The Soul (adds Plato), circulates around the heavens successively assuming divers forms”; that is, the forms of thought, sense or growth. The part which dominates in the soul fulfills its proper individual function; the others remain inactive, and somehow seem exterior to them. In man, it is not the lower powers of the soul that dominate. They do indeed co-exist with the others. Neither is it always the best power (reason), which always dominates; for the inferior powers equally have their place. Consequently, man (besides being a reasonable being) is also a sensitive being, because he possesses sense-organs. In many respects, he is also a vegetative being; for his body feeds and grows just like a plant. All these powers (reason, sensibility, growth), therefore act together in the man; but it is the best of them that characterizes the totality of the man (so that he is called a “reasonable being”). On leaving the body the soul becomes the power she had preponderatingly developed. Let us therefore flee from here below, and let us raise ourselves to the intelligible world, so as not to fall into the pure sense-life, by allowing ourselves to follow sense-images, or into the life of growth, by abandoning ourselves to the pleasures of physical love, and to gormandizing; rather, let us rise to the intelligible world, to the intelligence, to the divinity! [Ennead III,4 (15) 2]

Those who have exercised their human faculties are re-born as men. Those who have made use of their senses only, pass into the bodies of brutes, and particularly into the bodies of wild animals, if they have yielded themselves to the transports of anger; so that, even in this case, the difference of the bodies they animate is proportioned to the difference of their inclinations. Those whose only effort it was to satisfy their desires and appetites pass into the bodies of lascivious and gluttonous animals. Last, those who instead of following their desires or their anger, have rather degraded their senses by their inertia, are reduced to vegetate in plants; for in their former existence they exercised nothing but their vegetative power, and they worked at nothing but to make trees of themselves. Those who have loved too much the enjoyments of music, and who otherwise lived purely, pass into the bodies of melodious birds. Those who have reigned tyrannically, become eagles, if they have no other vice. Last, those who spoke lightly of celestial things, having kept their glance directed upwards, are changed into birds which usually fly towards the high regions of the air. He who has acquired civil virtues again becomes a man; but if he does not possess them to a sufficient degree, he is transformed into a sociable animal, such as the bee, or other animal of the kind. [Ennead III,4 (15) 2]

What then is our guardian? It is one of the powers of our soul. What is our divinity? It is also one of the powers of our soul. (Is it the power which acts principally in us as some people think?) For the power which acts in us seems to be that which leads us, since it is the principle which dominates in us. Is that the guardian to which we have been allotted during the course of our life? No: our guardian is the power immediately superior to the one that we exercise, for it presides over our life without itself being active. The power which is active in us is inferior to the one that presides over our life, and it is the one which essentially constitutes us. If then we live on the plane of the sense-life, our guardian is reason; if we live on the rational plane, our guardian will be the principal superior to reason (namely, intelligence); it will preside over our life, but it itself does not act, leaving that to the inferior power. Plato truly said that “we choose our guardian”; for, by the kind of life that we prefer, we choose the guardian that presides over our life. Why then does He direct us? He directs us during the course of our mortal life because he is given to us to help us to accomplish our (destiny); but he can no longer direct us when our destiny is accomplished, because the power over the exercise of which he presided allows another power to act in his place (which however is dead, since the life in which it acted is terminated). This other power wishes to act in its turn, and, after having established its preponderance, it exercises itself during the course of a new life, itself having another guardian. If then we should chance to degrade ourselves by letting an inferior power prevail in us, we are punished for it. Indeed, the evil man degenerates because the power which he has developed in his life makes him descend to the existence of the brute, by assimilating him to it by his morals. If we could follow the guardian who is superior to him, he himself would become superior by sharing his life. He would then take as guide a part of himself superior to the one that governs him, then another part, still more elevated until he had arrived at the highest. Indeed, the soul is several things, or rather, the soul is all things; she is things both inferior and superior; she contains all the degrees of life. Each of us, in a certain degree, is the intelligible world; by our inferior part we are related to the sense-world, and by our superior part, to the intelligible world; we remain there on high by what constitutes our intelligible essence; we are attached here below by the powers which occupy the lowest rank in the soul. Thus we cause an emanation, or rather an actualization which implies no loss to the intelligible, to pass from the intelligible into the sense-world. [Ennead III,4 (15) 3]

But if (before coming on to the earth) the soul chooses her life and her guardian, how do we still preserve our liberty? Because what is called “choice” designates in an allegorical manner the character of the soul, and her general disposition everywhere. Again, it is objected that if the character of the soul preponderate, if the soul be dominated by that part which her former life rendered predominantly active, it is no longer the body which is her cause of evil; for if the character of the soul be anterior to her union with the body; if she have the character she has chosen; if, as said (Plato), she do not change her guardian, it is not here below that a man may become good or evil. The answer to this is, that potentially man is equally good or evil. (By his choices) however he may actualize one or the other. [Ennead III,4 (15) 5]

What then would happen if a virtuous man should have a body of evil nature, or a vicious man a body of a good nature? The goodness of the soul has more or less influence on the goodness of the body. Exterior circumstances cannot thus alter the character chosen by the soul. When (Plato) says that the lots are spread out before the souls, and that later the different kinds of conditions are displayed before them, and that the fortune of each results from the choice made amidst the different kinds of lives present — a choice evidently made according to her character — (Plato) evidently attributes to the soul the power of conforming to her character the condition allotted to her. [Ennead III,4 (15) 5]

Who then is the virtuous man? He in whom is active the highest part of the soul. If his guardian contributed to his actions, he would not deserve being called virtuous. Now it is the Intelligence which is active in the virtuous man. It is the latter, then, who is a guardian, or lives according to one; besides, his guardian is the divinity. Is this guardian above Intelligence? Yes, if the guardian have, as guardian, the principle superior to Intelligence (the Good). But why does the virtuous man not enjoy this privilege since the beginning? Because of the trouble he felt in falling into generation. Even before the exercise of reason, he has within him a desire which leads him to the things which are suitable to him. But does this desire direct with sovereign influence? No, not with sovereignty; for the soul is so disposed that, in such circumstances becoming such, she adopts such a life, and follows such an inclination. [Ennead III,4 (15) 6]

Last, if rank obtained above depend on the state obtaining at the time of exit from the body, no man should separate himself from it so long as he might still achieve progress. [Ennead I,9 (16) 1]

Do ideas of individuals (as well as of classes of individuals), exist? This means that if I, in company with some other man, were to trace ourselves back to the intelligible world, we would there find separate individual principles corresponding to each of us. (This might imply either of two theories.) Either, if the individual named Socrates be eternal, and if the soul of Socrates be Socrates himself, then the soul of each individual is contained in the intelligible world. Or if, on the contrary, the individual named Socrates be not eternal, if the same soul can belong successively to several individuals, such as Socrates or Pythagoras  , then (as Alcinoous, e. g., and other Platonists insist), each individual does not have his idea in the intelligible world. [Ennead V,7 (18) 1]

If the particular soul of each man contains (“seminal) reasons” of all the things she does, then each individual corresponds to his idea in the intelligible world, for we admit that each soul contains as many (“seminal) reasons” as the entire world. In this case, the soul would contain not only the (“seminal) reasons” of men but also those of all animals, the number of these reasons will be infinite, unless (as the Stoics teach) the world does not re-commence the identical series of existences in fixed periods; for the only means of limiting the infinity of reasons, is that the same things should reproduce themselves. [Ennead V,7 (18) 1]

But, if produced things may be more numerous than their specimens, what would be the necessity for the “reasons” and specimens of all individuals begotten during some one period? It would seem that the (idea of) the “man himself” to explain the existence of all men, and that the souls of a finite number of them could successively animate men of an infinite number. (To this contention we demur: for) it is impossible for different things to have an identical (“seminal) reason.” The (idea of) the man himself would not, as model, suffice (to account) for men who differ from each other not only by matter, but also by specific differences. They cannot be compared to the images of Socrates which reproduce their model. Only the difference of the (“seminal) reasons” could give rise to individual differences. (As Plato said), the entire period contains all the (“seminal) reasons.” When it recommences, the same things rearise through the same “reasons.” We need not fear that, as a consequence, there would be an infinite (number or variety) of them in the intelligible world; for the multitude (of the seminal reasons) constitutes an indivisible principle from which each issues forth whenever active. [Ennead V,7 (18) 1]

Man must flee from (this world) here below (for two reasons): because it is the nature of the soul to flee from evil, and because inevitable evil prevails and dominates this world here below. What is this flight (and how can we accomplish it)? (Plato), tells us it consists in “being assimilated to divinity.” This then can be accomplished by judiciously conforming to justice, and holiness; in short, by virtue. [Ennead I,2 (19) 1]

In short, the soul will be pure from all these passions, and will even desire to purify our being’s irrational part so as to preserve it from emotions, or at least to moderate their number and intensity, and to appease them promptly by her presence. So would a man, in the neighborhood of some sage, profit thereby, either by growing similar to him, or in refraining from doing anything of which the sage might disapprove. This (suggestive) influence of reason will exert itself without any struggle; its mere presence will suffice. The inferior principle will respect it to the point of growing resentful against itself, and reproaching itself for its weakness, if it feel any agitation which might disturb its master’s repose. [Ennead I,2 (19) 5]

A man who has achieved such a state no longer commits such faults; for he has become corrected. But his desired goal is not to cease failing, but to be divine. In case he still allows within himself the occurrence of some of the above-mentioned unreflecting impulses, he will be simultaneously divinity and guardian, a double being; or rather, he will contain a principle of another nature (Intelligence), whose virtue will likewise differ from his. If, however, he be not troubled by any of those motions, he will be wholly divine; he will be one of those divinities “who (as Plato said) form the attending escort of the First.” It is a divinity of such a nature that has come down from above to dwell in us. To become again what one was originally, is to live in this superior world. He who has achieved that height dwells with pure Intelligence, and assimilates himself thereto as far as possible. Consequently, he feels none of those emotions, nor does he any more commit any actions, which would be disapproved of by the superior principle who henceforth is his only master. [Ennead I,2 (19) 6]

The possessor of the higher virtues necessarily possesses the potentiality for the inferior virtues; but the possessor of the lower does not, conversely, possess the higher. Such are the characteristics of the virtuous man. [Ennead I,2 (19) 7]

(Many interesting questions remain). Is it possible for a man to possess the higher or lower virtues in accomplished reality, or otherwise (merely theoretically)? To decide that, we would have individually to examine each, as, for example, prudence. How could such a virtue exist merely potentially, borrowing its principles from elsewhere? What would happen if one virtue advanced naturally to a certain degree, and another virtue to another? What would you think of a temperance which would moderate certain (impulses), while entirely suppressing others? Similar questions might be raised about other virtues, and the arbiter of the degree to which the virtues have attained would have to be prudence. [Ennead I,2 (19) 7]

No doubt, under certain circumstances, the virtuous man, in his actions, will make use of some of the lower, or homely virtues; but even so he will supplement them by standards or ideas derived from higher virtues. For instance, he will not be satisfied with a temperance which would consist in mere moderation, but he will gradually seek to separate himself more and more from matter. Again, he will supplement the life of a respectable man, exacted by common-sense homely virtues; he will be continually aspiring higher, to the life of the divinities; for our effort at assimilation should be directed not at mere respectability, but to the gods themselves. To seek no more than to become assimilated to respectable individuals would be like trying to make an image by limiting oneself to copying another image, itself modelled after another image (but not copying the original). The assimilation here recommended results from taking as model a superior being. [Ennead I,2 (19) 7]

And what are we? Are we the universal Soul, or are we what approaches her, and what is begotten in time (that is, the body)? No: (we are not bodies). Before the generation of the bodies had been accomplished, we existed already on high; some of us were men, others of us were even divinities, that is, we were pure souls, intelligences connected with universal Being; we formed parts of the intelligible world, parts that were neither circumscribed nor separated, but which belonged to the entire intelligible world. Even now, indeed, we are not separated from the intelligible world; but the intelligible Man in us has received, and is joined by a man who desired to be different from the former (that is, the sense-man desired to be independent), and finding us, for we were not outside of the universe, he surrounded us, and added himself to the intelligible man who then was each one of us. [Ennead VI,4 (22) 14]

Now suppose a single sound or word; those who listen to it hear it and receive it, each in his own way; hearing passes into each of them in the condition of an actualization, and perceives what is acting on it. We thus became two men at once (the intelligible Man, and the sense-man who added himself to the former); we are no longer, as before, only one of the two; or rather, we are sometimes still only one of them, the man who added himself to the first. This occurs every time that the first Man slumbers in us, and is not present, in a certain sense (when we fail to reflect about the conceptions of intelligence). [Ennead VI,4 (22) 14]

But how did the body approach the universal Soul? As this body had an aptitude for participation in the Soul, it received that for which it was fit; now it was disposed to receive a particular soul; that is why it did not receive the universal Soul. Although the latter be present with this body, she does not become entirely suitable to it; that is why plants and the non-human souls likewise possess only so much of the universal Soul, as they were able to receive from her. Likewise, when a voice challenges notice, so some (persons) grasp only the sound, others grasp also the signification. As soon as the animal has been begotten, it possesses within itself the presence of a soul derived from the universal (Being), and by which it remains united with this (Being) because then it possesses a body that is neither empty nor inanimate. This body was not before in an inanimate place, and (when it was begotten), it only further reapproximated itself to the soul by its aptitude (to receive life); it became not only a body, but also a living body; thanks to the neighborhood to the soul, it received a trace (of the soul); and by that I do not mean a part of the soul, but a kind of heat or light which emanated from the soul, and which, in the body, begat desires, pleasures, and pains. The body of the thus begotten animal was, therefore, not a body foreign (to life). The Soul, that had issued from the divine principle, remained tranquil according to her own nature, and was subsisting in herself, when that part, which was troubled by her own weakness, and was spontaneously fluctuating around when assailed by impulsions from without, first complained audibly by herself, and then in that part of the animal which is common to the soul and body, and communicated her disturbance to the entire living being. Thus when a deliberative assembly calmly examines some question, a confused mob, driven by hunger or excited by some passion, may come to spread trouble and disorder in the whole assembly. As long as such people keep quiet, the voice of the wise man may be heard by them; and as a result the crowd retains orderliness, its worse part remaining subordinate; otherwise the worst part dominates, while the better part remains silent, because the trouble hinders the crowd from listening to reason. Thus does evil come to reign in a city and in an assembly. Likewise evil reigns in him who allows himself to be dominated by this disorderly crowd of fears, desires and passions that he bears within his breast; and that will last until he reduce that crowd to obedience, until he become again the man he formerly was (before descending here below), and until he regulate his life (according to the better Man); what he then will grant to the body will be granted as to something foreign. As to him who lives now in one manner, and now in another, he is a man of mingled good and evil. [Ennead VI,4 (22) 15]

Intelligible entities, indeed, though they form a manifold, nevertheless, form an unity. On the other hand, though they form an unity, yet by virtue of their infinite nature they also form a manifold. They are the multitude in unity, and unity in multitude; they all subsist together. They direct their actualization towards the whole, with the whole, and it is still with the whole, that they apply themselves to the part. The part receives within itself the first action, as if it were that of only a part; but, nevertheless, it is the whole that acts. It is as if a Man-in-himself, on descending into a certain man, became this man without, however, ceasing being the Man-in-himself. The material man, proceeding from the ideal Man, who is single, has produced a multitude of men, who are the same because one and the same thing has impressed its seal on a multitude. Thus the Man-in-himself, and every intelligible entity in itself, and then the whole entire universal Essence is not in the multitude, but the multitude is in the universal Essence, or rather, refers to it; for if whiteness be everywhere present in the body, it is not in the same manner as the soul of an individual is present and identical in all the organs. It is in this latter manner that the essence is present everywhere. [Ennead VI,5 (23) 6]

This may be seen still more clearly by considering how this double nature shows itself in all that thinks in a clearer manner. We assert that all essences, as such, that all things that are by themselves, and that possess true existence, are located in the intelligible world. This happens not only because they always remain the same, while sense-objects are in a perpetual flow and change — although, indeed, there are sense-objects (such as the stars), that remain the same — but rather because they, by themselves, possess the perfection of their existence. The so-called primary “being” must possess an existence which is more than an adumbration of existence, and which is complete existence. Now existence is complete when its form is thought and life. Primary “being,” therefore, will simultaneously contain thought, existence and life. Thus the existence of essence will imply that of intelligence; and that of intelligence, that of essence; so that thought is inseparable from existence, and is manifold instead of being one. That which is not manifold (the One), cannot, therefore, think. In the intelligible world, we find Man, and the thought of man, Horse and the thought of horse, the Just Man and the thought of the just man; everything in it is duality; even the unity within it is duality, and in it duality passes into unity. The First is neither all things that imply duality, nor any of them; it contains no duality whatever. [Ennead V,6 (24) 6]

In non-permanent things, what exists potentially is evidently something quite different (from what is said to exist actually). But when the potential grammarian becomes an actual grammarian, why should not the potential and actual coincide? The potential wise Socrates is the same as the actual Socrates. Is the ignorant man, who was potentially learned, the same as the learned? No: only accident makes of the ignorant man a learned one; for it was not his ignorance that made him potentially wise; with him, ignorance was only an accident; but his soul, being by herself disposed (to be actually learned), still remains potentially learned, in so far as she was actually so, and still keeps what is called potential existence; thus the actual grammarian does not cease being a potential grammarian. Nothing hinders these two different things (of being a potential and actual grammarian) from coinciding; in the first case, the man is no more than a potential grammarian; in the latter, the man is still a potential grammarian, but this potentiality has acquired its form (that is, has become actual). [Ennead V,5 (25) 2]

The (“seminal) reason,” on approaching matter, and giving it the extension it desired, made of it a magnitude. The “reason” drew from itself the magnitude to give it to the matter, which did not possess it, and which did not, merely on that account, acquire size; otherwise the magnitude occurring within it would be magnitude itself. If we remove form from matter, the substrate that then remains neither seems nor is large (since magnitude is part of form). If what is produced in matter be a certain magnitude, as for instance a man or a horse, the magnitude characteristic of the horse disappears with the form of the horse. If we say that a horse cannot be produced except in a mass of determined size, and that this magnitude remained (when the form of the horse disappeared), we would answer that what would then remain would not be the magnitude characteristic of the horse, but the magnitude of mass. Besides, if this mass were fire or earth, when the form of fire or that of earth disappeared, the magnitude of the fire or of the earth would simultaneously disappear. Matter therefore possesses neither figure nor quantity; otherwise, it would not have ceased being fire to become something else, but, remaining fire, would never “become” fire. Now that it seems to have become as great as this universe, if the heavens, with all they contain were annihilated, all quantity would simultaneously disappear out of matter, and with quantity also the other inseparable qualities will disappear. Matter would then remain what it originally was by itself; it would keep none of the things that exist within it. Indeed, the objects that can be affected by the presence of contrary objects can, when the latter withdraw, keep some trace of them; but that which is impassible retains nothing; for instance, the air, when penetrated by the light, retains none of it when it disappears. That that which has no magnitude can become great is not any more surprising than that which has no heat can become hot. Indeed, for matter to be matter is something entirely different from its being magnitude; magnitude is as immaterial as figure. Of matter such as it really is we should say that it is all things by participation. Now magnitude forms part of what we call all things. As the bodies are composite, magnitude is there among the other qualities, without however being determinate therein. Indeed, the “reason” of the body also contains magnitude. On the contrary, matter does not even contain indeterminate magnitude, because it is not a body. [Ennead III,6 (26) 16]

That name indicates the difference between matter and a mother. To those who, refusing to be satisfied with superficialities, insist on thoroughness, they thus signified in as precise a manner as possible (without lifting the veil of) obscurity, that matter was sterile, although feminine also to extent at least that matter receives, without contributing to, the act of generation. They indicated it by this, that the (Galli) who surround Cybele are not women, but neither are they men, possessing no power of generation; for by castration they have lost a faculty that is characteristic only of a man whose virility is intact. [Ennead III,6 (26) 19]

This question may be answered as follows. The unitary Being (that is Intelligence), subsists in itself without descending into the bodies. From unitary Being proceed the universal Soul and the other souls, which, up to a certain point, exist all together, and form but a single soul so far as they do not belong to any particular individual (contained in the sense-world). If, however, by their superior extremities they attach themselves to Unity, if within it they coincide, they later diverge (by their actualization), just as on the earth light is divided between the various dwellings of men, nevertheless remaining one and indivisible. In this case, the universal Soul is ever elevated above the others because she is not capable of descending, of falling, of inclining towards the sense-world. Our souls, on the contrary, descend here below, because special place is assigned to them in this world, and they are obliged to occupy themselves with a body which demands sustained attention. By her lower part, the universal Soul resembles the vital principle which animates a great plant, and which there manages everything peaceably and noiselessly. By their lower part our souls are similar to those animalculae born of the decaying parts of plants. That is the image of the living body of the universe. The higher part of our soul, which is similar to the higher part of the universal Soul, might be compared to a farmer who, having noticed the worms by which the plant is being devoured, should apply himself to destroying them, and should solicitously care for the plant. So we might say that the man in good health, and surrounded by healthy people, is entirely devoted to his duties or studies; the sick man, on the contrary, is entirely devoted to his body, and becomes dependent thereon. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 4]

Souls do not always descend equally; they descend sometimes lower, sometimes less low, but always in the same kind of beings (among living beings). Each soul enters into the body prepared to receive her, which corresponds to the nature to which the soul has become assimilated by its disposition; for, according as the soul has become similar to the nature of a man or of a brute, she enters into a corresponding body. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 12]

The punishments which justly overtake the evil must therefore be derived from that Order which rules all things with propriety. The unjust evils, accidents, misery and diseases which seem to overwhelm the good, may all be said to be consequences of anterior faults. These evils are intimately related to the course of events, and are even represented therein by their signs, so that they seem to happen according to the Reason (of the universe). We must however acknowledge that they are not produced by natural “reasons,” that they are not within the purview of Providence, and that they are only its accidental consequences. Thus when a house happens to fall, it buries anybody below it, whoever he may happen to be; or again, whether some regular movement drives on some one thing, or even several things, it breaks or crushes anything that happens to lie in its path. These accidents which seem unjust, are not evils for those who suffer them, if you consider how they take their place within the legitimate order of the universe; perhaps even they constitute just chastisements and are the expiations of earlier faults. It would be incredible that one series of beings in the universe should obey its order, while another series should be subject to chance or caprice. If everything happen through causes and natural consequences, in conformity with a single “reason,” and to a single order, the smallest things must form part of that order, and agree with it. Injustice practiced against somebody else is an injustice for him who commits it, and must attract a punishment to him; but by the place which it holds in the universal order, it is not an injustice, even for him who suffers it. It had to be thus. If the victim of this injustice was an honest man, for him it can have only a happy ending. This universal order must not be accused of being undivine and unjust, but we should insist that distributive justice exercises itself with perfect propriety. If certain things seem worthy of blame, it is because they are due to secret causes that escape our knowledge. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 16]

Whither will the soul pass when she shall have left the body? She will not go where there is nothing suitable to receive her. She could not pass into what is not naturally disposed to receive her, unless there be something that would attract a soul that had lost her prudence. In this case, the soul remains in whatever is capable of receiving her, and follows it whither that (receptive matter) can exist and beget. Now as there are different places, it is necessary that the difference (of the dwellings in which the souls come to dwell) should be derived from the disposition of each soul, and of justice which reigns above beings. No one indeed could escape the punishment which unjust actions deserve. The divine law is inevitable, and possesses the power of carrying out the judgments (according to its decrees). The man who is destined to undergo a punishment is, in spite of himself, dragged towards that punishment, and is driven around by a movement that never stops. Then, as if wearied of struggling against things to which he desired to offer resistance, he betakes himself to the place that is suitable to him, and thus by a voluntary movement undergoes involuntary suffering. The law prescribes the greatness and duration of the punishment. Later, as a result of the harmony that directs everything in the universe, the end of the punishment endured by the soul coincides with the soul’s receiving strength to leave those places. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 24]

We must still clear up what would be said by Hercules (that is, the man himself), alone, and separated from his image. What then would the rational soul, if separated and isolated, say? The soul which has been attracted by the body knows everything that the man (speaking strictly), has done or experienced here below. In course of time, at death, the memories of earlier existences are reproduced; but the soul, out of scorn, allows some to escape her. Having indeed purified herself from the body, she will remember the things that were not present to her during this life. If, after having entered into another body, she happen to consider the past, she will speak of this life which will become foreign to her, of what she has recently abandoned, and of many other earlier facts. The circumstances which happen during a long period will always remain buried in oblivion. But we have not yet discovered what the soul, when isolated from the body will remember. To solve this question, we shall be forced to decide to which power of the soul memory belongs. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 27]

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]

Are our notions of intellectual entities actualized by the potentiality which constitutes memory? If these notions be not intuitions, it is by memory that they become actualized; if they are intuitions, it is by the potentiality which has given them to us on high. This power awakes in us every time that we rise to intelligible things, in it is that which sees what we later talk about. We do not perceive intelligible entities by imagination or reasoning, which itself is forced to draw its principles from elsewhere; it is by our faculty of contemplation, which alone enables us to speak of them while we are here below. We see them by awaking in ourselves here below the same potentiality which we are to arouse when we are in the intelligible world. We resemble a man who, climbing the peak of a rock, should, by his glance, discover objects invisible for those who have not climbed with him. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 5]

Will they not even remember that they performed their revolution yesterday, or the year before, that they lived yesterday, and since have lived a long while? They still live continuously; now, what remains the same, is one. To try to distinguish yesterday and last year in the movement of the stars, is to do like a man who would divide into several parts the movement which forms one step, who would wish to reduce unity to multiplicity. Indeed, the movement of the stars is one, although it is by us subjected to a measure, as if it were multiple; so we count the days different one from the other because the nights separate them from each other. But since there is but one single day in the heavens, how could one count several? How could there be a “last year”? [Ennead IV,4 (28) 7]

Now, to enter into details, let us first say that one does not necessarily retain all one has seen. When something is neither interesting nor important, the senses, impressed by the diversity of objects without our voluntary direction of consciousness, are alone affected; the soul does not perceive the impressions because there is no utility in them for her. When the soul is turned towards herself, or towards other objects, and when she applies herself to them entirely, she could not remember these indifferent things, for she does not even perceive them when they are present. Neither is it necessary that the imagination should represent to itself what is accidental; nor, if it does represent them to itself, that it should retain them faithfully. It is easy to be convinced that a sense-impression of this kind is not perceived, on the ground of the following arguments. In the act of walking we divide, or rather traverse the air, without any conscious purpose; consequently we neither notice it, nor think of it, while we press forward. Likewise, if we had not decided to take some particular road, and unless we could fly through the air, we would not think of the region of the earth where we are, nor of the distance we have traveled. This is proved by the fact that when the mind possesses the general knowledge of what occurs, and is sure that the things will occur as planned, a man no longer attends to details. Besides, if a person continues to do the same thing, it would be useless to continue to observe the similar details. Consequently if the stars, while following their courses, carry out their duties without attending to the occurrence of what goes on; and unless their chief duty is to observe occurrences or the occurrence itself; and if their progress is nothing more than accidental, while their attention is held by other and greater objects; and if they regularly continue to pass through the same orbit without considering the calculation of time, even if it had already been divided (under these four conditions); there is no need to suppose that these stars would have a memory of the places they pass by, or of their periods. Their life would be uniform; because they always travel through the same places, so that their movement is, so to speak, more vital than local, because it is produced by a single living being (the universe), which, realizing it within itself, is exteriorly at rest and interiorly in motion by its eternal life. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 8]

It may perhaps be objected that this might be true of nature, but that whereas the Soul-of-the-universe contains wisdom, this implies also reasoning and memory. This objection could be raised only by persons who by “wisdom” understand that which is its absence, and mistake the search for wisdom for reasonable thinking. For what can reasoning be but the quest of wisdom, the real reason, the intelligence of the real essence? He who exercises reason resembles a man who plays the lyre to exercise himself, to acquire the habit of playing it, and, in general, to a man who learns in order to know. He seeks indeed to acquire science, whose possession is the distinguishing characteristic of a sage. Wisdom consists therefore in a stable condition. This is seen even in the conduct of the reasoner; as soon as he has found what he sought, he ceases to reason, and rests in the possession of wisdom. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 12]

Right reason, on descending from the higher realms of the soul into the common part, is by this mingling weakened, although it is not naturally weak; thus, in the tumult of a numerous assembly, it is not the wisest counsellor whose word carries weight; but on the contrary, that of the most turbulent and quarrelsome, and the tumult they make forces the wise man to stay seated, powerless and vanquished, by the noise. In the perverse man, it is the animal part that rules; the diversity of influences which overcome this man represents the worst of governments (the rule of the mob). In the commonplace man, things happen as in a republic   where some good element dominates the remainder, which does not refuse to obey. In the virtuous man, there is a life which resembles the aristocracy, because he manages to withdraw from the influence of the commonplace part, and because he listens to what is best in himself. Finally, in the best man, completely separated from the common part, reigns one single principle from which proceeds the order to which the remainder is subject. It would seem therefore that there were two cities, the one superior, and the other inferior, which latter derives its order from the former. We saw that the universal Soul was a single identical principle which commands uniformly; but other souls, as we have just explained, are in a very different condition. Enough of this. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 17]

Does the body, thanks to the presence of the soul that vivifies it, possess something which becomes characteristically its own, or is its possession nothing more than its nature, and is this the only thing added to the body? Evidently, the body which enjoys the presence of the soul, and of nature, would not resemble a corpse. It will be in the condition of the air, not when the air is penetrated by the sun-light (for then it really receives nothing), but when it participates in the heat. Therefore, plant and animal bodies that possess “a nature,” find that it consists of the shadow of a soul. It is to this body, thus vivified by nature, that sufferings and pleasures relate; but it is for us to experience these sufferings and pleasures without ourselves suffering. By us is here meant the reasonable soul, from which the body is distinct, without however being foreign to it, since it is ours (since it belongs to us). Only because of this, that it is ours, do we care for it. We are not the body; but we are not entirely separated from it; it is associated with us, it depends on us. When we say “we,” we mean by this word what constitutes the principal part of our being; the body also is “ours”: but in another sense. Therefore its sufferings and pleasures are not indifferent to us; the weaker we are, the more we occupy ourselves with it. In it, so to speak, is plunged the most precious part of ourselves, which essentially constitutes the personality, the man. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 18]

Indeed, as the whole soul feels, she localizes the passion in the organ which has received the blow, and which suffers. If she herself experienced the suffering, as the whole of her is present in the whole body, she could not localize the suffering in one organ; the whole of her would feel the suffering; she would not relate it to any one part of the body, but to all in general: for she is present everywhere in the body. The finger suffers, and the man feels this suffering, because it is his finger. It is generally said that the man suffers in his finger, just as it is said that he is blond, because his eyes are blue. It is therefore the same entity that undergoes passion’ and suffering, unless the word “suffering’ should not here designate both the passion, and the sensation which follows it; in this case no more is meant than that the state of suffering is accompanied by sensation. The sensation itself is not the suffering, but the knowledge of the suffering. The potentiality which knows must be impassible to know well, and well to indicate what is perceived. For if the faculty which is to indicate the passions itself suffer, it will either not indicate them, or it will indicate them badly. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 19]

The observation of the different ages shows that it is indeed the organism which is the origin of desires. Indeed, these change according as the man is a child or a youth, sick or well. Nevertheless that part of the soul which is the seat of desires ever remains the same. Consequently the variations of desire must be traced back to the variations of the organism. But this desiring faculty of the soul is not always entirely wakened by the excitation of the body, although this subsists to the end. Often even before having deliberated, the soul will forbid the body to drink or eat, although the organism desires it as keenly as possible. Nature herself also often forbids the satisfaction of the bodily desire, because such desire may not seem to it natural, and because she alone has the right to decide what things are harmonious to or contrary to nature. The theory that the body, by its different states suggests different desires to the soul’s faculty of desire, does not explain how the different states of the body can inspire different desires in the soul’s faculty of desire, since then it is not itself that it seeks to satisfy. For it is not for itself, but for the organism, that the soul’s faculty of desire seeks foods, humidity or heat, motion, agitation, or the satisfaction of hunger. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 21]

It is impossible for the soul to become similar to sense-objects (in order to grasp them), by remaining pure. How indeed could a point become similar to a line? The intelligible line itself could not become conformed to the sense-line, any more than intelligible fire to the sense-fire, or the intelligible man to the sense-man. Nature herself which begets man could not be identical with the begotten man. The isolated soul, even if she could grasp sense-objects, will finish by applying herself to the intuition of intelligible objects, because, having nothing by which to grasp the former, she will let them escape. Indeed, when the soul perceives from far a visible object, although only the form reaches her, nevertheless what first began by being for her indivisible, finally constitutes a subject, whether it be color or a figure, whose size is determined by the soul. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 23]

As the circular movement of the world has nothing fortuitous, inasmuch as it is produced conformably to the reason of this great animal, a perfect symphonic (co-operation) between what “acts” and what “reacts” must exist within it; and there must also have been an order which would co-ordinate things one with another, so that at each of the phases of the circular movement of the world there might be a correspondence between the various beings subject to it, as if, in a varied choric ballet the dancers formed a single figure. As to our own modern dances, it is easy to explain the eternal things which contribute thereto, and which differ for every motion, like the sounds of the flute, the songs, and the other circumstances which are thereto related. It is not however as easy to conceive the motions of a person who conforms himself strictly to each figure, who accompanies, who raises one limb, or lowers another, who moves this limb, or holds the other limb motionless in a different attitude. The dancer’s eyes are doubtless fixed on some further aim while his limbs are still responding to the motions inspired by the music, by co-operating in expressing them, and in completing them symmetrically. Likewise, a man learned in the art of dancing could explain the reason that, in such a figure, such a limb is raised, such a limb is bent, while others are hidden or lowered; not indeed that the dancer deliberates about these different attitudes, but because in the general movement of his body he considers such a posture suitable to such a limb to fulfil its proper part in the dance. Likewise do the stars produce certain facts, and announce other ones. The entire world realizes its universal life by causing the motion of the greater parts it comprises, by ceaselessly changing the figures, so that the different positions of the parts, and their mutual relations may determine the rest, and that things may occur as in a movement executed by a single moving living organism. Thus such a state is produced by such an attitude, such positions, such figures; while some other state is produced by some other kind of figures, and so forth. Consequently, the real authors of what is occurring do not seem to be those who carry out the figures, but He who commands them; and He who plans the figures does not do one thing while busying Himself with another, because He is not acting on something different from Himself; He himself is all the things that are done; He here is the figures (formed by the universal movement), He himself there is the resultant passions in the animal so moved and constituted by nature, simultaneously “active” and “passive” as the result of necessary laws. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 33]

Things which appear as a figure themselves possess a characteristic influence, which changes according to the people with which they are brought in contact. Examples of this may be seen daily. Why do certain figures or appearances inspire us with terror, although they have never done us any harm, while others do not produce the same effect on us? Why are some people frightened by certain figures or appearances, while others are frightened by different ones? Because the former’s constitution specially acts on the former people, and the latter on the latter; they could only produce effects in harmony with their nature. One object attracts attention by a particular appearance, and would yet attract attention by a different constitution. If it was its beauty that exerted the power of arousing emotion, why then would this beautiful object move one man, while the other object would move another, if there be no potency in the difference of figure or appearance? It would be unreasonable to admit that colors have a characteristic influence and action, yet deny the same power to figures or appearances. It would, besides, be absurd, to admit the existence of something, but to refuse it all potency. Every being, because of his mere existence, must “act” or “suffer.” Some indeed “act” exclusively, while others both “act” and “suffer.” Substances contain influences independent of their figure or appearance. Terrestrial beings also possess many forces which are derived neither from heat nor cold. The reason is that these beings are endowed with different qualities, that they receive their forms from (“seminal) reasons,” and participate in the powers of nature; such are the peculiar virtues of natural stones, and the surprising effects produced by plants. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 35]

But how shall we explain the enchantments of magic? By the sympathy that things have for each other, the accord of those that are similar, the struggle of those that are contrary, the variety of the powers of the various beings which contribute to the formation of a single organism; for many things are attracted towards each other and are mutually enchanted, without the intervention of a magician. The real magic is the Love that reigns in the universe, with its contrary of Hate. The first magician, him whom men consult to act by the means of his philtres and enchantments, is Love; for it is from the natural mutual love of all things, and from the natural power they have to compel each others’ love, that is derived the efficaciousness of the art of inspiring love by employing enchantments. By this art, magicians bring together the natures which have an innate love for each other; they unite one soul to another as one cross-fertilizes distant plants; by employing (symbolic) figures which possess special virtues; by themselves taking certain attitudes, they noiselessly attract the powers of other beings, and induce them to conspire to unity so much the easier as they themselves are in unity. A being of the same disposition, but located outside of the universe, could neither by magic attractions fascinate, nor by his influence enchain any of the things contained in the world; on the contrary, from the moment that he is not a stranger to the world, he can attract towards himself other beings, knowing their mutual relations and attractions within the universal organism. There are indeed invocations, songs, words, (symbolic) figures, and, for instance, certain sad attitudes and plaintive tones which exert a natural attraction. Their influence extends even to the soul — I mean, the irrational soul; for neither the will nor the reason permit themselves to be subdued by the charms of music. This magic of music does not arouse any astonishment; nevertheless those who play or sing, charm and inspire love unintentionally. Nor does the virtue of prayers depend on their being heard by Beings that make free decisions; for these invocations do not address themselves to free-will. Thus when a man is fascinated by a serpent, he neither feels nor understands the influence exerted on him; he perceives what he has felt only after having experienced it — the governing part of the soul cannot anyway experience anything of the kind. Consequently when an invocation is addressed to a Being, some thing results; either for him who makes this invocation, or for some other person. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 40]

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]

Only the man devoted to contemplation can defy enchantments, inasmuch as none can be bewitched by himself. The man who contemplates has become unified; he has become what he contemplates, his reason is sheltered from all seductive influences. He does what he ought to do, he accomplishes his life and his proper function. As to the remainder of humanity, the soul does not fulfil her characteristic function, nor does reason determine its action; the irrational soul becomes the principle of action, and the passions furnish men with directions. The influence of a magic attraction manifests in the disposition to marriage, in the care we take of our children, and, in general, in all that the bait of pleasure leads us to do. Amidst our actions there are some that are provoked by an irrational power, either by anger, or the general faculty of desire of the soul. Other actions relate to political life, like the desire of obtaining office, and they spring from a desire to command. Those actions in which we propose to avoid some evil, are inspired by fear; while those actions in relating to the desire to possess more than others, are inspired by cupidity. Last, those actions relating to utility, and to the satisfaction of our needs, show with what force nature has attached us to life. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 44]

It may perhaps be said that the actions whose aim is noble and honest escape the influences of magic; otherwise contemplation itself would be subject thereto. This is true, that the man who performs deeds of honesty as being inevitable, with his eyes fixed on true Beauty, could never be bewitched. He knows duty, and the aim of his life (which would limit his efforts) is not anything on earth or in the (universe). It may indeed be objected that he is bewitched and attached here below by the magic force of human nature, which binds him to the lives of others and of himself. It would even be reasonable to say that we should not separate ourselves from the body because of the attachment for him inspired by some magic charm. As to the man who (to contemplation) prefers practical activity, and who contents himself with the beauty discovered therein, he is evidently misled by the deceptive traces of the Beautiful, since he seeks beauty in inferior things. Every activity unfolded in the domain of what has nothing but the appearance of truth, every inclination for this kind of thing supposes that the soul is deceived by what attracts it. That is the way in which the magic power of nature is exercised. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 44]

Indeed, to follow what is not Good as if it was the Good, to let oneself be misled by its appearance, and by irrational inclinations, that is the characteristic of a man who in spite of himself is led whither he does not wish to go. Now does this not really amount to yielding to a magic charm? He alone escapes every magic charm who, though he be carried away by the lower faculties of his soul, considers good none of the objects that seem such to these faculties, who calls good only what he by himself knows to be such, without being misled by any deceptive appearance; and who regards as good not what he has to seek, but what he possesses veritably. Then only could he in no way be misled by any magic charm. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 44]

Thus the evil man shows what he is, and he is by his nature impelled towards what already dominates him, both while he is here below, or after he has left this place; when he passes into the place towards which his inclinations draw him. The virtuous man, on the contrary, has, in all these respects, a different fate. Each one is thus driven by his nature, as by some occult force, towards the place whither he is to go. In this universe, therefore, there obtains an admirable power and order, since, by a secret, and hidden path, each one is led to the unescapable condition assigned to him by divine justice. The evil man does not know this, and is, in spite of himself, conducted to the place in the universe which he is to occupy. The wise man knows it, and himself proceeds to his destined abode. Before leaving this life, he knows what residence inevitably awaits him, and the hope of dwelling there some day in company with the divinities fills his life with happiness. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 45]

If as a preliminary pleasantry, we said that all beings, not only reasonable ones, but even the irrational, plants as well as the earth that begets them, aspire to contemplation, and are directed towards that end; that, as a result of the difference existing between them, some really achieve contemplation, while others only accomplish a reflection or image of it, we would no doubt be told that this was an absurd paradox. But as we are here engaged in a private study, we may, as an indulgence, support this paradox. While thus trifling, are we ourselves not actually engaging in contemplation? Besides, it would be not only we, but any who thus trifle, who aspire to contemplation. We might even say that a joking child, as well as a meditating man both aim at reaching contemplation when the former jokes, and the later meditates. Indeed, there is not a single action that does not tend towards contemplation; more or less externalizing it according as it is carried out strictly or freely. In any case its ultimate aim is always contemplation; but of this later. [Ennead III,8 (30) 1]

These words signify that nature is a soul begotten by a superior Soul that possesses a more potent life, and contains her contemplation silently within herself, without inclining towards that which is higher or lower. Abiding within her own essence (“being”) that is, within her own rest and self-consciousness, having discovered, so far as it was possible for her, what was below her, without going out of her way to seek it, nature produced an agreeable and brilliant object. If it is desired to attribute some sort of cognition or sensation to nature, these will resemble true cognition and sensation only as those of a man who is awake resemble those of a man who is asleep. For nature peaceably contemplates her object, which was born in her as effect of nature’s abiding within and with herself, of herself being an object of contemplation, and herself being a silent, if weak contemplation. There is, indeed, another power that contemplates more strongly; the nature which is the image of another contemplation. Consequently, what she has produced is very weak, because a weakened contemplation can beget a weak object only. [Ennead III,8 (30) 4]

Likewise it is men too weak for speculation who, in action, seek a shadow of speculation and reason. Not being capable of rising to speculation, and because of their soul-weakness not being able to grasp that which in itself is intelligible, and to fill themselves therewith, though however desiring to contemplate it, these men seek, by action, to achieve that which they could not obtain by thought alone. Thus we find that action is a weakness or result of contemplation, when we act, or desire to see, or to contemplate, or to grasp the intelligible, or try to get others to grasp it, or propose to act to the extent of our ability. It is a weakness, for, after having acted, we possess nothing of what we have done; and a consequence, because we contemplate something better than we ourselves have made. What man indeed who could contemplate truth would go and contemplate its image? This is the explanation of the taste for manual arts, and for physical activity (as thought Aristotle). [Ennead III,8 (30) 4]

Since he who rises to the contemplation of the intelligible world, and who conceives the beauty of true intelligence, can also, as we have pointed out, by intuition grasp the superior Principle, the Father of Intelligence, let us, so far as our strength allows us, try to understand and explain to ourselves how it is possible to contemplate the beauty of Intelligence and of the intelligible world. Let us imagine two pieces of marble placed side by side, the one rough and inartistic, the other one fashioned by the sculptor’s chisel, who made of it the statue of a goddess, a grace, or a muse; or that of a man — but not that of any individual whatever, but that of a (cultured gentle) man in whom art would have gathered all the traits of beauty offered by different individuals. After having thus from art received the beauty of the form, the second marble will appear beautiful, not by virtue of its essence, which is to be stone — for otherwise the other block would be as beautiful as this one — but because of the form received through art. The latter, however, did not exist in the matter of the statue. It was in the thought of the artist that it existed before passing into the marble; and it existed therein, not because it had eyes and hands, but because it participated in art. It was therefore in art that this superior beauty existed. It could not have become incorporated in stone. Dwelling within itself, it begat an inferior form, which, passing into matter, could neither preserve all its purity, nor completely respond to the will of the artist, possessing no perfection other than that allowed by matter. As the nature of art is to produce beauty, if art succeed in producing beauty which conforms to its constitutive essence, then, by the possession of the beauty essential to it, art possesses a beauty still greater and truer than that which passes into exterior objects. As all form extends by passing into matter, (this objectified form) is weaker than that which remains one. All that extends abandons its own (nature), as do force, heat, and in general any property; likewise with beauty. Every creating principle is always superior to the created thing. It is not the lack of musical ability, but the music itself that creates the musician; while it is the intelligible music that creates the sense music. It has been attempted to degrade the arts by saying that to create they imitate nature. This may be answered by pointing out that the natures of beings are themselves the images of other beings (or essences); besides, the arts do not limit themselves to the imitation of objects which offer themselves to our view, but that they go as far back as the (ideal) reasons from which are derived the nature of objects. Further the arts independently create many things, and to the perfection of the object they add what is lacking, because they possess beauty in themselves. Phidias seems to have represented Jupiter without copying any sense-objects, conceiving him such as he would appear to us if he ever revealed himself to our eyes. [Ennead V,8 (31) 1]

Whence came the beauty of that Helena about whom so many battles were fought? Whence comes the beauty of so many women comparable to Venus? Whence came the beauty of Venus herself? Whence comes the beauty of a perfect man, or that of one of those divinities who reveal themselves to our eyes, or who, without showing themselves, nevertheless possess a visible beauty? Does it not everywhere originate from the creating principle that passes into the creature, just as, in the art considered above, the beauty passes from the artist into the work? It would be unreasonable to assert that the creatures and the (“seminal) reason” united to matter are beautiful, while denying beauty to the “reason” which is not united to matter while still residing in the creator in a primary and incorporeal condition; and to assert that in order to become beautiful this reason must become united to matter. For if mass, as such, was beautiful, then the creative reason would be beautiful only in so far as it was mass. If form, whether in a large or small object, equally touches and moves the soul of the beholder, evidently beauty does not depend on the size of the mass. Still another proof of this is that so long as the form of the object remains exterior to the soul, and as we do not perceive it, it leaves us insensible; but as soon as it penetrates into the soul, it moves us. Now form alone can penetrate into the soul by the eyes; for great objects could not enter by so narrow a space. In this respect, the size of the object contrasts, because that which is great is not mass, but form. [Ennead V,8 (31) 2]

All the productions of nature or art are the works of a certain wisdom which ever presides over their creation. Art is made possible only by the existence of this wisdom. The talent of the artist is derived from the wisdom of nature which presides over the production of every work. This wisdom is not a sequence of demonstrations, as the whole of it forms a unity; it is not a plurality reduced to unity, but a unity which is resolved into a plurality. If we admit that this wisdom is primary Wisdom, there is nothing to be sought beyond it, since in this case it is independent of every principle, and is located within itself. If, on the contrary, we say that nature possesses the (“seminal) reason,” and is its principle, we shall have to ask whence nature derives it. If it be called a superior principle, we still have to ask the derivation of this principle; if it be derived from nothing, we need not go beyond it (but return to the above demonstration). If, on the contrary, it be derived from Intelligence, we shall have to examine whether Intelligence produced wisdom. The first objection here will be, how could it have done so? For if Intelligence itself produced it, Intelligence could not have produced it without itself being Wisdom. True Wisdom is therefore “being” and, on the other hand, “being” is wisdom, and derives its dignity from Wisdom; that is why “being” is veritable “Being.” Consequently, the being (essences) which do not possess wisdom are such beings only because they were created by a certain wisdom; but they are not true beings (essences), because they do not in themselves possess Wisdom. It would, therefore, be absurd to state that the divinities, or the blessed dwellers in the intelligible world, in that world are engaged in studying demonstrations. The entities that exist there are beautiful forms, such as are conceived of as existing within the soul of the wise man; I do not mean painted forms, but existing (substantial) forms. That is why the ancients said that ideas are essences and beings. [Ennead V,8 (31) 5]

Therefore, everything here below derives from above there, and is more beautiful in the superior world; for forms here below are mingled with matter; on high, they are pure. Thus this universe proceeds from the intelligible world, and is contained by the forms from beginning to end. First matter receives the forms of the elements, later receiving gradual accessions of other forms, so that ultimately matter becomes so buried under forms that it becomes difficult to recognize. It receives forms easily, because it (already) possesses a form which holds the lowest rank. Likewise, the producing Principle uses a form as model, and easily produces forms because it consists entirely of “being” and form; as a result, its work has been easy and universal, because itself was universal. Therefore it met no obstacle, and still exercises an absolute sovereignty. Even of the things that act as obstacles to each other, none, even until the present time, form an obstacle to the demiurgic (Creator), because He preserves His universality. That is why I am convinced that if even we were simultaneously the models, forms and essence of things, and if the form which produces here below were our essence, (that is, being), we would accomplish our work without trouble, though man, in his present state here below, produces (his individual body which is) a form different from himself; indeed, on becoming an individual, man ceased being universal. But on ceasing to be an individual, man, in the words of Plato, “soars in the ethereal region, and governs the whole world.” For, becoming universal, he administers the universe. [Ennead V,8 (31) 7]

This is what is beheld by Jupiter and by all those of us who share His love for this revelation. The last thing which then appears is the beauty that shines in its entirety in the essences (that is, beings), as well as in those who participate therein. In the intelligible world everything glows, and beautifies itself by shedding splendor on those who gaze at it. Thus men who have climbed a high mountain on arriving at the summit suddenly shine with the golden color reflected by the ground whereon they stand. Now the color that bathes the intelligible world is the beauty that blooms within its flower; or rather there everything is color, everything is beauty, in its most intimate depths; for beauty, in the intelligible world, is not a flower that blooms only on the surface. Those who do not apprehend the totality of the view appreciate the beauty of only that which meets their gaze; but those who, like men intoxicated with this sweet nectar, are, to the very soul, penetrated by the beauty of the intelligible world, are no longer mere spectators. No longer are the contemplated objects and the contemplated soul two things exterior to each other. If the soul’s gaze is piercing enough, she finds the object she contemplates within herself. Often she possesses it without knowing it. Then indeed does she contemplate it as she would contemplate some exterior object, because she seeks to see it in the same manner. Every time that one looks at something as a spectacle, it is seen outside of oneself. Now this spectacle of the intelligible world must be transferred within oneself, and be contemplated as something with which one has fused, to the point of identity. Thus a man, possessed by a divinity, whether by Phoebus or by some Muse, would contemplate this divinity within himself, if he were at all able to contemplate a divinity. [Ennead V,8 (31) 10]

(The ecstasy operates as follows.) When a man is entranced by the divinity, he loses consciousness of himself. Then when he contemplates the (divine) spectacle which he possesses within himself, he contemplates himself and sees his image embellished. However beautiful it be, he must leave it aside, and concentrate upon the unity, without dividing any of it. Then he becomes simultaneously one and all with this divinity which grants him His presence silently. Then is the man united to the divinity to the extent of his desire and ability. If, while remaining pure, he return to duality, he remains as close as possible to the divinity, and he enjoys the divine presence as soon as he turns towards the divinity. [Ennead V,8 (31) 11]

We have just said that a man can see, either in differing from what he sees, or in identifying himself with the object seen. Now, when he has seen, either as being different, or as being identical, what does he report? He tells us that he has seen the Divinity beget an offspring of an incomparable beauty, producing everything in Himself, and without pain preserving within Himself what He has begotten. In fact, charmed with the things He has begotten, and full of love for his works, the Divinity retained them within Himself, congratulating Himself upon their splendor, as much as upon his own. In the midst of these beauties, nevertheless inferior to those which have remained within the nature of the Divinity, alone of all these beings, his Son (Jupiter, the son of Saturn, here representing the universal Soul born of divine Intelligence) has manifested himself externally. By him, as by an image, you may judge of the greatness of his Father, and that of his brothers still unissued from within their Father’s nature. Besides, it is not in vain that Jupiter tells us that he proceeds from his Father; for he constitutes another world that has become beautiful, because he is the image of beauty, and because it is impossible that the image of beauty and being should not itself be beautiful. Jupiter, therefore, everywhere imitates his archetype. That is why, because he is an image, he possesses life and constitutes being; and that is why, because he proceeds from his Father, he also possesses beauty. He likewise enjoys the privilege of being the image of his eternity. Otherwise he would at one time reveal the image of his Father, and at other times he would not; which is impossible, because he is not an artificial image. Every natural image remains what it was, so long as its archetype subsists. It is therefore an error to believe that, while the intelligible world subsists, the visible world could perish, and that it was begotten in such a manner as that he who had created it, had done so with deliberation. Whatever indeed might have been the manner of operation, these men do not wish to conceive and believe that, so long as the intelligible world shines, other things that proceed therefrom could not perish; and that they exist ever since (their model) existed. But the (intelligible world) has ever existed, and will ever exist; for (in spite of their impropriety), we are obliged to make use of such terms to express our thought. [Ennead V,8 (31) 12]

So great a King deserved to have dazzling beauty as the (ostentatious) van of his (royal) procession. In the course of rising towards Him are first met the things which by their inferior dignity are classed among the first ranks of the procession; later those that are greater and more beautiful; around the king stand those that are truly royal, while even those that follow Him are of value. Then, after all these things, suddenly breaks in upon our view the King himself; and we who have remained behind after the departure of those who were satisfied with a view of the preliminaries, fall down and worship. A profound difference distinguishes the great King from all that precedes Him. But it must not be supposed that He governs them as one man governs another. He possesses the most just and natural sovereignty. He possesses real royalty because He is the King of truth. He is the natural master of all these beings that He has begotten, and which compose His divine body-guard. He is the king of the king and of the kings, and is justly called Father of the divinities. Jupiter himself (who is the universal Soul), imitates Him in this respect that he does not stop at the contemplation of his father, (who is Intelligence), and he rises to the actualization of his grandfather, and he penetrates into the hypostatic substance of His being. [Ennead V,5 (32) 3]

Returning to our former assertion that the First ever remains identical, even though giving birth to other beings, the generation of numbers may be explained by the immanence of Unity, and by the action of another principle which forms them, as images of unity. So much the more must the Principle superior to beings be immanent Unity; but here it is the First himself who begets the beings, and not another principle who produces beings in the image of the First while this First would abide within Himself. Likewise the form of unity, which is the principle of numbers, exists within all in different degrees, because the numbers posterior to unity participate therein unequally. Likewise, the beings inferior to the First contain something of His nature, which something constitutes their form. Numbers derive their quantity from their participation in unity. Likewise here beings owe their being to their containing the trace of the One, so that their being is the trace of the One. Not far from the truth would we be in holding that essence, which is the (more common or) plainer nomenclature of being, is derived from the word “hen,” which means one. Indeed essence proceeded immediately from the One, and has differentiated from Him but very little. Turning towards its own basis, it has settled, and both became and is the “being” of all. When a man pronounces essence (“on”), and emphasizes it, he unconsciously approximates the sound meaning one (“hen”), demonstrating that essence proceeds from unity, as indeed is indicated, so far as possible, by the word “on,” which means essence. That is why “being” (“ousia”) and essence (“einai”) imitate so far as they can the principle of the Power from which they have emanated. The human mind, observing these similarities, and guided by their contemplation, imitated what it grasped by uttering the words “on,” “einai,” “ousia,” and “hestia.” Indeed, these sounds try to express the nature of what has been begotten by unity, by means of the very effort made by the speaker so as to imitate as well as possible the generation of being. [Ennead V,5 (32) 5]

Whence rises He whose image is our sun? Above what horizon must He rise, or appear, to enlighten us? He must appear above the contemplating Intelligence. Thus, Intelligence must remain immovable in contemplation, concentrated and absorbed in the spectacle of pure beauty which elevates and invigorates it. Then Intelligence feels that it is more beautiful and more brilliant, merely because it has approached the First. The latter does not come, as might be thought; He comes without really coming, in the proper sense of the word; He appears without coming from any place, because He is already present above all things before Intelligence approaches Him. In fact, it is Intelligence which approaches and withdraws from the First; it withdraws when it does not know where it should be, or where is the First. The First is nowhere; and if Intelligence could also be nowhere — I do not wish to say “in no place,” for itself is outside of all place, that is, absolutely nowhere — it would always perceive the First; or rather, it would not perceive Him, it would be within the First, and fusing with Him. By the mere fact that Intelligence is intelligence, it perceives the First only by that part of itself which is not intelligence (that is, which is above Intelligence). It doubtless seems surprising that the One could be present to us without approaching us; and be everywhere, though being nowhere. This surprise is based on the weakness of our nature; but the man who knows the First would much more likely be surprised were the state of affairs different. It cannot indeed be otherwise. Wonder at it, if you please; but what has been said nevertheless represents the real state of the case. [Ennead V,5 (32) 8]

The first Principle is infinite because He is one, and nothing in Him could be limited by anything whatever. Being one, He is not subject to measure or number. He is limited neither by others nor by Himself, since He would thus be double. Since He has neither parts nor form, He has no figure. Not by mortal eyes therefore must you seek to grasp this principle such as reason conceives of Him. Do not imagine that He could be seen in the way that would be imagined by a man who believes that everything is perceived by the senses, and thus annihilate the principle which is the supreme reality. The things to which the common people attribute reality do not possess it; for that which has extension has less reality (than that which has no extension); now the First is the principle of existence, and is even superior to “being.” You must therefore admit the contrary of that which is asserted by those commonplace persons; otherwise, you will be deprived of the divinity. You would resemble such men as in the sacred festivals gorge themselves with the foods from which one should abstain on approaching the divinities, and who, regarding this enjoyment as more certain than the contemplation of the divinity whose festival is being celebrated, depart without having participated in the mysteries. Indeed as the divinity does not reveal Himself in these mysteries, these gross men doubt His existence, because they consider real only what is visible by the physical eyes. Thus people who would spend their whole life in slumber would consider as certain and real the things they would see in their dreams; if they were to be waked and forced to open their eyes, they would place no credence in the testimony of their eyes, and would plunge themselves again into their somnolence. [Ennead V,5 (32) 11]

We should not seek to perceive an object otherwise than by the faculty that is suitable to cognize it. Thus colors are perceived by the eyes, sounds by the ears, and other qualities by other senses. Analogy would assign to intelligence its proper function, so that thinking should not be identified with seeing and hearing. To act otherwise would be to resemble a man who would try to perceive colors by the ears, and who would deny the existence of sounds because he could not see them. We must never forget that men have forgotten the Principle which from the beginning until this day has excited their desires and wishes. Indeed all things aspire to the first Principle, tend thither by a natural necessity, and seem to divine that they could not exist without Him. The notion of the beautiful is given only to souls that are awake, and that already possess some knowledge; at sight of Him they are simultaneously dazed with His sublimity, and spurred on by love. From His very origin, on the contrary, the Good excites in us an innate desire; He is present with us even in sleep; His view never dazes us with stupor, because He is always with us. Enjoyment of His presence demands neither reminiscence nor attention, because one is not deprived thereof even in sleep. When the love of the beautiful overwhelms us, it causes us anxieties, because the sight of the beautiful makes us desire it. As the love excited by the beautiful is only secondary, and as it exists only in such persons as possess already some knowledge, the beautiful evidently occupies only the second rank. On the contrary, the desire of the Good is more original, and demands no preliminary knowledge. That surely demonstrates that the Good is anterior and superior to the beautiful. Besides, all men are satisfied as soon as they possess the Good; they consider that they have reached their goal. But not all think that the beautiful suffices them; they think that the beautiful is beautiful for itself, rather than for them; as the beauty of an individual is an advantage only for himself. Last, the greater number of people are satisfied with seeming beautiful, even if they are not so in reality; but they are not satisfied with seeming to possess the Good, which they desire to possess in reality. Indeed, all desire to have that which occupies the front rank; but they struggle, they engage in rivalry about the beautiful in the opinion that it is born just as they are (from development of circumstances). They resemble a person who would claim equality with another person who holds the first rank after the king, because both depend from the king; such a person does not realize that though both are subject to the king, yet there is a great difference in hierarchical rank between them; the cause of this error is that both participate in a same principle, that the One is superior to both of them, and that lastly the Good has no need of the beautiful, while the beautiful is in need of the Good. The Good is sweet, calm, and full of delights; we enjoy it at will. On the contrary, the beautiful strikes the soul with amazement, agitates it, and mingles pains with pleasures. In spite of ourselves we are thereby often separated from the Good, like a beloved object separates a son from the father. The Good is more ancient than the beautiful, not in time, but in reality; besides, it exerts superior power, because it is unlimited. That which is inferior to it, possesses only an inferior and dependent power, instead of having a limitless power (as belongs to Intelligence, which is inferior to the Good). The Divinity therefore is master of the power which is inferior to His own; He has no need of things that are begotten; for it is from Him that all their contents are derived. Besides, He had no need of begetting; He still is such as He was before; nothing would have been changed for Him if He had not begotten; if it had been possible for other things to receive existence (independently of Himself) He would not have opposed it through jealousy. It is now no longer possible for anything to be begotten, for the divinity has begotten all that He could beget. Nor is He the universality of things, for thus He would stand in need of them. Raised above all things, He has been able to beget them, and to permit them to exist for themselves by dominating all. [Ennead V,5 (32) 12]

Elsewhere we have demonstrated that this world never began, and will never end; and that it must last as long as the intelligible entities. We have also shown, and that earlier than these (Gnostics), that the soul’s intercourse with the body is not advantageous to her. But to judge the universal Soul according to ours is to resemble a man who would blame the totality of a well governed city by an examination limited to the workers in earth or metal. [Ennead II,9 (33) 7]

What would be the nature of a world better than the present one, if it were possible? The present one must be a faithful image of the intelligible world, if the existence of the world be necessary, and if there be no better possible world. The whole earth is peopled with animate and even immortal beings; from here below up to the heaven (the world) is full of them. Why should the stars in the highest sphere (the fixed stars), and those in the lower spheres (the planets), not be divinities, in view of their regular motion, and their carrying out a magnificent revolution around the world? Why should they not possess virtue? What obstacle could hinder them from acquiring it? Not on high are found the things which here below make men evil; namely, that evil nature which both is troubled, and troubles. With their perpetual leisure why should not the stars possess intelligence, and be acquainted with the divinity and all the other intelligible deities? How should we possess a wisdom greater than theirs? Only a foolish man would entertain such thoughts. How could our souls be superior to the stars when at the hands of the universal Soul they undergo the constraint of descending here below? For the best part of souls is that which commands. If, on the contrary, the souls descend here below voluntarily, why should the (Gnostics) find fault with this sphere whither they came voluntarily, and from which they can depart whenever it suits them? That everything here below depends on the intelligible principles is proved by the fact that the organization of the world is such that, during this life, we are able to acquire wisdom, and live out a life similar to that of the divinities. [Ennead II,9 (33) 8]

No one would complain of poverty and the unequal distribution of wealth if one realized that the sage does not seek equality in such things, because he does not consider that the rich man has any advantage over the poor man, the prince over the subject. The sage leaves such opinions to commonplace people, for he knows that there are two kinds of life; that of the virtuous who achieve the supreme degree (of perfection) and the intelligible world, and that of common earthly men. Even the latter life is double; for though at times they do think of virtue, and participate somewhat in the good, at other times they form only a vile crowd, and are only machines, destined to satisfy the primary needs of virtuous people. There is no reason to be surprised at a man committing a murder, or, through weakness, yielding to his passions, when souls, that behave like young, inexperienced persons, not indeed like intelligences, daily behave thus. It has been said that this life is a struggle in which one is either victor or vanquished. But is not this very condition a proof of good arrangement? What does it matter if you are wronged, so long as you are immortal? If you be killed, you achieve the fate that you desired. If you have reason to complain of how you are treated in some particular city, you can leave it. Besides, even here below, there evidently are rewards and punishments. Why then complain of a society within which distributive justice is exercised, where virtue is honored, and where vice meets its deserved punishment? [Ennead II,9 (33) 9]

If, however, you pretend to scorn these (stars that are considered) divinities, and if you hold yourself in high esteem, on the plea that you are not far inferior to them, learn first that the best man is he who is most modest in his relations with divinities and men. In the second place, learn that one should think of the divinity only within limits, without insolence, and not to seek to rise to a condition that is above human possibilities. It is unreasonable to believe that there is no place by the side of the divinity for all other men, while impudently proposing alone to aspire to that dignity. This by itself would deprive the Soul of the possibility of assimilation to the Divinity to the limit of her receptivity. This the Soul cannot attain unless guided by Intelligence. To pretend to rise above Intelligence, is to fall short of it. There are people insane enough to believe, without reflection, claims such as the following (“By initiation into secret knowledge, or gnosis), you will be better, not only than all men, but even than all the deities.” These people are swollen with pride; and men who before were modest, simple and humble, become arrogant on hearing themselves say, “You are a child of the divinity; the other men that you used to honor are not his children, any more than the stars who were worshipped by the ancients. You yourself, without working, are better than heaven itself.” Then companions crowd around him, and applaud his utterance. He resembles a man who, though not knowing how to count, should, in the midst of a crowd of men, equally ignorant with him, hear it said by somebody that he was a thousand feet high while others were only five feet high. He would not realize what was meant by a thousand feet, but he would consider this measure very great. [Ennead II,9 (33) 9]

Those who complain of the nature of the world do not know what they are doing, nor the extent of their audacity. Many men are ignorant of the close concatenation which unites the entities of the first, second, and third ranks, and which descends even to those of the lowest degree. Instead of blaming what is subordinate to first principles, we should gently submit to the laws of the universe, rise to first principles, not undergo those tragic terrors, inspired in certain people by the spheres of the world which exert on us nothing but a beneficent influence. What is so terrible in them? Why should they be feared by these men foreign to philosophy and all sound learning? Though celestial spheres do have fiery bodies, they should not inspire us with any fear, because they are perfectly harmonious with the universe and with the earth. We must besides consider the souls of the stars to which those (Gnostics) consider themselves so superior, while their bodies, which surpass ours so much in size and beauty, efficaciously concur in the production of things that are conformed to the order of nature; for such things could not be born if first principles alone existed. Finally the stars complete the universe, and are important members thereof. If even man holds a great superiority over animals, there must be a far greater superiority in those stars which exist as ornaments to the universe, and to establish order therein, and not to exert thereover a tyrannical influence. The events that are said to flow from the stars are rather signs thereof than causes. Besides, the events that really do flow from the stars differ among each other by circumstances. It is not therefore possible that the same things should happen to all men, separated as they are by their times of birth, the places of their residence, and the dispositions of their souls. It is just as unreasonable to expect that all would be good, nor, because of the impossibility of this, to go and complain on the grounds that all sense-objects should be similar to intelligible objects. Moreover, evil is nothing but what is less complete in respect to wisdom, and less good, in a decreasing gradation. For instance, nature (that is, the power of growth and generation) should not be called evil because she is not sensation; nor sensation be called evil, because it is not reason. Otherwise, we might be led to think that there was evil in the intelligible world. Indeed, the Soul is inferior to Intelligence, and Intelligence is inferior to the One. [Ennead II,9 (33) 13]

We should however observe the moral effect produced in the soul of those who listen to the speeches of these men who teach scorn of the world and its contents. About the destiny of man there are two principal doctrines. The one assigns as our end the pleasures of the body, the other suggests honesty and virtue, the love of which comes from the divinity, and leads back to the Divinity, as we have shown elsewhere. Epicurus  , who denies divine Providence, advises us to seek the only thing that remains, the enjoyments of pleasure. Well, the (Gnostics) hold a still more pernicious doctrine; they blame the manner in which divine Providence operates, and they accuse Providence itself; they refuse respect to laws established here below, and the virtue which has been honored by all centuries. To destroy the last vestiges of honor, they destroy temperance by joking at it; they attack justice, whether natural, or acquired by reason or exercise; in one word, they annihilate everything that could lead to virtue. Nothing remains but to seek out pleasure, to profess selfishness, to renounce all social relations with men, to think only of one’s personal interest, unless indeed one’s own innate disposition be good enough to resist their pernicious doctrines. Nothing that we regard as good is by them esteemed, for they seek entirely different objects. [Ennead II,9 (33) 15]

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]

How could it ever be considered pious to claim that divine Providence does not extend to sense-objects, or at least interests itself only in some of them (the spiritual men, not the psychical)? Such an assertion must surely be illogical. The (Gnostics) claim that divine Providence interests itself only in them. Was this the case while they were living on high, or only since they live here below? In the first case, why did they descend onto this earth? In the second, why do they remain here below? Besides, why should the Divinity not be present here below also? Otherwise how could He know that the (Gnostics), who are here below, have not forgotten Him, and have not become perverse? If He know those that have not become perverse, He must also know those who have become perverse, to distinguish the former from the latter. He must therefore be present to all men, and to the entire world, in some manner or other. Thus the world will participate in the Divinity. If the Divinity deprived the world of His presence, He would deprive you also thereof, and you could not say anything of Him or of the beings below Him. The world certainly derives its existence from Him whether the divinity protect you by His providence or His help, and whatever be the name by which you refer to Him. The world never was deprived of the Divinity, and never will be. The world has a better right than any individuals to the attentions of Providence, and to participation in divine perfections. This is particularly true in respect to the universal Soul, as is proved by the existence and wise arrangement of the world. Which of these so proud individuals is as well arranged, and as wise as the universe, and could even enter into such a comparison without ridicule or absurdity? Indeed, unless made merely in the course of a discussion, such a comparison is really an impiety. To doubt such truths is really the characteristic of a blind and senseless man, without experience or reason, and who is so far removed from knowledge of the intelligible world that he does not even know the sense-world? Could any musician who had once grasped the intelligible harmonies hear that of sense-sounds without profound emotion? What skilful geometrician or arithmetician will fail to enjoy symmetry, order and proportion, in the objects that meet his view? Though their eyes behold the same objects as common people, experts see in them different things; when, for instance, with practiced glance, they examine some picture. When recognizing in sense-objects an image of intelligible (essence), they are disturbed and reminded of genuine beauty: that is the origin of love. One rises to the intelligible by seeing a shining image of beauty glowing in a human face. Heavy and senseless must be that mind which could contemplate all the visible beauties, this harmony, and this imposing arrangement, this grand panoramic view furnished by the stars in spite of their distance, without being stirred to enthusiasm, and admiration of their splendor and magnificence. He who can fail to experience such feelings must have failed to observe sense-objects, or know even less the intelligible world. [Ennead II,9 (33) 16]

What opinion should we hold of that which is called the number of infinity? We must begin by examining how it can be a number, if it be infinite. Indeed, sense-objects are not infinite; consequently, the number which inheres in them could not be infinite, and he who numbers them, does not number infinity. Even if they were multiplied by two, or by more, they still could always be determined; if they were multiplied in respect of the past or the future, they would still be determined. It might be objected that number is not infinite in an absolute manner, but only (in a relative manner) in this sense, that it is always possible to add thereto. But he who numbers does not create numbers; they were already determined, and they existed (before being conceived by him who was numbering them). As beings in the intelligible world are determined, their number is also determined by the quantity of beings. Just as we make man manifold by adding to him the beautiful, and other things of the kind, we can make an image of number correspond to the image of every intelligible being. Just as, in thought, we can multiply a town that does not exist, so can we multiply numbers. When we number the parts of time, we limit ourselves to applying to them the numbers that we have in ourselves, and which, merely on that account, do not cease remaining in us. [Ennead VI,6 (34) 2]

What then is the nature of number? Is it a consequence, and partially an aspect of each being, like man and one-man, essence and one-essence? Can the same be said for all the intelligibles, and is that the origin of all numbers? If so, how is it that on high (in the intelligible world) the pair and triad exist? How are all things considered within unity, and how will it be possible to reduce number to unity, since it has a similar nature? There would thus be a multitude of unities, but no other number would be reduced to unity, except the absolute One. It might be objected that a pair is the thing, or rather the aspect of the thing which possesses two powers joined together, such as is a composite reduced to unity, or such as the Pythagoreans conceived the numbers, which they seem to have predicated of other objects, by analogy. For instance, they referred to justice as the (Tetrad, or) group-of-four, and likewise for everything else. Thus a number, as for instance a group-of-ten, would be considered as a single (group of) unity, and would be connected with the manifold contained in the single object. This, however, is an inadequate account of our conception of “ten”; we speak of the objects after gathering (ten) separate objects. Later, indeed, if these ten objects constitute a new unity, we call the group a “decad.” The same state of affairs must obtain with intelligible Numbers. If such were the state of affairs (answers Plotinos  ), if number were considered only within objects, would it possess hypostatic existence? It might be objected, What then would hinder that, though we consider white within things, that nevertheless the White should (besides) have a hypostatic substantial existence? For movement is indeed considered within essence, and yet (it is agreed that) movement possesses a “hypostatic” substantial existence within essence. The case of number, however, is not similar to that of movement; for we have demonstrated that movement thus considered in itself is something unitary. Moreover, if no more than such a hypostatic substantial existence be predicated of number, it ceases to be a being, and becomes an accident, though it would not even then be a pure accident; for what is an accident must be something before becoming the accident (of some substance). Though being inseparable therefrom, it must possess its own individual nature in itself, like whiteness; and before being predicated of something else, it already is what it is posited. Consequently, if one be in every (being), one man is not identical with man; if “one” be something different from “man” and from every other (being), if it be something common to all (beings), one must be anterior to all men and to all other (beings), so that man and all other beings may be one. The one is therefore anterior to movement, since movement is one, and likewise anterior to essence, to allow for essence also being one. This of course does not refer to the absolute Unity that is recognized as superior to essence, but of the unity which is predicated of every intelligible form. Likewise, above that of which the decad is predicated subsists the “Decad in itself,” for that in which the decad is recognized could not be the Decad in itself. [Ennead VI,6 (34) 5]

Does unity therefore inhere in essences, and does it subsist with them? If it inhere in essences, or if it be an accident, as health is an accident of man, it must be something individual (like health). If unity be an element of the composite, it will first have to exist (individually), and be an unity in itself, so as to be able to unify itself to something else; then, being blended with this other thing that it has unified, it will not longer remain really one, and will thereby even become double. Besides, how would that apply to the decad? What need of the (intelligible) Decad has that which is already a decad, by virtue of the power it possesses? Will it receive its form from that Decad? If it be its matter, if it be ten and decad only because of the presence of the Decad, the Decad will have first to exist in itself, in the pure and simple state of (being a) Decad. [Ennead VI,6 (34) 5]

Since then the (universal) Organism possesses primary existence, since it is simultaneously organism, intelligence, and veritable “Being”; and as we state that it contains all organisms, numbers, justice, beauty, and the other similar beings — for we mean something different by the Man himself, and Number itself, and Justice itself — we have to determine, so far as it is possible in such things, what is the condition and nature of each intelligible entity. [Ennead VI,6 (34) 8]

It remains for us to discover whether it were “Being,” in the process of division, that begat number, or whether it be the number that divided “Being.” (This is the alternative:) either “being,” movement, stability, difference and identity produced number, or it is number that produced all these (categories, or) genera. Our discussion must start thus. Is it possible that number should exist in itself, or must we contemplate two in two objects, three in three objects, and so forth? The same question arises about unity as considered within numbers; for if number can exist in itself independently of numbered things, it can also exist previously to the essences. Can number therefore exist before the essences? It might be well preliminarily to assert that number is posterior to the Essence, and proceeds therefrom. But then if essence be one essence, and if two essences be two essences, one will precede essence, and the other numbers will precede the essences. (Would number then precede the essences) only in thought and conception, or also in the hypostatic existence? We should think as follows. When you think of a man as being one, or the beautiful as being one, the one that is thus conceived in both (beings) is something that is thought only afterward. Likewise, when you simultaneously consider a dog and a horse, here also two is evidently something posterior. But if you beget the man, if you beget the horse or the dog, or if you produce them outside when they already exist in you, without begetting them, nor producing them by mere chance (of seeing them), you will say, “We should go towards one (being), then pass to another, and thus get two; then make one more being, by adding my person.” Likewise, (beings) were not numbered after they were created, but before they were created, when (the creator) decided how many should be created. [Ennead VI,6 (34) 9]

In general, everything which is predicated of an object either comes to it from without, or is its actualization. Unless by nature it be inconstant, being present now, and absent then, if it be always present, it is a being when the object is a being. If it be denied that its nature were that of a being, it will surely be granted that it is a part of the essences, and that it is an essence. Now, if the object can be conceived without the thing which is its actualization, this thing nevertheless exists contemporaneously with it, even though in thought it be conceived posteriorily. If the object cannot be conceived without this thing, as man cannot be conceived of without one, in this case one is not posterior to man, but is simultaneous, or even anterior, since the man’s subsistence is entirely dependent thereon. As to us, we recognize that Unity and Number precede (Essence and the essences). [Ennead VI,6 (34) 10]

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]

(From the above discussion about the intelligibility of numbers) let us now return to what we said in the beginning. The universal (Being) is veritable Essence, Intelligence, and perfect living Organism; and at the same time contains also all the living organisms. Our universe, which also is an organism, by its unity imitates so far as it can the unity of the perfect living Organism. I say, to the extent of its capacity, because, by its nature, the sense-world has departed from the unity of the intelligible world; otherwise, it would not be the sense-world. Moreover, the universal living Organism must be the universal Number; for if it were not a perfect number, it would lack some number; and if it did not contain the total number of living organisms, it would not be the perfect living Organism. Number therefore exists before every living organism, and before the universal living Organism. Man and the other living organisms are in the intelligible world; so far as they are living organisms, and so far as the intelligible world is the universal living Organism; for man, even here below, is a part of the living Organism, so far as itself is a living organism, and as the living Organism is universal; the other living organisms are also in the living Organism, so far as each of them is a living organism. [Ennead VI,6 (34) 15]

But when you say that the Man considered in himself is a number, as, for instance, a pair, because he is both animal and reasonable, we have here no more than a simple modality. For, while reasoning and enumerating we produce a quantity; but so far as there are here two things (animal and reasonable), and as each of them is one, as each completes the being of the man, and possesses unity; we are here using and proclaiming another kind of number, the essential Number. Here the pair is not posterior to things; it does not limit itself to expressing a quantity which is exterior to essence; it expresses what is in the very being of this essence, and contains its nature. [Ennead VI,6 (34) 16]

Indeed, it is not you who here below produce number when you by discursive reason range through things that exist by themselves, and which do not depend for their existence on your enumeration; for you add nothing to the being of a man by enumerating him with another. That is no unity, as in a “choric ballet.” When you say, ten men, “ten” exists only in you who are enumerating. We could not assert that “ten” exists in the ten men you are enumerating, because these men are not co-ordinated so as to form a unity; it is you yourself who produce ten by enumerating this group of ten, and by making up a quantity. But when you say, a “choric ballet,” an “army,” there is something which exists outside of these objects, and within yourself. How are we to understand that the number exists in you? The number which existed in you before you made the enumeration has another mode (of existence) (than the number that you produce by enumeration). As to the number which manifests itself in exterior objects and refers to the number within yourself, it constitutes an actualization of the essential numbers, or, is conformable to the essential Numbers; for, while enumerating you produce a number, and by this actualization you give hypostatic existence to quantity, as in walking you did to movement. [Ennead VI,6 (34) 16]

Would equal happiness be predicated of three men, one who had been happy from his life’s beginning to its end, the other only at its end, and the third, who had been happy, but who ceased being such. This comparison is not between three men who are happy, but between one man who is happy, with two who are deprived of happiness, and that at the (present moment) when happiness (counts most). If then one of them have any advantage, he possesses it as a man actually happy compared with such as are not; he therefore surpasses the two others by the actual possession of happiness. [Ennead I,5 (36) 5]

Somebody might object that by subsisting till the present, the memory of the past adds something more to him who has long lived happily. In this case it will be necessary to examine what is meant by this memory. If it mean the memory of former wisdom, and if it mean that he who would possess this memory would become wiser on account of it, then this memory differs from our question (which studies happiness, and not wisdom). If it mean the memory of pleasure, it would imply that the happy man has need of much pleasure, and cannot remain satisfied with what is present. Besides, there is no proof that the memory of a past pleasure is at all pleasant; on the contrary, it would be entirely ridiculous to remember with delight having tasted a delicious dish the day before, and still more ridiculous remembering such an enjoyment ten years ago. It would be just as ridiculous to pride one self on having been a wise man last year. [Ennead I,5 (36) 8]

Could not the memory of virtuous actions contribute to happiness? No: for such a memory cannot exist in a man who has no virtue at present, and who thereby is driven to seek out the memory of past virtues. [Ennead I,5 (36) 9]

Another objection is that length of time would give opportunity for doing many beautiful deeds; while this opportunity is denied him who lives happily only a short period. This may be answered by denying happiness to a man on the grounds of having done many beautiful deeds. If several parts of time and several actions are to constitute happiness, then it would be constituted by things that are no more, that are past, and by present things; whereas our definition of happiness limits it exclusively to the present. Then we considered whether length of time add to happiness. There remains only to examine whether happiness of long duration be superior because of yielding opportunities of doing more beautiful deeds. To begin with, the man who is inactive may be just as happy, if not more happy than he who is active. Besides, it is not actions themselves which yield happiness; (the sources of happiness) are states of mind, which are the principles of beautiful actions. The wise man enjoys welfare while active, but not because of this activity; he derives (this welfare) not from contingent things, but from what he possesses in himself. For it might happen even to a vicious man to save his fatherland, or to feel pleasure in seeing it saved by some other. It is not then these activities which are the causes of the enjoyment of happiness. True beatitude and the joys it yields must be derived from the constant disposition of the soul. To predicate it of activity, would be to make it depend on things alien to virtue and the soul. The soul’s actualization consists in being wise, and in exercising her self-activity; this is true happiness. [Ennead I,5 (36) 10]

When the (higher) Divinity, or (some lower) divinity, sent souls down into generation, He gave to the face of man eyes suitable to enlighten him, and placed in the body the other organs suited to the senses, foreseeing that (a living organism) would be able to preserve itself only on condition of seeing, hearing and touching contiguous objects, to enable it to select some, and to avoid others. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 1]

But can you explain this divine foresight? You must not believe that He would have begun by making (animals) who perished for lack of senses, and that later (the divinity) gave senses to man and other animals so that they could preserve themselves from death. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 1]

There is indeed no reasoning in the divinity. When we speak of it, in connection with the divinity, it is only to explain that He has regulated everything as might have been done by some wise man, who would have reasoned about results. Attributing foresight to the divinity indicates merely that He has disposed everything as might have been done by some wise man who had foreseen results. Indeed the only use of reasoning is to put in order things whose existence is not anterior to that of reasoning, every time that that (Intelligence), the power superior to reasoning, is not strong enough. Likewise, prevision is necessary in this case, because he who makes use of it does not possess a power that would enable him to forego or do without it. Prevision proposes to effect some one thing instead of another, and seems to fear that that which it desires might not occur. But, for a (being) which can do but one thing, both foresight and the reasoning that decides between contraries, are useless; for there is no need of reasoning when, of two contrary courses of action, one only is possible. How would the Principle which is single, unitary and simple, have need to reflect that He must do one thing, so that some other might not take place, or to judge that the second would occur as alternative to the first? How could He say that experience has already demonstrated the utility of some one thing, and that it is well to make use of it? If the divinity acted thus, then indeed would He have had recourse to prevision, and consequently, to reasoning. It is on this hypothesis that we said above that the divinity gave animals senses and faculties; but it is quite a problem to know what and how He really gave them. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 1]

(By this process) we also know the nature of Intelligence, which we see still better than the other things, though we cannot grasp its magnitude. We admit, in fact, that it possesses the whatness (essence), of everything, but not its “whyness” (its cause); or, if we grant (that this “cause” be in Intelligence), we do not think that it is separated (from its “whatness” (or, essence). Let us suppose that, for instance, the man, or, if possible, the eye, should offer itself to our contemplation (in the intelligible world) as a statue, or as a part of it, would do. The man that we see on high is both essence and cause. As well as the eye, he must be intellectual, and contain his cause. Otherwise, he could not exist in the intelligible world. Here below, just as each part is separated from the others, so is the cause separated (from the essence). On high, on the contrary, all things exist in unity, and each thing is identical with its cause. This identity may often be noticed even here below, as for instance, in eclipses. It would therefore seem probable that in the intelligible world everything would, besides the rest, possess its cause, and that its cause constitutes its essence. This must be admitted; and that is the reason why those who apply themselves to grasp the characteristic of each being succeed (in also grasping its cause). Indeed that which each (being) is, depends on the “cause of such a form.” To repeat: not only is a (being’s) form its cause, (which is incontestable), but yet, if one analyses each form considered in itself, its cause will be found. The only things which do not contain their causes are those whose life is without reality, and whose existence is shadowy. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 2]

Since all intelligible (entities) have a hypostatic consubstantial existence affording no room for chance; and as they are not separated from each other, things that are caused must bear these their causes within themselves, and each of them has some sort of a cause, though without really possessing one. If there be no cause for the existence of the intelligibles; and if, though isolated from all causes, they be self-sufficient; it can only be because they carry their cause along with them, when they are considered in themselves. As they contain nothing fortuitous, and as each of them is manifold, and as its cause is all that they contain, we might assign this cause to themselves. Thus in the intelligible world “being” is preceded, or rather accompanied by its cause, which is still more “being” than cause, or rather which becomes identified with it. What superfluousness, indeed, could there be in intelligence, unless its conceptions resemble imperfect productions? If its conceptions be perfect, one could neither discover what they lack, nor define their cause, and, since they possess everything, they also possess their cause. There, “being” and cause are united; the presence of both is recognized in each conception, in each actualization of intelligence. Let us, for instance, consider the intelligible Man; he seems complete, in his totality; all his attributes were his simultaneously from the beginning; he was always entirely complete. It is the characteristic of that which is generated not always to be what it ought to be, and to need to acquire something. The intelligible Man is eternal; he is therefore always complete; but that which becomes man must be generated (being). [Ennead VI,7 (38) 2]

But why could Intelligence not have deliberated before producing the sense-man? The (man we know by our senses) was (created) by similitude to the (intelligible Man), nothing can be added to him, nothing subtracted. It is a mere supposition to say that Intelligence deliberates and reasons. The theory that things were created, implies preliminary deliberation and reasoning; but (the latter becomes impossible) in the case of eternal generation, for that which originates eternally, cannot be the object of a deliberation. Intelligence could not deliberate without having forgotten the course it had followed before; it cannot improve later on without implying that its beginnings were not perfectly beautiful; had they been this, they would have remained so. If things be beautiful, it is that they represent their cause well; for even here below an object is beautiful only if it possess all its legitimate possessions; that is, if it possess its proper form. It is the form that contains everything; the form contains the matter, in the sense that it fashions matter, and leaves nothing formless therein. But it would contain something formless if a man lacked some part, as, for instance, an organ such as the eye. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 3]

Thus, a thing is fully explained by the clearing up of its cause. Why should there be eyebrows above the eye? That it may possess all that is implied in its being. Were these parts of the body given to man to protect him from dangers? That would be to establish within being a principle charged to watch over being. The things of which we speak are implied in the being that existed before them. Consequently, being contains within itself the cause which, if distinct from being, is nevertheless inseparable therefrom. All things are implied in each other; taken together, they form the total, perfect and universal Being; their perfection is bound up with, and is inherent in their cause; thus a (creature’s) “being,” its “characteristic” (to ti on einai), and its “cause” (why-ness) fall together. (Before asking an important question we must premiss that) in the intelligible world the cause that is complementary to a being is ultimately united to it. We must also premiss that, by virtue of its perfection, divine Intelligence contains the causes (as well as the beings), so that it is only “a posteriori” that we observe that things are well regulated. If then the possession of senses, and indeed of particular ones, be implied in the form of man by the eternal necessity and perfection of divine Intelligence, then the intelligible Man was by no means mere intelligence, receiving the senses when descending into generation. (If then having senses be implied in the form of man), does not Intelligence incline towards the things here below? In what do these senses (which are attributed to the intelligible Man) consist? Are these senses the potentiality of perceiving sense-objects? But it would be absurd that, on high, man should from all eternity possess the potentiality of feeling, yet feel only here below, and that this potentiality should pass to actualization only when the soul became less good (by its union to the body). [Ennead VI,7 (38) 3]

To answer these questions, we would have to go back to the nature of the intelligible Man. Before defining the latter, however, it would indeed be far better to begin by determining the nature of the sense-man, on the supposition that we know the latter very well, while perhaps of the former, we have only a very inexact notion. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 4]

But there are some (Aristotelians or Peripatetics) who might think that the intelligible Man and the sense-man form but one. Let us first discuss this point. Does the sense-man have a being different from the soul which produces him, and makes him live and reason? Is he the soul that is disposed in some special manner? Is he the soul that uses the body in some particular way? If man be a reasonable living organism, and if the latter be composed of soul and body, this definition of man will not be identical with that of the soul. If the man be defined as being the composite of the reasonable soul and the body, how can he be an immortal hypostatic existence? This definition suits the sense-man only from the moment that the union of the soul and the body has occurred; it expresses what will be, instead of setting forth what we call the Man-in-himself; rather than being a real determination of his characteristics, it would be only a description which would not reveal the original being. Instead of defining form engaged in matter, it indicates what is the composite of soul and body, after the union has occurred. In this case, we do not yet know what is man considered in his being, which is intelligible. To the claim that the definition of sense-things should express something composite, it might be answered, that we do acknowledge that we must not determine the consistence of each thing. Now if it be absolutely necessary to define the forms engaged in matter, we must also define the being that constitutes the man; that is necessary especially for those (Peripateticians) who, by a definition, mean a statement of a being’s original “characteristics.” [Ennead VI,7 (38) 4]

What then is the “being” of man? This really is asking for the “man-ness” of a man, something characteristic of him, and inseparable from him. Is the genuine definition of a man that “he is a reasonable animal”? Would not this rather be the definition of the composite man? What is the being that produces the reasonable animal? In the above definition of man, “reasonable animal” means “reasonable life”; consequently, man may be called the “reasonable life.” But can life exist without a soul? (No), for the soul will give the man reasonable life; and in this case, instead of being a substance, man will be only an actualization of the soul; or even, the man will be the soul herself. But if man be the reasonable soul, what objection will there be to his remaining man even when his soul should happen to pass into a different body (as that of a brute animal)? [Ennead VI,7 (38) 4]

Man must therefore have as “reason” (or, as essence), something else than the soul. Still, in this case, man might be something composite; that is, the soul would subsist in a particular “reason,” admitting that this “reason” was a certain actualization of the soul, though this actualization could not exist without its producing principle. Now such is the nature of the “seminal reasons.” They do not exist without the soul; for the generating reasons are not inanimate; and nevertheless they are not the soul purely and simply. There is therefore nothing surprising in the statement that these (human) beings are (“seminal) reasons.” [Ennead VI,7 (38) 5]

Of which soul are these reasons, which do not beget the man (though they do beget the animal), then the actualization? Not of the vegetative soul; they are the actualizations of the (reasonable) soul which begets the animal, which is a more powerful, and therefore a more living soul. Man is constituted by the soul disposed in some manner, when present to matter disposed in some particular fashion — since the soul is some particular thing, according as she is in some particular disposition — even in the body. In the bodies, she fashions a resembling form. So far as the nature of the body allows it, she thus produces an image of the man, as the painter himself makes an image of the body; she produces, I repeat, an inferior man (the sense-man, the animal), which possesses the form of man, his reasons, morals, dispositions, faculties, although in an imperfect manner, because he is not the first man (the intellectual man). He has sensations of another kind; sensations which, though they seem clear, are obscure, if they be compared to the superior sensations of which they are the images. The superior man (the reasonable man) is better, has a diviner soul, and clearer sensations. It is he doubtless to whom Plato refers (when he says, Man is the soul); in his definition he adds, “which makes use of the body,” because the diviner man dominates the soul which uses the body, and thus uses the body only in an indirect manner. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 5]

In fact, the soul attaches herself to the thing begotten by the soul, because she was capable of feeling. The soul does this by vivifying it more; or rather, the soul does not attach herself thereto, but draws it to herself. She does not depart from the intelligible world, but even while remaining in contact with it, she holds the inferior soul (which constitutes the sense-man) suspended to herself; and by her reason she blends herself with this reason (or, she unites herself to this being by her “being”). That is why this man (known by the senses), who by himself is obscure, is enlightened by this illumination. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 5]

What is the relation of the sense-power within the superior Soul (or, in the rational soul)? Intelligible sensation perceives (intelligible) objects that, speaking strictly, are not sensible, and corresponds to the (intelligible) manner in which they are perceivable. Thus (by this intelligible sense-power) the Soul perceives the supersensual harmony and also the sensual, but in a manner such as the sense-man perceives it, relating it so far as possible to the superior harmony, just as he relates the earthly fire to the intelligible Fire, which is above, and which the superior Soul felt in a manner suitable to the nature of this fire. If the bodies which are here below were up there also, the superior Soul would feel them and perceive them. The man who exists on high is a Soul disposed in some particular manner, capable of perceiving these objects; hence the man of the last degree (the sense-man) being the image of the intelligible Man, has reasons (faculties) which are also images (faculties possessed by the superior Man). The man who exists in the divine Intelligence constitutes the Man superior to all men. He illuminates the second (the reasonable man), who in his turn illuminates the third (the sense-man). The man of this last degree somewhat possesses the two others; he is not produced by them, he is rather united to them. The man who constitutes us actualizes himself as the man of the last degree. The third receives something of the second; and the second is the actualization of the first. Each man’s nature depends on the “man” according to whom he acts (the man is intellectual, reasonable, or sensual according as he exercises intelligence, discursive reason, or sensibility). Each one of us possesses the three men in one sense (potentially); and does not possess them in another (in actualization; that is, he does not simultaneously exercise intellect, reason, or sense). [Ennead VI,7 (38) 6]

When the third life (the sense-power) which constitutes the third man, is separated from the body, if the life that precedes it (the discursive reason) accompany it without nevertheless being separated from the intelligible world, then one may say that the second is everywhere the third is. It might seem surprising that the latter, when passing into the body of a brute, should drag along that part which is the being of man. This being was all beings (potentially); only, at different times, it acts through different faculties. So far as it is pure, and is not yet depraved, it wishes to constitute a man, and it is indeed a man that it constitutes; for to form a man is better (than to form a brute), and it does what is best. It also forms guardians of the superior order, but such as are still conformable to the being constituent of manhood. The (intellectual) Man, who is anterior to this being, is of a nature still more like that of the guardians, or rather, he is already a divinity. The guardian attached to a divinity is an image of him, as the sense-man is the image of the intellectual man from whom he depends; for the principle to which man directly attaches himself must not be considered as his divinity. There is a difference here, similar to that existing between the souls, though they all belong to the same order. Besides, those guardians whom Plato simply calls “guardians” (demons), should be called guardian-like, or “demonic” beings. Last, when the superior Soul accompanies the inferior soul which has chosen the condition of a brute, the inferior soul which was bound to the superior soul-even when she constituted a man-develops the (“seminal) reason” of the animal (whose condition she has chosen); for she possesses that “reason” in herself; it is her inferior actualization. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 6]

Such considerations have been arrived at merely as result of scrutiny of the consequences of the principles laid down. Our purpose was to discover how sensibility occurs in the man himself, without intelligible things falling into generation. We recognized and demonstrated that intelligible things do not incline towards sense-things, but that, on the contrary, it is the latter that aspire and rise to the former, and imitate them; that the sense-man derives from the intellectual man the power of contemplating intelligible entities, though the sense-man remain united to sense-things, as the intellectual man remains united to the intelligible entities. Indeed, intelligible things are in some respects sensual; and we may call them such because (ideally) they are Bodies, but they are perceived in a manner different from bodies. Likewise, our sensations are less clear than the perception which occurs in the intelligible world, and that we also call Sensation, because it refers to Bodies (which exist on high only in an ideal manner). Consequently, we call the man here below sensual because he perceives less well things which themselves are less good; that is, which are only images of intelligible things. We might therefore say that sensations here below are obscure thoughts, and that the Thoughts on high are distinct Sensations. Such are our views about sensibility. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 7]

But why should these Animals (devoid of reason) exist in the divine Intelligence? We might understand that animals endowed with reason might be found within it; but does this multitude of irrational animals seem at all admirable? Does it not rather seem something unworthy of the divine Intelligence? Evidently the essence which is one must be also manifold, since it is posterior to the Unity which is absolutely simple; otherwise, instead of being inferior to it, it would fuse with it. Being posterior to that Unity, it could not be more simple, and must therefore be less so. Now as the unity was the One who is excellent, essence had to be less unitary, since multiplicity is the characteristic of inferiority. But why should essence not be merely the “pair” (instead of the manifold)? Neither of the elements of the Pair could any longer be absolutely one, and each would itself become a further pair; and we might point out the same thing of each of the new elements (in which each element of the primary Pair would have split up). Besides, the first Pair contains both movement and stability; it is also intelligence and perfect life. The character of Intelligence is not to be one, but to be universal; it therefore contains all the particular intelligences; it is all the intelligences, and at the same time it is something greater than all. It possesses life not as a single soul, but as a universal Soul, having the superior power of producing individual souls. It is besides the universal living Organism (or, Animal); consequently, it should not contain man alone (but also all the other kinds of animals); otherwise, man alone would exist upon the earth. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 8]

It may be objected that Intelligence might (well) contain the ideas of animals of a higher order. But how can it contain the ideas of animals that are vile, or entirely without reason? For we should consider vile every animal devoid of reason and intelligence, since it is to these faculties that those who possess them owe their nobility. It is doubtless difficult to understand how things devoid of reason and intelligence can exist in the divine Intelligence, in which are all beings, and from which they all proceed. But before beginning the discussion of this question, let us assume the following verities as granted: Man here below is not what is man in the divine Intelligence, any more than the other animals. Like them, in a higher form, he dwells within (the divine Intelligence); besides, no being called reasonable may be found within it, for it is only here below that reason is employed; on high the only acts are those superior to discursive reason. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 9]

Why then is man here below the only animal who makes use of reason? Because the intelligence of Man, in the intelligible world, is different from that of other animals, and so his reason here below must differ from their reason; for it can be seen that many actions of other animals imply the use of judgment. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 9]

(In reply, it might be asked) why are not all animals equally rational? And why are not all men also equally rational? Let us reflect: all these lives, which represent as many movements; all these intelligences, which form a plurality; could not be identical. Therefore they had to differ among each other, and their difference had to consist in manifesting more or less clearly life and intelligence; those that occupy the first rank are distinguished by primary differences; those that occupy the second rank, by secondary differences; and so forth. Thus, amidst intelligences, some constitute the divinities, others the beings placed in the second rank, and gifted with reason; further, other beings that we here call deprived of reason and intelligence really were reason and intelligence in the intelligible world. Indeed, he who thinks the intelligible Horse, for instance, is Intelligence, just as is the very thought of the horse. If nothing but thought existed, there would be nothing absurd in that this thought, while being intellectual, might, as object, have a being devoid of intelligence. But since thought and the object thought fuse, how could thought be intellectual unless the object thought were so likewise? To effect this, Intelligence would, so to speak, have to render itself unintelligent. But it is not so. The thing thought is a determinate intelligence, just as it is a determinate life. Now, just as no life, whatever it be, can be deprived of vitality, so no determinate intelligence can be deprived of intellectuality. The very intelligence which is proper to an animal, such as, for instance, man, does not cease being intelligence of all things; whichever of its parts you choose to consider, it is all things, only in a different manner; while it is a single thing in actualization, it is all things in potentiality. However, in any one particular thing, we grasp only what it is in actualization. Now what is in actualization (that is, a particular thing), occupies the last rank. Such, in Intelligence, for instance, is the idea of the Horse. In its procession, Intelligence continues towards a less perfect life, and at a certain degree constitutes a horse, and at some inferior degree, constitutes some animal still inferior; for the greater the development of the powers of Intelligence, the more imperfect these become. At each degree in their procession they lose something; and as it is a lower degree of essence that constitutes some particular animal, its inferiority is redeemed by something new. Thus, in the measure that life is less complete in the animal, appear nails, claws, or horns, or teeth. Everywhere that Intelligence diminishes on one side, it rises on another side by the fulness of its nature, and it finds in itself the resources by which to compensate for whatever it may lack. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 9]

The essence must be simultaneously one and manifold. Now it cannot be manifold if all the things that exist within it be equal; it would then be an absolute unity. Since therefore (essence) forms a composite unity, it must be constituted by things which bear to each other specific differences, such that its unity shall allow the existence of particular things, such as forms and reasons (beings). The forms, such as those of man, must contain all the differences that are essential to them. Though there be a unity in all these forms, there are also things more or less delicate (or highly organized), such as the eye or the finger. All these organs, however, are implied in the unity of the animal, and they are inferior only relatively to the totality. It was better that things should be such. Reason (the essence of the animal) is animal, and besides, is something different from the animal. Virtue also bears a general character, and an individual one. The totality (of the intelligible world) is beautiful, because what is common (to all beings), does not offer any differences. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 10]

In which of these things does the form of the Good inhere in the highest degree? The solution of this problem depends on the following one. Is life a good merely as such, even if it were life pure and simple? Should we not rather limit that word “life” to the life which derives from the Good, so that mere proceeding from the Good be a sufficient characterization of life? What is the nature of this life? Is it the life of the Good? No: life does not belong to the Good; it only proceeds therefrom. If the characteristic of life be proceeding from the Good, and if it be real life, evidently the result would be that nothing that proceeds from the Good would deserve scorn, that life as life should be considered good, that the same condition of affairs obtains with the primary and veritable Intelligence, and that finally each form is good and bears the form of Good. In this case, each of these (life, intelligence and idea) possess a good which is either common, or different, or which is of a different degree. Since we have admitted that each of the above-mentioned things contains a good in its being, then it is good chiefly because of this good. Thus life is a good, not in so far as it is merely life, but in so far as it is real life and proceeds from the Good. Intelligence likewise is a good so far as it essentially is intelligence; there is therefore some common element in life and intelligence. Indeed, when one and the same attribute is predicated of different beings, although it form an integral part of their being, it may be abstracted therefrom by thought; thus from “man” and “horse” may be abstracted “animal”; from “water” and “fire,” “heat”; but what is common in these beings is a genus, while what is common in intelligence and life, is one and the same thing which inheres in one in the first degree, and in the other in the second. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 18]

Nor can we ignore an objection raised by an opponent who is difficult to convince (Plato’s Philebus  ): “Well, my friends, what then is this entity that you celebrate in such pompous terms, ceaselessly repeating that life and intelligence are goods, although you said that the Good is above them? What sort of a good might the Intellect be? What sort of a good should (a man) have, who thinks the Ideas themselves, contemplating everything in itself? Perhaps, indeed, a man, when he enjoys these (Ideas and contemplations), might be deceived into calling them a good merely because he happened to be in pleasant circumstances; but should these circumstances become unpleasant, on what grounds would he call them a good? Merely because they (possess) existence? But what pleasure or benefit could this afford him? If he did not consider self-love as the foundation thereof, what difference could there be for him between existence and non-existence? It is therefore to this natural physical error (of self-love), and to the fear of death, that we must trace the cause of the ascription of good to intelligence and life.” [Ennead VI,7 (38) 24]

Plato therefore mingled the Good with pleasure, and did not posit the Good exclusively in Intelligence, as he wrote in the Philebus. Appreciating this difficulty, he very rightly decided on one hand that good did not consist in pleasure alone, and on the other, that it did not consist in intelligence alone, inasmuch as he failed to discover in it anything to arouse our desire. Perhaps Plato had still another motive (in calling the Good a mixture), because he thought that, with such a nature, the Good is necessarily full of charm, desirable both for the seeker and the finder; whence it would result that he who is not charmed has not found the Good, and that, if he who desires be not happy, he evidently does not yet possess the Good. It is not without a reason (that Plato formed this conception of the Good); for he was not seeking to determine the universal Good, but the good of man; and as such human good refers to (man, who is) a being different from the absolute Good, then it becomes for him something different from the Good in itself; and would therefore be defective and composite. That is why (according to Plato), that which is alone and single has no good, but is good in another and a higher sense. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 25]

Supposing then that the pleasure does not accompany the good, but that anterior to pleasure there have existed something which would have naturally given rise to it (because of its goodness); why then might not the good be considered lovable? But the mere assertion that good is lovable, already implies that it is accompanied by pleasure. But supposing now that the good could exist without being lovable (and consequently not accompanied by pleasure). In that case, even in presence of the good, the being that possesses sensibility will not know that the good is present. What would however hinder a being from knowing the presence of the good without feeling any emotion at its possession, which would exactly represent the case of the temperate man who lacks nothing? The result would be that pleasure could not be suitable to the First (being), not only because He is simple, but also because pleasure results from the acquisition of what is lacking (and the First lacks nothing, therefore could not feel pleasure). [Ennead VI,7 (38) 29]

But, in order that this truth may appear in its full light, we shall first have to clear away all the other opinions, and especially have to refute the teaching opposite to ours. This is the question asked of us: “What will be the fruit gathered by him who has the intelligence necessary to acquire one of these goods (such as existence and life), if on hearing them named, he be not impressed thereby, because he does not understand them, either because they seem to him no more than words, or because his conception of each of these things should differ (from our view of them), or because in his search for the Good he seeks some sense-object, such as wealth, or the like?” The person who thus scorns these things (existence and life), thereby implicitly recognizes that there is within him a certain good, but that, without knowing in what it consists, he nevertheless values these things according to his own notion of the Good; for it is impossible to say, “that is not the good,” without having some sort of knowledge of the good, or acquaintance therewith. The above speaker seems to betray a suspicion that the Good in itself is above Intelligence. Besides, if in considering the Good in itself, or the good which most approaches it, he do not discern it, he will nevertheless succeed in getting a conception of it by its contraries; otherwise, he would not even know that the lack of intelligence is an evil, though every man desire to be intelligent, and glory in being such, as is seen by the sensations which aspire to become notions. If intelligence, and especially primary Intelligence, be beautiful and venerable, what admiration might not then be felt by him who could contemplate the generating principle, the Father of Intelligence? Consequently, he who affects to scorn existence and life receives a refutation from himself and from all the affections he feels. They who are disgusted of life are those who consider not the true life, but the life which is mingled with death. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 29]

Such, then, is the state of the soul that she no longer values even thought, which formerly excited her admiration; for thought is a movement, and the soul would prefer none. She does not even assert that it is Intelligence that she sees, though she contemplate only because she has become intelligence, and has, so to speak, become intellectualized, by being established in the intelligible place. Having arrived to Intelligence, and having become established therein, the soul possesses the intelligible, and thinks; but as soon as she achieves the vision of the supreme Divinity, she abandons everything else. She behaves as does the visitor who, on entering into a palace, would first admire the different beauties that adorn its interior, but who regards them no longer as soon as she perceives the master; for the master, by his (living) nature, which is superior to all the statues that adorn the palace, monopolizes the consideration, and alone deserves to be contemplated; consequently the spectator, with his glance fixed on Him, henceforward observes Him alone. By dint of continual contemplation of the spectacle in front of him, the spectator sees the master no longer; in the spectator, vision confuses with the visible object. What for the spectator first was a visible object, in him becomes vision, and makes him forget all that he saw around himself. To complete this illustration, the master here presenting himself to the visitor must be no man, but a divinity; and this divinity must not content Himself with appearing to the eyes of him who contemplates Him, but He must penetrate within the human soul, and fill her entirely. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 35]

How then did we previously refer liberty to volition, saying that “that which depends on us, our responsibility, is that which occurs according to our will”? Yes, but we added, “or does not occur.” If indeed we be right, and if we continue to support our former opinion, we shall have to recognize that virtue and intelligence are their own mistresses, and that it is to them that we must refer our free will and independence. Since they have no master, we shall admit that (our) intelligence remains within itself, that virtue must equally remain calm in itself, regulating the soul so as to make her good, and that in this respect it itself is both free, and enfranchises the soul. If passions or necessary actions arise, (virtue) directs them automatically; nevertheless she still preserves her independence (or, freedom) by getting into relations with everything. For instance, (virtue) does not engage in exterior things to save the body in times of danger; on the contrary, she abandons it, if it seem advisable; she orders the man to renounce even life, wealth, children, and fatherland; for her object is to be honorable, relinquishing anything beneath her dignity. This evidently shows that our liberty of action and independence do not refer to practical matters, nor to external occupations, but to interior activity, to thought, to the contemplation of virtue itself. This virtue must be considered as a kind of intelligence, and must not be confused with the passions that dominate and govern reason; for these, as (Plato) says, seem to derive something from the body, though trained by exercise and habit. [Ennead VI,8 (39) 6]

Here some rash person, drawing his arguments from some other school of thought, may object that, “If the Good be indeed good, this occurs only by chance. A man is not master of what he is (that is, of his own nature), because his own nature does not depend on himself (that is, is not due to self-determination). Consequently, he enjoys neither freedom nor independence, as he acts or withholds action as he is forced by necessity.” Such an assertion is gratuitous, and even self-contradictory. It destroys all conception of will, liberty and independence, reducing these terms to being labels, and illusions. He who advances such an opinion is forced to maintain not only that it is not within the power of anybody to do or not to do some thing, but also that the word “liberty” arouses no conception in his mind, and is meaningless. If however he insist that he does understand it, he will soon be forced to acknowledge that the conception of liberty bears a conformity with the reality which he at first denied. The conception of a thing exerts no interference on its substance (“being”); it can do nothing by itself, nor can it lead to hypostatic existence. It is limited to pointing out to us which being obeys others, which being possesses free will, which being depends on no other, but is master of its own action, a privilege characteristic of eternal beings so far as they are eternal, or to beings which attain the Good without obstacle (like the Soul), or possess it (like Intelligence). It is therefore absurd to say that the Good, which is above them, seeks other higher good beyond itself. [Ennead VI,8 (39) 8]

Here is still another point of view from which the subject under discussion may be regarded. Each one of the beings that are said to be existent, is either identical with its essence, or differs from it. Thus, some particular man differs from the Man-essence, only participating therein. On the contrary, the soul is identical with the Soul-essence, when she is simple, and when she is not predicated of anything else. Likewise, the Man-in-himself is identical with the Man-essence. The man who is other than the Man-essence is contingent; but the Man-essence is not contingent; the Man-in-himself exists in himself. If then the essence of man exist by itself, if it be neither fortuitous nor contingent, how could contingency be predicated of Him who is superior to Man in himself, and who begat him, from whom all beings are derived, since His is a nature simpler than the Man-essence, and even of essence in general? If, in ascending towards greater simplicity, contingency decreases, so much the more impossible is it that contingency could extend to the Nature that is the simplest (namely, the Good). [Ennead VI,8 (39) 14]

The incorruptibility of the heaven has been ascribed to its containing within its breast all things, and to the non-existence of any other thing into which it could change, as well as to the impossibility of its meeting anything exterior that could destroy it. These theories would indeed, in a reasonable manner, explain the incorruptibility of heaven considered as totality, and universe; but would fail to explain the perpetuity of the sun and of the other stars which are parts of heaven, instead of being the whole universe, as is the heaven. It would seem more reasonable that, just like the fire and similar things, the stars, and the world considered as universe would possess a perpetuity chiefly of form. It is quite possible that the heaven, without meeting any destructive exterior thing, should be subjected to a perpetual destruction such that it would preserve nothing identical but the form, from the mere mutual destruction of its parts. In this case its substrate, being in a perpetual flux, would receive its form from some other principle; and we would be driven to recognize in the universal living Organism what occurs in man, in the horse, and in other animals; namely, that the man or horse (considered as species) lasts forever, while the individual changes. (According to this view, then) the universe will not be constituted by one ever permanent part, the heaven, and another ceaselessly changing one, composed of terrestrial things. All these things will then be subject to the same condition though they might differ by longer or shorter duration, since celestial bodies are more durable. Such a conception of the perpetuity characteristic of the universe and its parts contains less ambiguity (than the popular notion), and would be freed from all doubt if we were to demonstrate that the divine power is capable of containing the universe in this manner. The theory that the world contains something perpetual in its individuality would demand not only a demonstration that the divine volition can produce such an effect, but also an explanation why certain things (according to that theory) are always identical (in form and individuality), while other things are identical only by their form. If the parts of the heaven alone remained identical (by their individuality), all other things also should logically remain (individually) identical. [Ennead II,1 (40) 1]

It may be asked however, why, if memory be a “faculty” (a potentiality) or disposition, we do not immediately remember what we have learned, and why we need some time to recall it? It is because we need to master our own faculty, and to apply it to its object. Not otherwise is it with our other faculties, which we have to fit to fulfil their functions, and though some of them may react promptly, others also may need time to gather their forces together. The same man does not always simultaneously exercise memory and judgment, because it is not the same faculty that is active in both cases. Thus there is a difference between the wrestler and the runner. Different dispositions react in each. Besides, nothing that we have said would militate against distinguishing between the man of strong and tenacious soul who would be inclined to read over what is recalled by his memory, while he who lets many things escape him would by his very weakness be disposed to experience and preserve passive affections. Again, memory must be a potentiality of the soul, inasmuch as the soul has no extension (and therefore could not be a storage-place for images which imply three dimensions). [Ennead IV,6 (41) 3]

What part do the powers (or, potentialities) play here? The man who is naturally capable of boxing owes it to a certain disposition. It is so also with somebody who is unskilful in something. In general, quality consists in a non-essential characteristic; what seems to contribute to the being, or to add to it, as color, whiteness, and color in general, contributes to the beings as far as it constitutes something distinct therefrom, and is its actualization; but it occupies a rank inferior to being; and though derived therefrom, it adds itself thereto as something foreign, as an image and adumbration. [Ennead VI,1 (42) 10]

If quality consist in a form, in a character and a reason, how could one thus explain impotence and ugliness? We shall have to do so by imperfect reasons, as is generally recognized in the case of ugliness. But how can a “reason” be said to explain sickness? It contains the reason of health, but somewhat altered. Besides, it is not necessary to reduce everything to a reason; it is sufficient to recognize, as common characteristic, a certain disposition foreign to being, such that what is added to being be a quality of the subject. Triangularity is a quality of the subject in which it is located, not by virtue of its triangularity, but of its location in this subject, and of enduing it with its form. Humanity has also given to man his shape, or rather, his being. [Ennead VI,1 (42) 10]

How can the thing qualified by a quality refer to the quality? This must be studied, because the thing qualified and the quality do not belong to a common kind. If the man capable of boxing be related to the quality, why should not the same quality obtain between the active man and activity? If then the active man be something qualified, “activity” and “passivity” should not be referred to relation. It would seem preferable to relate the active man to the quality if he be active by virtue of a power, for a power is a quality; but if the power be essential, in so far as it is a power, it is not something relative, nor even something qualified. We should not consider that activity corresponds to increase; for the increase, so far as it increases, stands in relation only to the less; while activity is such by itself. To the objection that activity, so far as it is such, is something qualified, it might be answered that, at the same time, as far as it can act on something else, and that it is thus called active, it is something relative. In this case the man capable of boxing and the art of boxing itself must be in relation. For the art of boxing implies a relation; all the knowledge it imparts is relative to something else. As to the other arts, or at least, as to the greater number of other arts, it may, after examination, be said that they are qualities, so far as they give a disposition to the soul; as far as they act, they are active, and, from this standpoint, they refer to something else, and are relative; and besides, they are relative in the sense that they are habituations. [Ennead VI,1 (42) 12]

The Aristotelians (while treating of this category) say, Where? For instance, “to the Lyceum,” or, “to the Academy.” The Academy and the Lyceum are then places and parts of places, as the “top,” the “bottom,” and “here” are parts or classes of place. The only difference consists in a greater determination. If then the top, the bottom, and the middle be places, as, for instance, “Delphi is the middle of the earth,” and, “the Lyceum and other countries are near the middle of the earth,” what else but place do we have to seek, since we have just said that each of these things denotes a place? If, when we say “where?” we assert that one thing is in another place, we are not expressing something single and simple. Besides, each time that we affirm that such a man is there, we are creating a double relation, namely, the relation of the man who is there, with the place where he is, and the relation of the containing place and the contained man. Why therefore should we not reduce this to the class of relations, since the relation of both terms with each other produces something? Besides, what is the difference between “here” and “at Athens?” The Aristotelians grant that “here” indicates the place; consequently, the same is true of “in Athens.” If, “in Athens” be equivalent to “being in Athens,” this latter expression contains two categories, that of place, and that of being. Now, this should not be the case; for as one should not say “Quality exists,” but only, “quality.” Besides, if being in place and being in time presuppose categories other than place and time, why would “being in a vase” not also constitute a separate category? Why would it not be so with “being in matter,” with “being in the subject,” and in general of a part “being in the whole,” or the “whole in the parts,” the “genus in the species,” and the “species in the genus?” In this manner we would have a far greater number of categories. [Ennead VI,1 (42) 14]

Let us now consider whether prediction be an action, and whether adapting one’s course to the prediction of somebody else would constitute experiencing; for prediction comes from one being and applies to another. However, although prediction apply to some other, we would not consider prediction an action, nor being directed by the prediction of somebody else an experience. In general, not even thought is an action; thought, indeed, does not pass in to the object thought, but functions within itself; it is not at all an action. Actualizations are not at all actions, and not all of them perform actions; indeed, they may do so only accidentally. It might be objected that a man who was walking would certainly impress on the ground the trace of his steps, and would thereby perform an action. Such an action would be the consequence of something else, or the man would act accidentally; and it would be accidental, because the man was not thinking of it. It is in this way that even inanimate things perform some action, that fire heats, and medicine cures. But enough of this. [Ennead VI,1 (42) 22]

If the verb “to have” be used in several senses, why might we not apply to this category all the various uses of the word; for instance, quantity, because quantity has size; quality, because it has color; the father, because he has a son; the son, because he has a father; and, in general, all kinds of possession? Will it be said that the other things that can be possessed have already been classified under the categories considered above, and that the category of “having” comprises only arms, foot-wear, and clothing? This might be answered by the question why “having” these objects should constitute a category, and why burning them, cutting them, burying them, or throwing them away, would not equally constitute one or more categories? If the answer be that all these things form one category because they refer to the body, this would then also make another category if we placed a garment over a litter; or likewise if someone were covered with clothing. If another answer be that the category of “having” consists in the “manner of containing,” and in possession, then all things which are possessed will have to be reduced to this category, which will thus contain all possession, whatever it be, since the nature of the possessed object could not here prevail to form some distinction. On the other hand, if the category of “having” must exclude having a quantity or quality, because the latter ideas already form their own categories; nor having parts, because of the category of being (which includes parts); why should this category contain having arms, when arms, as well as foot-wear, belong to the category of being? In any case, how could the statement, “He has arms” be considered something simple, which could be reduced to any one category? That statement expresses the same idea as “He is armed.” Can this expression (“he has arms”) refer only to a man, or even to his statue? The living man possesses very differently from possession by a statue, and the verb “to have” is used only as a verbal label (a homonym), just as the verb “to stand up” would mean something very different according as it referred to a man or a statue. Besides, is it reasonable to make a generic category of some merely incidental characteristic? [Ennead VI,1 (42) 23]

It is absurd to assign the third rank to modalities, and even assign to them any place whatever; for all modalities refer to matter. It may however be objected to this that there are differences between the modalities; the various modifications that matter undergoes are not the same thing as the modalities; the qualities are doubtless modalities of matter, but the modalities, in the strict sense of the word, refer to qualities. (The answer to this is that) since the qualities are only modalities of matter, the technical modalities mentioned by the (Stoics) themselves reduce to matter, and necessarily relate thereto. In view of the many differences obtaining between them, how otherwise could modalities form a category? How could one reduce to a single classification the length of three feet, and whiteness — since one is a quantity, and the other a quality? How could time and place be reduced thereto? Besides, how would it be possible to consider as modalities such expressions as “yesterday,” “formerly,” “in the Lyceum,” and, “in the Academy”? How could time be explained as a modality? Neither time, nor things which are in time, nor place, nor the things which are in place, could be modalities. How is “to act” a modality, since he who acts is not himself a modality, but rather acts within some modality, or even, acts simply? Nor is he who undergoes an experience any more of a modality; he experiences something rather in a modality, or rather, he undergoes some experience in such a manner. Modality rather suits the (Aristotelian) categories of situation and possession; and as to possession, no man even possesses “in such or such a modality,” but possesses purely and simply. [Ennead VI,1 (42) 30]

But what is the soul considered apart from all action, if we examine in her the part which does not work at formation of the bodies? Will not a plurality of powers still be found therein? As to world-Essence, nobody even thinks of depriving the soul of it. But is her acknowledged essence the same as that predicated of a stone? Surely not. Besides, even in the essence of the stone, “being” and “being a stone” are inseparable concepts, just as “being” and “being a soul” are, in the soul, but one and the same thing. Must we then regard as different in her essence on one side, and on the other the remainder (what constitutes the being); so that it would be the difference (proper to being) which, by being added to her, constituted the soul? No: the soul is no doubt a determinate essence; not as a “white man,” but only as a particular being; in other words, she has what she has by her very being. [Ennead VI,2 (43) 5]

What and how much can be seen in the soul? Since we have found in the soul both being and life, and as both being and life are what is common in every soul, and as life resides in intelligence, recognizing that there is (besides the soul and her being) intelligence and its life, we shall posit as a genus what is common in all life; namely, movement; consequently, being and movement, which constitute primary life, will be our first two categories. Although (in reality) they fuse, they are distinguished by thought, which is incapable of approaching unity exclusively; and whose exercise compels this distinction. Besides, it is possible, you can, in other objects, clearly see essence, as distinct from movement or life, although their essence be not real, and only shadowy or figurative. Just as the image of a man lacks several things, and, among others, the most important, life; likewise, the essence of sense-objects is only an adumbration of the veritable essence, lacking as it does the highest degree of essence, namely, vitality, which appears in its archetype. So you see it is quite easy to distinguish, on one hand, essence from life, and, on the other, life from essence. Essence is a genus, and contains several species; now movement must not be subsumed under essence, nor be posited within essence, but should be equated with essence. When we locate movement within essence, it is not that we consider life is the subject of movement, but because movement is life’s actualization; only in thought can either exist separately. These two natures, therefore, form but a single one; for essence exists not in potentiality, but in actualization; and if we conceive of these two genera as separated from each other it will still be seen that movement is within essence, and essence within movement. In the unity of essence, the two elements, when considered separately, imply each other reciprocally; but thought affirms their duality, and shows that each of the two series is a double unity. [Ennead VI,2 (43) 7]

Consequently, in speaking of (beings) other than (essence itself), as, for instance, of man, we say simply “man” (without adding to it the idea of unity); if however we say “a man,” it is to distinguish him from two; if however we use the word one in still another sense, it is by adding to it “some” (as, “someone”). Not so is it with essence; we say, “being one,” conceiving of “being” (“essence”) and one, as if forming a single whole, and in positing essence as one, we emphasize its narrow affinity with the Good. Thus conceived, essence becomes one; and in the one finds its origin and goal. Nevertheless it is not one as unity itself, but rather in a different manner, in this sense that the (unity of essence) admits priority and posteriority. What then is (the unity of essence)? Must it not then be considered similar in all the parts (of essence), as something common to all (and consequently, as forming a genus)? But in the first place, the point is also something common to all the lines, and nevertheless it is not a genus; in the numbers, unity is something common to all, and is not any more of a genus. Indeed, the unity which is found in the monad, in the dyad (or pair), and in other numbers, cannot be confused with unity in itself. Then, nothing hinders there being in essence some anterior, and other posterior parts, both simple and compound ones (which would be impossible for the One in itself). Even if the unity found everywhere in all the parts of essence were everywhere identical, by the mere fact that it would offer no difference, it could not give rise to species, and consequently, it could not be a genus. [Ennead VI,2 (43) 11]

Besides, we have elsewhere pointed out that what is a complement of being is called a quality figuratively only; and that what is genuinely quality comes from the exterior, posteriorly to being. What properly belongs to being is its actualization; and what follows it is an experience (or, negative modification). We now add that what refers to some being, cannot in any respect be the complement of being. There is no need of any addition of “being” (existence) to man, so far as he is a man, to make of him a (human) being. Being exists already in a superior region before descending to specific difference; thus the animal exists (as being) before one descends to the property of being reasonable, when one says: “Man is a reasonable animal.” [Ennead VI,2 (43) 14]

Intelligence therefore embraces what comes after it, the Soul; so that the Soul, till the last of her powers, is contained by a number; as to the last power (matter), it is entirely infinite Considered in this condition (where, turning towards what is below it, it begets the Soul), Intelligence is a part (because it applies itself to something particular), though it possess all things, and though, in itself, it be universal; the intelligences which compose it are each a part (each constituting a particular intelligence by virtue of the actualization of Intelligence which exists (and thus exists in itself). As to the Soul, she is the part of a part (that is, a part of the Intelligence which itself is a part, as has just been said), but exists by virtue of the actualization of the Intelligence which acts outside of itself. Indeed, when Intelligence acts in itself, the actualizations it produces are the other intelligences; when it acts outside of itself, it produces the Soul. When in her turn, the Soul acts as genus or species, she begets the other souls which are her species. These souls themselves have two actualizations; the one, directed towards what is above them, constitutes their intelligence; the other, directed towards what is below them, gives birth to the other rational powers, and even to a last power which is in contact with matter, and which fashions it. The inferior part of the soul does not hinder the whole remainder from remaining in the superior region. Besides, this inferior part is only the very image of the soul; it is not separated from her, but it resembles the image reflected by a mirror, an image which persists only so long as the model remains before the mirror. What should be our conception of the model placed before the mirror? Down through what is immediately above the image (that is, down through the soul herself), we have the intelligible world, composed of all the intelligible entities, where everything is perfect. The sense-world is no more than the imitation thereof, and it imitates that intelligible world so far as it can, in that it itself is a living organism which is the image of the perfect living Organism. The sense-world imitates it as the portrait that is painted, or reflected by the surface of water reproduces the person situated before the painter, or above the water. This portrait obtained by the painting, or reflected by the surface of the water is not the image of the composite which constitutes the man (the soul and body), but of one or two parts only, the body which was fashioned by the soul. Likewise, therefore, the sense-world, which was made to resemble the intelligible world, offers us images, not of its creator, but of the (essences) contained within its creator, among which is man, along with all other animals. Now, in common with its creator, each living organism possesses life, though each possess it differently; both, besides, equally form part of the intelligible world. [Ennead VI,2 (43) 22]

It would seem that (physical) “being” is that which is not predicated of anything else; for whiteness and blackness may, for instance, be predicated of some white or black subject. Likewise with the idea of “doubleness”; — I mean here not the doubleness which is the opposite of one half, but the doubleness predicated of some subject, as when one says “this wood is double.” So also paternity, and science, are attributes of another subject, of which that is said. So space is that which limits, and time that which measures something else. But fire, or wood considered as such, are not attributes. Neither are Socrates, nor composite being (composed of matter and form), nor form which is in the “being,” because it is not a modification of any other subject. Indeed, form is not an attribute of matter; it is an element of the combination. “Man” and “form of man” are one and the same thing. Matter also is an element of the combination; under this respect, it may be predicated of a subject, but this subject is identical with itself. On the contrary, whiteness, considered in itself, exists only in the subject of which it may be predicated. Consequently, the thing which exists only in the subject of which it is predicated is not (physical) “being.” “Being,” on the contrary, is that which is what it is by itself. In case it form part of some subject, then it completes the combination; whose elements exist each in itself, and which are predicated of the combination only in a condition other than that of existing in it. Considered as a part, “being” is relative to something other than itself; but considered in itself, in its nature, in what it is, it is not predicable of anything. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 4]

To be a subject is then a property common to matter, to form, and to the combination. But this function of subject is fulfilled differently by matter in respect to form, and by form in respect to the modifications, and by the combination; or rather, matter is not a subject in respect to form; form is the complement which completes it when it still is only matter, and when it exists only potentially. To speak strictly, form is not in matter; for when one thing forms only a unity with something else, one cannot say that one is in the other (as some accident in its subject). Only when both are taken together do matter and form form a subject for other things; thus Man in general, and a particular man constitute the subject of passive modifications; they are anterior to the actions and consequences which relate to them. “Being” therefore is the principle from which all other things derive, and by which they exist; that to which all passive modifications relate, and from which all actions proceed. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 4]

Not to be in a subject is then the common characteristic of all “being,” if, by “not being in a subject,” we mean “not to form part of any subject,” and “not to contribute to the formation of a unity therewith.” Indeed, that which contributes to the formation of a composite being, with something else, could not be in that thing as in a subject; form therefore is not in matter as in a subject, and neither is “man” in Socrates as in a subject, because “man” forms part of Socrates. Thus, “being” is that which is not in a subject. If we add that “being” is not predicated of any subject, we must also add, “insofar as this subject is something different from itself;” otherwise “man,” predicated of some one man, would not be comprised within the definition of “being,” if (in asserting that “being” is not predicated of any subject), we did not add, “so far as this subject is something different from itself.” When I say, “Socrates is a man,” I am practically saying, “White is white,” and not, “wood is white.” While actually asserting that “Socrates is a man,” I am asserting that a particular man is a man, and to say “The man who is in Socrates is a man,” amounts to saying “Socrates is Socrates,” or, “that particular reasonable living organism is a living organism.” [Ennead VI,3 (44) 5]

As to the distinction drawn between primary and secondary being, it must be admitted that some particular fire, and the universal Fire differ from each other in this, that the one is individual, and the other universal; but the difference between them does not seem to be essential. Indeed, does the genus of quality contain both White, and a particular white; or Grammar, and some particular grammatical science? How far does Grammatical science then have less reality than some particular grammatical science, and Science, than some particular science? Grammatical science is not posterior to some particular grammatical science; Grammatical science must already have existed before the existence of the grammatical science in you, since the latter is some grammatical science because it is found in you; it is besides identical with universal Grammatical science. Likewise, it is not Socrates that caused him who was not a man to become a man; it is rather the universal Man who enabled Socrates to be a man; for the individual man is man by participation in the universal Man. What then is Socrates, if not some man? In what does such a man contribute to render “being” more “being”? If the answer be that he contributes thereto by the fact that the universal Man is only a form, while a particular man is a form in matter, the result will only be that a particular man will be less of a man; for reason (that is, essence) is weaker when it is in matter. If the universal Man consist not only in form itself, but is also in matter, in what will he be inferior to the form of the man who is in matter, since it will be the reason of the man which is in matter? By its nature the universal is anterior, and consequently the form is anterior to the individual. Now that which by its nature is anterior is an absolute anterior. How then would the universal be less in being? Doubtless the individual, being better known to us, is anterior for us; but no difference in the things themselves results. Besides, if we were to admit the distinction between primary and secondary beings, the definition of “being” would no longer be one; for that which is first and that which is second are not comprised under one single definition, and do not form a single and same genus. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 9]

The composition of the bodies being varied, they may also be classified according to the specific forms of the animals. Such, for instance, would be the specific form of a man united to a body; for this form is a quality of body, and it is reasonable to analyze it according to the qualities. If it should be objected that we have said above that some bodies are simple, while others are composite, thus contrasting the simple and the composite, we shall answer that, without regarding their composition, we have also said that they are either brute or organized. The classification of bodies should not be founded on the contrast between the simple and the composite, but, as we first did, we may classify the simple bodies in the first rank. Then, by considering their blendings, one may start from another principle to determine the differences offered by the composites under the respect of their figure or their location; thus, for instance, bodies might be classified in celestial and terrestrial. This may close our consideration of sense-being, or generation. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 10]

When we were treating of things that were qualified, we had already explained that matter, united to quantity, and taken with other things, constitutes sense-being; that this “being” seems to be a composite of several things, that it is not properly a “whatness,” but rather qualification (or, qualified thing). The (“seminal) reason,” for instance that of fire, has more of a reference to “whatness,” while the form that the reason begets is rather a qualification. Likewise, the (“seminal) reason” of man is a “whatness,” whilst the form that this reason gives to the body, being only an image of reason, is rather a qualification. Thus if the Socrates that we see was the genuine Socrates, his mere portrait composed of no more than colors would also be called Socrates. Likewise, although this (“seminal) reason” of Socrates be that which constitutes the genuine Socrates, we nevertheless also apply the name of Socrates to the man that we see; yet the colors, or the figure of the Socrates we see, are only the image of those which are contained by his (“seminal) reason.” Likewise, the reason of Socrates is itself only an image of the veritable reason (of the idea) of the man. This is our solution of the problem. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 15]

As has been indicated above, the genus of quality contains the (beings) which are said to be qualified (qualitative entities), inasmuch as they contain some quality (as, for instance, the handsome man, so far as he is endowed with beauty). These (beings) however do not properly belong to this genus, for otherwise there would here be two categories. It suffices to reduce them to the quality which supplies their name. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 19]

Let us, indeed, suppose, that something which formerly was a potentiality succeeds in assuming a form, as “potentiality that becomes a statue,” or that passes to actualization, as a man’s walk. In the case where the metal becomes a statue, this passage is a movement; in the case of the walking, the walk itself is a movement, like the dance, with one who is capable of it. In the movement of the first kind, where the metal passes into the condition of being a statue, there is the production of another form which is realized by the movement. The movement of the second kind, the dance, is a simple form of the potentiality, and, when it has ceased, leaves nothing that subsists after it. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 22]

But why should we not regard the stability of intelligible things also as a negation of movement? Because stability is not the privation of movement; it does not begin to exist when movement ceases, and it does not hinder it from simultaneous existence with it. In intelligible being, stability does not imply the cessation of movement of that whose nature it is to move. On the contrary, so far as intelligible being is contained in (or, expressed by) stability, it is stable; so far as it moves, it will ever move; it is therefore stable by stability, and movable by movement. The body, however, is no doubt moved by movement, but it rests only in the absence of movement, when it is deprived of the movement that it ought to have. Besides, what would stability be supposed to imply (if it were supposed to exist in sense-objects)? When somebody passes from sickness to health, he enters on convalescence. What kind of stillness shall we oppose to convalescence? Shall we oppose to it that condition from which that man had just issued? That state was sickness, and not stability. Shall we oppose to it the state in which that man has just entered? That state is health, which is not identical with stability. To say that sickness and health are each of them a sort of stability, is to consider sickness and health as species of stability, which is absurd. Further, if it were said that stability is an accident of health, it would result that before stability health would not be health. As to such arguments, let each reason according to his fancy! [Ennead VI,3 (44) 27]

To answer these objections, we shall have to follow a different method. Here it suffices to recall what was said above, namely, that by seeing how far a man in motion has advanced, we can ascertain the quantity of the movement; and that, when we discern movement by walking, we simultaneously concede that, before the walking, movement in that man was indicated by a definite quantity, since it caused his body to progress by some particular quantity. As the body was moved during a definite quantity of time, its quantity can be expressed by some particular quantity of movement — for this is the movement that causes it — and to its suitable quantity of time. Then this movement will be applied to the movement of the soul, which, by her uniform action, produces the interval of time. [Ennead III,7 (45) 13]

There are no doubt some who may object to our admitting to happiness living beings other than man. They might even point out that on this basis happiness could not be refused to even the lowest beings, such as plants: for they also live, their life also has a purpose, by which they seek to fulfil their development. However, it would seem rather unreasonable to say, that living beings other than humans cannot possess happiness by this mere reason that to us they seem pitiable. Besides, it would be quite possible to deny to plants what may be predicated of other living beings, on the grounds that plants lack emotion. Some might hold they are capable of happiness, on the strength of their possessing life, for a being that lives can live well or badly; and in this way we could say that they possess or lack well-being, and bear, or do not bear fruits. If (as Aristippus thought), pleasure is the goal of man, and if to live well is constituted by enjoying it, it would be absurd to claim that no living beings other than man could live well. The same argument applies if we define happiness as (a state of imperturbable tranquility, by Epicurus called) ataraxy; or as (the Stoic ideal, of) living conformably to nature. [Ennead I,4 (46) 1]

If man be capable of possessing perfect Life, he is happy as soon as he possesses it. If it were otherwise, if the perfect life pertained to the divinities alone, to them alone also would happiness belong. But since we attribute happiness to men, we shall have to set forth in what that which procures it consists. I repeat, what results from our former considerations, namely, that man has perfect Life when, besides the sense-life, he possesses reason and true intelligence. But is man as such stranger to the perfect Life, and does he possess it as something alien (to his essential being)? No, for no man lacks happiness entirely, either actually or even potentially. But shall we consider happiness as a part of the man, and that he in himself is the perfect form of life? We had better think that he who is a stranger to the perfect Life possesses only a part of happiness, as he possesses happiness only potentially; but that he who possesses the perfect Life in actuality, and he who has succeeded in identifying himself with it, alone is happy. All the other things, no more than envelope him (as the Stoics would say), and could not be considered as parts of him, since they surround him in spite of himself. They would belong to him as parts of himself, if they were joined to him by the result of his will. What is the Good for a man who finds himself in this condition? By the perfect life which he possesses, he himself is his own good. The principle (the Good in itself) which is superior (to the perfect Life) is the cause of the good which is in him; for we must not confuse the Good in itself — and the good in man. [Ennead I,4 (46) 4]

That the man who has achieved perfect Life possesses happiness is proved by his no longer desiring anything. What more could he desire? He could not desire anything inferior; he is united to the best; he, therefore, has fulness of life. If he be virtuous he is fully happy, and fully possesses the Good, for no good thing escapes him. What he seeks is sought only by necessity, less for him than for some of the things which belong to him. He seeks it for the body that is united to him; and though this body be endowed with life, what relates to his needs is not characteristic of the real man. The latter knows it, and what he grants to his body, he grants without in any way departing from his own characteristic life. His happiness will, therefore, not be diminished in adversity, because he continues to possess veritable life. If he lose relatives or friends, he knows the nature of death, and besides those whom it strikes down know it also if they were virtuous. Though he may allow himself to be afflicted by the fate of these relatives or friends, the affliction will not reach the intimate part of his nature; the affliction will be felt only by that part of the soul which lacks reason, and whose suffering the man will not share. [Ennead I,4 (46) 4]

It has often been objected that we should reckon with the bodily pains, the diseases, the obstacles which may hinder action, cases of unconsciousness, which might result from certain philtres and diseases (as the Peripatetics objected). Under these conditions, they say, the sage could not live well, and be happy — without either mentioning poverty and lack of recognition. All these evils, not forgetting the famous misfortunes of Priam, justify serious objections. Indeed, even if the sage endured all these evils (as indeed he easily does), they would none the less be contrary to his will; and happy life must necessarily be one that conforms to our will. The sage is not only a soul endowed with particular dispositions; the body also must be comprised within his personality (as also thought the Pythagorean Archytas). This assertion seems reasonable so far as the passions of the body are felt by the man himself, and as they suggest desires and aversions to him. If then pleasure be an element of happiness, how could the man afflicted by the blows of fate and by pains still be happy, even if he were virtuous? To be happy, the divinities need only to enjoy perfect life; but men, having their soul united to a lower part, must seek their happiness in the life of each of these two parts that compose him, and not exclusively in one of the two, even though it were the higher. Indeed, as soon as one of them suffers, the other one, in spite of its superiority, finds its actions hindered. Otherwise we shall have to regard neither the body, nor the sensations that flow from it; and to seek only what by itself could suffice to procure happiness, independently of the body. [Ennead I,4 (46) 5]

If our exposition of the subject had defined happiness as exemption from pain, sickness, reverses, and great misfortunes, (we would have implied that) it would be impossible for us to taste happiness while exposed to one of those evils. But if happiness consist in the possession of the real good, why should we forget this good to consider its accessories? Why, in the appreciation of this good, should we seek things which are not among the number of its elements? If it consisted in a union of the true goods with those things which alone are necessary to our needs, or which are so called, even without being such, we should have to strive to possess the latter also. But as the goal of man must be single and not manifold — for otherwise it would be usual to say that he seeks his ends, rather than the more common expression, his end — we shall have to seek only what is most high and precious, what the soul somehow wishes to include. Her inclination and will cannot aspire to anything which is not the sovereign good. Reason only avoids certain evils, and seeks certain advantages, because it is provoked by their presence; but it is not so led by nature. The principal tendency of the soul is directed towards what is best; when she possesses it, she is satisfied, and stops; only then does she enjoy a life really conformable to her will. Speaking of will strictly, and not with unjustifiable license, the task of the will is not to procure things necessary to our needs (?) Of course we judge that it is suitable to procure things that are necessary, as we in general avoid evils. But the avoiding of them is no aim desirable in itself; such would rather be not to need to avoid them. This, for instance, occurs when one possesses health and is exempt from suffering. Which of these advantages most attracts us? So long as we enjoy health, so long as we do not suffer, it is little valued. Now advantages which, when present, have no attraction for the soul, and add nothing to her happiness, and which, when absent, are sought as causes of the suffering arising from the presence of their contraries, should reasonably be called necessity rather than goods, and not be reckoned among the elements of our goal. When they are absent and replaced by their contraries, our goal remains just what it was. [Ennead I,4 (46) 6]

Why then does the happy man desire to enjoy the presence of these advantages, and the absence of their contraries? It must be because they contribute, not to his happiness, but to his existence; because their contraries tend to make him lose existence, hindering the enjoyment of the good, without however removing it. Besides, he who possesses what is best wishes to possess it purely, without any mixture. Nevertheless, when a foreign obstacle occurs, the good still persists even in spite of this obstacle. In short, if some accident happen to the happy man against his will, his happiness is in no way affected thereby. Otherwise, he would change and lose his happiness daily; as if, for instance, he had to mourn a son, or if he lost some of his possessions. Many events may occur against his wish without disturbing him in the enjoyment of the good he has attained. It may be objected that it is the great misfortunes, and not trifling accidents (which can disturb the happiness of the wise man). Nevertheless, in human things, is there any great enough not to be scorned by him who has climbed to a principle superior to all, and who no longer depends on lower things? Such a man will not be able to see anything great in the favors of fortune, whatever they be, as in being king, in commanding towns, or peoples; in founding or building cities, even though he himself should receive that glory; he will attach no importance to the loss of his power, or even to the ruin of his fatherland. If he consider all that as a great evil, or even only as an evil, he will have a ridiculous opinion. He will no longer be a virtuous man; for, as Jupiter is my witness, he would be highly valuing mere wood, or stones, birth, or death; while he should insist on the incontestable truth that death is better than the corporeal life (as held by Herodotus). Even though he were sacrificed, he would not consider death any worse merely because it occurred at the feet of the altars. Being buried is really of small importance, for his body will rot as well above as below ground (as thought Theodorus of Cyrene). Neither will he grieve at being buried without pomp and vulgar ostentation, and to have seemed unworthy of being placed in a magnificent tomb. That would be smallness of mind. If he were carried off as a captive, he would still have a road open to leave life, in the case that he should no longer be allowed to hope for happiness. (Nor would he be troubled if the members of his family, such as sons (?) and daughters (and female relatives?) were carried off into captivity. If he had arrived to the end of his life without seeing such occurrences (we would indeed be surprised). Would he leave this world supposing that such things cannot happen? Such an opinion would be absurd. Would he not have realized that his own kindred were exposed to such dangers? The opinion that such things could happen will not make him any less happy. No, he will be happy even with that belief. He would still be so even should that occur; he will indeed reflect that such is the nature of this world, that one must undergo such accidents, and submit. Often perhaps men dragged into captivity will live better (than in liberty); and besides, if their captivity be insupportable, it is in their power to release themselves. If they remain, it is either because their reason so induces them — and then their lot cannot be too hard; or it is against the dictates of their reason, in which case they have none but themselves to blame. The wise man, therefore, will not be unhappy because of the folly of his own people; he will not allow his lot to depend on the happiness or misfortunes of other people. [Ennead I,4 (46) 7]

If the griefs that he himself undergoes are great, he will support them as well as he can; if they exceed his power of endurance, they will carry him off (as thought Seneca). In either case, he will not, in the midst of his sufferings, excite any pity: (ever master of his reason) he will not allow his own characteristic light to be extinguished. Thus the flame in the lighthouse continues to shine, in spite of the raging of the tempest, in spite of the violent blowing of the winds. (He should not be upset) even by loss of consciousness, or even if pain becomes so strong that its violence could almost annihilate him. If pain become more intense, he will decide as to what to do; for, under these circumstances, freedom of will is not necessarily lost (for suicide remains possible, as thought Seneca). Besides, we must realize that these sufferings do not present themselves to the wise man, under the same light as to the common man; that all these need not penetrate to the sanctuary of the man’s life; which indeed happens with the greater part of pains, griefs and evils that we see being suffered by others; it would be proof of weakness to be affected thereby. A no less manifest mark of weakness is to consider it an advantage to ignore all these evils, and to esteem ourselves happy that they happen only after death, without sympathizing with the fate of others, and thinking only to spare ourselves some grief. This would be a weakness that we should eliminate in ourselves, not allowing ourselves to be frightened by the fear of what might happen. The objection that it is natural to be afflicted at the misfortunes of those who surround us, meets the answer that, to begin with, it is not so with every person; then, that it is part of the duty of virtue to ameliorate the common condition of human nature, and to raise it to what is more beautiful, rising above the opinions of the common people. It is indeed beautiful not to yield to what the common people usually consider to be evils. We should struggle against the blows of fortune not by affected ignoring (of difficulties, like an ostrich), but as a skilful athlete who knows that the dangers he is incurring are feared by certain natures, though a nature such as his bears them easily, seeing in them nothing terrible, or at least considering them terrifying only to children. Certainly, the wise man would not have invited these evils; but on being overtaken by them he opposes to them the virtue which renders the soul unshakable and impassible. [Ennead I,4 (46) 8]

It may further be objected that the wise man might lose consciousness, if overwhelmed by disease, or the malice of magic. Would he still remain happy? Either he will remain virtuous, being only fallen asleep; in which case he might continue to be happy, since no one claims he must lose happiness because of sleep, inasmuch as no reckoning of the time spent in this condition is kept, and as he is none the less considered happy for life. On the other hand, if unconsciousness be held to terminate virtue, the question at issue is given up; for, supposing that he continues to be virtuous, the question at issue was, whether he remain happy so long as he remains virtuous. It might indeed still be objected that he cannot be happy if he remain virtuous without feeling it, without acting in conformity with virtue. Our answer is that a man would not be any less handsome or healthy for being so unconsciously. Likewise, he would not be any less wise merely for lack of consciousness thereof. [Ennead I,4 (46) 9]

Once more it may be objected that it is essential to wisdom to be self-conscious, for happiness resides only in actualized wisdom. This objection would hold if reason and wisdom were incidentals. But if the hypostatic substance of wisdom consist in an essence (being), or rather, in being itself, and if this being do not perish during sleep, nor during unconsciousness, if consequently the activity of being continue to subsist in him; if by its very nature this (being) ceaselessly watch, then the virtuous man must even in this state (of sleep or unconsciousness), continue to exercise his activity. Besides, this activity is ignored only by one part of himself, and not by himself entirely. Thus during the operation of the actualization of growth, the perception of its activity is not by his sensibility transmitted to the rest of the man. If our personality were constituted by this actualization of growth, we would act simultaneously with it; but we are not this actualization, but that of the intellectual principle, and that is why we are active simultaneously with this (divine intellectual activity). [Ennead I,4 (46) 9]

The reason that intelligence remains hidden is just because it is not felt; only by the means of this feeling can this activity be felt; but why should intelligence cease to act (merely because it was not felt)? On the other hand, why could the soul not have turned her activity towards intelligence before having felt or perceived it? Since (for intelligence) thinking and existence are identical, perception must have been preceded by some actualization. It seems impossible for perception to arise except when thought reflects upon itself, and when the principle whose activity constitutes the life of the soul, so to speak, turns backwards, and reflects, as the image of an object placed before a brilliant polished mirror reflects itself therein. Likewise, if the mirror be placed opposite the object, there is no more image; and if the mirror be withdrawn or badly adjusted, there is no more image, though the luminous object continue to act. Likewise, when that faculty of the soul which represents to us the images of discursive reason and of intelligence is in a suitable condition of calm, we get an intuition — that is, a somewhat sensual perception thereof — with the prior knowledge of the activity of the intelligence, and of discursive reason. When, however, this image is troubled by an agitation in the mutual harmony of the organs, the discursive reason, and the intelligence continue to act without any image, and the thought does not reflect in the imagination. Therefore we shall have to insist that thought is accompanied by an image without, nevertheless, being one itself. While we are awake, it often happens to us to perform praiseworthy things, to meditate and to act, without being conscious of these operations at the moment that we produce them. When for instance we read something, we are not necessarily self-conscious that we are reading, especially if our attention be fully centered on what we read. Neither is a brave man who is performing a courageous deed, self-conscious of his bravery. There are many other such cases. It would therefore seem that the consciousness of any deed weakens its energy, and that when the action is alone (without that consciousness) it is in a purer, livelier and more vital condition. When virtuous men are in that condition (of absence of self-consciousness), their life is more intense because it concentrates in itself instead of mingling with feeling. [Ennead I,4 (46) 10]

It has sometimes been said that a man in such a condition does not really live. (If such be their honest opinion), they must be told that he does live, even if they be incapable of understanding his happiness and his life. If this seem to them incredible, they should reflect whether their own admission that such a man lives and is virtuous, does not imply that under those circumstances he is happy. Neither should they begin by supposing that he is annihilated, only later to consider whether he be happy. Neither should they confine themselves to externalities after having admitted that he turns his whole attention on things that he bears within himself; in short, not to believe that the goal of his will inheres in external objects. Indeed, such considering of external objects as the goal of the will of the virtuous man, would be tantamount to a denial of the very essence (being) of happiness; likewise, insisting that those are the objects he desires. His wish would undoubtedly be that all men should be happy, and that none of them should suffer any evil; but, nevertheless, he is none the less happy when that does not happen. Other people, again, would say that it was unreasonable for the virtuous man to form such an (impossible) wish, since elimination of evils here below is out of the question. This, however, would constitute an admission of our belief that the only goal of the virtuous man’s will is the conversion of the soul towards herself. [Ennead I,4 (46) 11]

We grant, however, that the pleasures claimed for the virtuous man are neither those sought by debauchees, nor those enjoyed by the body. Those pleasures could not be predicated of him without degrading his felicity. Nor can we claim for him raptures of delight — for what would be their use? It is sufficient to suppose that the virtuous man tastes the pleasures attached to the presence of goods, pleasures which must consist neither in motions, nor be accidental. He enjoys the presence of those (higher) goods because he is present to himself; from that time on he lingers in a state of sweet serenity. The virtuous man, therefore, is always serene, calm, and satisfied. If he be really virtuous, his state cannot be troubled by any of the things that we call evils. Those who in the virtuous life are seeking for pleasures of another kind are actually seeking something else than the virtuous life. [Ennead I,4 (46) 12]

The actions of the virtuous man could not be hindered by fortune, but they may vary with the fluctuations of fortune. All will be equally beautiful, and, perhaps, so much the more beautiful as the virtuous man will find himself placed amidst more critical circumstances. Any acts that concern contemplation, which relate to particular things, will be such that the wise man will be able to produce them, after having carefully sought and considered what he is to do. Within himself he finds the most infallible of the rules of conduct, a rule that will never fail him, even were he within the oft-discussed bull of Phalaris. It is useless for the vulgar man to repeat, even twice or thrice, that such a fate is sweet; for if a man were to utter those words, they are uttered by that very (animal) part that undergoes those tortures. On the contrary, in the virtuous man, the part that suffers is different from that which dwells within itself, and which, while necessarily residing within itself, is never deprived of the contemplation of the universal Good. [Ennead I,4 (46) 13]

Man, and specially the virtuous man, is constituted not by the composite of soul and body, as is proved by the soul’s power to separate herself from the body, and to scorn what usually are called “goods.” It would be ridiculous to relate happiness to the animal part of man, since happiness consists in living well, and living well, being an actualization, belongs to the soul, exclusively. Not even does it extend to the entire soul, for happiness does not extend to that part of the soul concerned with growth, having nothing in common with the body, neither as to its size, nor its possible good condition. Nor does it depend on the perfection of the senses, because their development, as well as that of the organs, weights man down, and makes him earthy. Doing good will be made easier by establishing a sort of counter-weight, weakening the body, and taming its motions, so as to show how much the real man differs from the foreign things that (to speak as do the Stoics), surround him. However much the (earthy) common man enjoy beauty, greatness, wealth, command over other men, and earthly luxuries, he should not be envied for the deceptive pleasure he takes in all these advantages. To begin with, the wise man will probably not possess them; but if he do possess them, he will voluntarily diminish them, if he take due care of himself. By voluntary negligence he will weaken and disfigure the advantages of his body. He will abdicate from dignities. While preserving the health of his body, he will not desire to be entirely exempt from disease and sufferings. If he never experienced these evils, he will wish to make a trial of them during his youth. But when he has arrived at old age, he will no longer wish to be troubled either by pains, or pleasures, or anything sad or agreeable that relates to the body; so as not to be forced to give it his attention. He will oppose the sufferings he will have to undergo with a firmness that will never forsake him. He will not believe that his happiness is increased by pleasures, health or rest, nor destroyed nor diminished by their contraries. As the former advantages do not augment his felicity, how could their loss diminish it? [Ennead I,4 (46) 14]

Let us now imagine two wise men, the first of whom possesses everything that heart can wish for, while the other is in a contrary position. Shall they be said to be equally happy? Yes, if they be equally wise. Even if the one possessed physical beauty, and all the other advantages that do not relate either to wisdom, virtue, contemplation of the good, or perfect life; what would be the use of all that since he who possesses all these advantages is not considered as really being happier than he who lacks them? Such wealth would not even help a flute-player to accomplish his object! We, however, consider the happy man only from the standpoint of the weakness of our mind, considering as serious and frightful what the really happy man considers indifferent. For the man could not be wise, nor consequently happy, so long as he has not succeeded in getting rid of all these vain ideas, so long as he has not entirely transformed himself, so long as he does not within himself contain the confidence that he is sheltered from all evil. Only then will he live without being troubled by any fear. The only thing that should affect him, would be the fear that he is not an expert in wisdom, that he is only partly wise. As to unforeseen fears that might get the better of him before he had had the time to reflect, during a moment of abstraction of attention, the wise man will hasten to turn them away, treating that which within himself becomes agitated as a child that has lost its way through pain. He will tranquilize it either by reason, or even by a threat, though uttered without passion. Thus the mere sight of a worthy person suffices to calm a child. Besides, the wise man will not hold aloof either from friendship nor gratitude. He will treat his own people as he treats himself; giving to his friends as much as to his own person; and he will give himself up to friendship, without ceasing to exercise intelligence therein. [Ennead I,4 (46) 15]

If the virtuous man were not located in this elevated life of intelligence; if on the contrary he were supposed to be subject to the blows of fate, and if we feared that they would overtake him, our ideal would no longer be that of the virtuous man such as we outline it; we would be considering a vulgar man, mingled with good and evil, of whom a life equally mingled with good and evil would be predicated. Even such a man might not easily be met with, and besides, if we did meet him, he would not deserve to be called a wise man; for there would be nothing great about him, neither the dignity of wisdom, nor the purity of good. Happiness, therefore, is not located in the life of the common man. Plato rightly says that you have to leave the earth to ascend to the good, and that to become wise and happy, one should turn one’s look towards the only Good, trying to acquire resemblance to Him, and to live a life conformable to Him. That indeed must suffice the wise man to reach his goal. To the remainder he should attach no more value than to changes of location, none of which can add to his happiness. If indeed he pay any attention to external things scattered here and there around him, it is to satisfy the needs of his body so far as he can. But as he is something entirely different from the body, he is never disturbed at having to leave it; and he will abandon it whenever nature will have indicated the time. Besides, he always reserves to himself the right to deliberate about this (time to leave the world by suicide). Achievement of happiness will indeed be his chief goal; nevertheless, he will also act, not only in view of his ultimate goal, or himself, but on the body to which he is united. He will care for this body, and will sustain it as long as possible. Thus a musician uses his lyre so long as he can; but as soon as it is beyond using, he repairs it, or abandons playing the lyre, because he now can do without it. Leaving it on the ground, he will look at it almost with scorn, and will sing without its accompaniment. Nevertheless it will not have been in vain that this lyre will have been originally given to him; for he will often have profited by its use. [Ennead I,4 (46) 16]

For not being beautiful this world should not be blamed; neither for not being the best of corporeal worlds; nor should the Cause, from which it derives its existence, be accused. To begin with, this world exists necessarily. It is not the work of a reflecting determination. It exists because a superior Being naturally begets it in His own likeness. Even if its creation were the result of reflective determination, it could not shame its author; for the divinity made the universe beautiful, complete and harmonious. Between the greater and lesser parts He introduced a fortunate accord. A person who would blame the totality of the world from consideration of its parts is therefore unjust. He should examine the parts in their relation to the totality, and see whether they be in accord and in harmony with it. Then the study of the whole should continue down to that of the least details. Otherwise criticism does not apply to the world as a whole, but only to some of its parts. For instance, we well know how admirable, as a whole, is man; yet we grant that there would be justification for criticism of a separate hair, or toe, or some of the vilest animals, or Thersites, as a specimen of humanity. [Ennead III,2 (47) 3]

It is constantly objected that fortune maltreats the good, and favors the evil in opposition to the agreement that ought to exist between virtue and happiness. The true answer to this is that no harm can happen to the righteous man, and no good to the vicious man. Other objectors ask why one man is exposed to what is contrary to nature, while the other obtains what conforms thereto. How can distributive justice be said to obtain in this world? If, however, the obtaining of what conforms to nature do not increase the happiness of the virtuous man, and if being exposed to what is contrary to nature do not diminish the wickedness of the vicious man, of what importance (as thought Plato), are either of these conditions? Neither will it matter if the vicious man be handsome, or the virtuous man ugly. [Ennead III,2 (47) 6]

To begin with, we must remark that to show that all is good in the things mingled with matter (and therefore of sense), we must not expect to find in them the whole perfection of the World which is not soiled by matter, and is intelligible; nor should we expect to find in that which holds the second rank characteristics of that which is of the first. Since the world has a body, we must grant that this body will have influence on the totality, and expect no more than that Reason will give it that which this mixed nature was capable of receiving. For instance, if we were to contemplate the most beautiful man here below, we would be wrong in believing that he was identical with the intelligible Man, and inasmuch as he was made of flesh, muscles and bones, we would have to be satisfied with his having received from his creator all the perfection that could be communicated to him to embellish these bones, muscles and flesh, and to make the (“seminal) reason” in him predominate over the matter within him. [Ennead III,2 (47) 7]

But how shall we explain the difference that is observed between the lot of the good and the evil? How can it occur that the former are poor, while others are rich, and possess more than necessary to satisfy their needs, being even powerful, and governing cities and nations? (The Gnostics and Manicheans) think that the sphere of activity of Providence does not extend down to the earth. No! For all of the rest (of this world) conforms to (universal) Reason, inasmuch as animals and plants participate in Reason, Life and Soul. (The Gnostic) will answer that if Providence do extend to this earth, it does not predominate therein. As the world is but a single organism, to advance such an objection is the part of somebody who would assert that the head and face of man were produced by Nature, and that reason dominated therein, while the other members were formed by other causes, such as chance or necessity, and that they were evil either on this account, or because of the importance of Nature. Wisdom and piety, however, would forbid the admission that here below not everything was well, blaming the operation of Providence. [Ennead III,2 (47) 7]

It remains for us to explain how sense-objects are good and participate in the (cosmic) Order; or at least, that they are not evil. In every animal, the higher parts, such as the face and head, are the most beautiful, and are not equalled by the middle or lower parts. Now men occupy the middle and lower region of the universe. In the higher region we find the heaven containing the divinities; it is they that fill the greater part of the world, with the vast sphere where they reside. The earth occupies the centre and seems to be one of the stars. We are surprised at seeing injustice reigning here below chiefly because man is regarded as the most venerable and wisest being in the universe. Nevertheless, this being that is so wise occupies but the middle place between divinities and animals, at different times inclining towards the former or the latter. Some men resemble the divinities, and others resemble animals; but the greater part continue midway between them. [Ennead III,2 (47) 8]

Nor should the sphere of Providence be extended to the point of suppressing our own action. For if Providence did everything, and Providence alone existed, it would thereby be annihilated. To what, indeed, would it apply? There would be nothing but divinity! It is indeed incontestable that divinity exists, and that its sphere extends over other beings — but divinity does not suppress the latter. For instance, divinity approaches man, and preserves in him what constitutes humanity; that is, divinity makes him live in conformity to the law of Providence, and makes him fulfil the commandments of that law. Now, this law decrees that the life of men who have become virtuous should be good both here below and after their death; and that the evil should meet an opposite fate. It would be unreasonable to expect the existence of men who forget themselves to come and save the evil, even if the latter addressed prayers to the divinity. Neither should we expect the divinities to renounce their blissful existence to come and administer our affairs; nor that the virtuous men, whose life is holy and superior to human conditions, should be willing to govern the wicked. The latter never busy themselves with promoting the good to the governing of other men, and themselves to be good (as thought Plato). They are even jealous of the man who is good by himself; there would indeed be more good people if virtuous men were chosen as chiefs. [Ennead III,2 (47) 9]

Man is therefore not the best being in the universe; according to his choice he occupies an intermediate rank. In the place he occupies, however, he is not abandoned by Providence, which ever leads him back to divine things by the numerous means it possesses to cause the triumph of virtue. That is the reason why men have never lost rationality, and why, to some degree, they always participate in wisdom, intelligence, art, and the justice that regulates their mutual relations. Even when one wrongs another, he is still given credit for acting in justice to himself, and he is treated according to his deserts. Besides, man, as a creature, is handsome, as handsome as possible, and, by the part he plays in the universe, he is superior to all the animals that dwell here below. [Ennead III,2 (47) 9]

No one in his senses would complain of the existence of animals inferior to man, if, besides, they contribute towards the embellishment of the universe. Would it not be ridiculous to complain that some of them bite men, as if the latter had an imprescriptible right to complete security? The existence of these animals is necessary; it procures us advantages both evident and still unknown, but which will be revealed in the course of time. Thus there is nothing useless in animals, either in respect to themselves, or to man. It is, besides, ridiculous to complain because many animals are wild, when there are even men who are such; what should surprise us most is that many animals are not submissive to man, and defend themselves against him. [Ennead III,2 (47) 9]

Unjust actions are involuntary only in this sense that one does not have the will to commit a fault; but this circumstance does not hinder the spontaneity of the action. However, when one acts spontaneously, one is responsible for the fault; one would avoid responsibility for the fault only if one were not the author of the action. To say that the wicked are such necessarily, does not mean that they undergo an external constraint, but that their character is constituted by wickedness. The influence of the course of the stars does not destroy our liberty, for, if every action in us were determined by the exterior influence of such agents, everything would go on as these agents desired it; consequently, men would not commit any actions contrary to the will of these agents. If the divinities alone were the authors of all our actions, there would be no impious persons; therefore, impiety is due to men. It is true that, once the cause is given, the effects will follow, if only the whole series of causes be given. But man himself is one of these causes; he therefore does good by his own nature, and he is a free cause. [Ennead III,2 (47) 10]

There is a further consideration that should not be overlooked, namely: that if you desire to discover the exercise of the distributive Justice of the divinity, it is not sufficient to examine only the present; the past and future must also be considered. Those who, in a former life, were slave-owners, if they abused their power, will be enslaved; and this change would be useful to them. It impoverishes those who have badly used their wealth; for poverty is of service even to virtuous people. Likewise, those who kill will in their turn be killed; he who commits homicide acts unjustly, but he who is its victim suffers justly. Thus arises a harmony between the disposition of the man who is maltreated, and the disposition of him who maltreats him as he deserved. It is not by chance that a man becomes a slave, is made prisoner, or is dishonored. He (must himself) have committed the violence which he in turn undergoes. He who kills his mother will be killed by his son; he who has violated a woman will in turn become a woman in order to become the victim of a rape. Hence, the divine Word called Adrastea. The orderly system here mentioned really is “unescapeable,” truly a justice and an admirable wisdom. From the things that we see in the universe we must conclude that the order which reigns in it is eternal, that it penetrates everywhere, even in the smallest thing; and that it reveals an admirable art not only in the divine things, but also in those that might be supposed to be beneath the notice of Providence, on account of their minuteness. Consequently, there is an admirable variety of art in the vilest animal. It extends even into plants, whose fruits and leaves are so distinguished by the beauty of form, whose flowers bloom with so much grace, which grow so easily, and which offer so much variety. These things were not produced once for all; they are continually produced with variety, because the stars in their courses do not always exert the same influence on things here below. What is transformed is not transformed and metamorphosed by chance, but according to the laws of beauty, and the rules of suitability observed by divine powers. Every divine Power acts according to its nature, that is, in conformity with its essence. Now its essence is to develop justice and beauty in its actualizations; for if justice and beauty did not exist here, they could not exist elsewhere. [Ennead III,2 (47) 13]

The order of the universe conforms to divine Intelligence without implying that on that account its author needed to go through the process of reasoning. Nevertheless, this order is so perfect that he who best knows how to reason would be astonished to see that even with reasoning one could not discover a plan wiser than that discovered as realized in particular natures, and that this plan better conforms to the laws of Intelligence than any that could result from reasoning. It can never, therefore, be proper to find fault with the Reason that produces all things because of any (alleged imperfections) of any natural object, nor to claim, for the beings whose existence has begun, the perfection of the beings whose existence had no beginning, and which are eternal, both in the intelligible World, and in this sense-world. That would amount to wishing that every being should possess more good than it can carry, and to consider as insufficient the form it received. It would, for instance, amount to complaining, that man does not bear horns, and to fail to notice that, if Reason had to spread abroad everywhere, it was still necessary for something great to contain something less, that in everything there should be parts, and that these could not equal the whole without ceasing to be parts. In the intelligible World every thing is all; but here below each thing is not all things. The individual man does not have the same properties as the universal Man. For if the individual beings had something which was not individual, then they would be universal. We should not expect an individual being as such to possess the highest perfection; for then it would no longer be an individual being. Doubtless, the beauty of the part is not incompatible with that of the whole; for the more beautiful a part is, the more does it embellish the whole. Now the part becomes more beautiful on becoming similar to the whole, or imitating its essence, and in conforming to its order. Thus a ray (of the supreme Intelligence) descends here below upon man, and shines in him like a star in the divine sky. To imagine the universe, one should imagine a colossal statue that were perfectly beautiful, animated or formed by the art of Vulcan, whose ears, face and breast would be adorned with shimmering stars disposed with marvelous skill. [Ennead III,2 (47) 14]

In this world, indeed, just as in the theatre, it is not the soul, the interior man, but his shadow, the exterior man, who gives himself up to lamentations and groans, who on this earth moves about so much, and who makes of it the scene of an immense drama with numberless different acts (?) Such is the characteristic of the actions of a man who considers exclusively the things placed at his feet, and outside of him, and who does not know that his tears and serious occupations are any more than games. The really earnest man occupies himself seriously only with really serious affairs, while the frivolous man applies himself to frivolous things. Indeed, frivolous things become serious for him who does not know really serious occupations, and who himself is frivolous. If, indeed, one cannot help being mixed up in this child’s play, it is just as well to know that he has fallen into child’s play where one’s real personality is not in question. If Socrates were to mingle in these games, it would only be his exterior man who would do so. Let us add that tears and groans do not prove that the evils we are complaining of are very real evils; for often children weep and lament over imaginary grievances. [Ennead III,2 (47) 15]

Besides, if this world contain both bad and good people, and if the latter play the greater part in the world, there will take place that which is seen in dramas where the poet, at times, imposes his ideas on the actors, and again at others relies on their ingenuity. The obtaining of the first, second or third rank by an actor does not depend on the poet. The poet only assigns to each the part he is capable of filling, and assigns to him a suitable place. Likewise (in the world), each one occupies his assigned place, and the bad man, as well as the good one, has the place that suits him. Each one, according to his nature and character, comes to occupy the place that suits him, and that he had chosen, and then speaks and acts with piety if he be good, and impiously, if he be evil. Before the beginning of the drama, the actors already had their proper characters; they only developed it. In dramas composed by men, it is the poet who assigns their parts to the actors; and the latter are responsible only for the efficiency or inefficiency of their acting; for they have nothing to do but repeat the words of the poet. But in this drama (of life), of which men imitate certain parts when their nature is poetic, it is the soul that is the actor. This actor receives his part from the creator, as stage-actors receive from the poet their masks, garments, their purple robe, or their rags. Thus in the drama of the world it is not from chance that the soul receives her part. [Ennead III,2 (47) 17]

Every individual, therefore, occupies, according to justice, the place he deserves, just as each string of the lyre is fixed to the place assigned to it by the nature of the sounds it is to render. In the universe everything is good and beautiful if every being occupy the place he deserves, if, for instance, he utter discordant sounds when in darkness and Tartarus; for such sounds fit that place. If the universe is to be beautiful, the individual must not behave “like a stone” in it; he must contribute to the unity of the universal harmony by uttering the sound suitable to him (as thought Epictetus  ). The sound that the individual utters is the life he leads, a life which is inferior in greatness, goodness and power (to that of the universe). The shepherd’s pipe utters several sounds, and the weakest of them, nevertheless, contributes to the total Harmony, because this harmony is composed of unequal sounds whose totality constitutes a perfect harmony. Likewise, universal Reason though one, contains unequal parts. Consequently, the universe contains different places, some better, and some worse, and their inequality corresponds to the inequality of the soul. Indeed, as both places and souls are different, the souls that are different find the places that are unequal, like the unequal parts of the pipe, or any other musical instrument. They inhabit different places, and each utters sounds proper to the place where they are, and to the universe. Thus what is bad for the individual may be good for the totality; what is against nature in the individual agrees with the nature in the whole. A sound that is feeble does not change the harmony of the universe, as — to use another example — one bad citizen does not change the nature of a well-regulated city; for often there is need of such a man in a city; he therefore fits it well. [Ennead III,2 (47) 17]

The question (why some reasons are souls, while others are reasons merely, when at the same time universal Reason is a certain Soul), may be answered as follows. Universal Reason (which proceeds from the universal Soul) embraces both good and bad things, which equally belong to its parts; it does not engender them, but exists with them in its universality. In fact, these “logoses” (or reasons) (or, particular souls), are the acts of the universal Soul; and these reasons being parts (of the universal Soul) have parts (of the operations) as their acts (or energies). Therefore, just as the universal Soul, which is one, has different parts, so this difference occurs again in the reasons and in the operations they effect. Just as their works (harmonize), so do the souls themselves mutually harmonize; they harmonize in this, that their very diversity, or even opposition, forms an unity. By a natural necessity does everything proceed from, and return to unity; thus creatures which are different, or even opposed, are not any the less co-ordinated in the same system, and that because they proceed from the same principle. Thus horses or human beings are subsumed under the unity of the animal species, even though animals of any kind, such as horses, for example, bite each other, and struggle against each other with a jealousy which rises to fury; and though animals of either species, including man, do as much. Likewise, with inanimate things; they form divers species, and should likewise be subsumed under the genus of inanimate things; and, if you go further, to essence, and further still, to super-Essence (the One). Having thus related or subsumed everything to this principle, let us again descend, by dividing it. We shall see unity splitting, as it penetrates and embraces everything simultaneously in a unique (or all-embracing system). Thus divided, the unity constitutes a multiple organism; each of its constituent parts acts according to its nature, without ceasing to form part of the universal Being; thus is it that the fire burns, the horse behaves as a horse should, and men perform deeds as various as their characters. In short, every being acts, lives well or badly, according to its own nature. [Ennead III,3 (48) 1]

Although I am able to make any desired decision, nevertheless my decision enters into the plan of the universe, because my nature has not been introduced into this plan subsequently; but it includes me and my character. But whence originates my character? This includes two points: is the cause of any man’s character to be located in Him who formed him, or in that man himself? Must we, on the other hand, give up seeking its cause? Surely: just as it is hopeless to ask why plants have no sensation, or why animals are not men; it would be the same as asking why men are not gods. Why should we complain that men do not have a more perfect nature, if in the case of plants and animals nobody questions or accuses either these beings themselves, nor the power which has made them? (This would be senseless, for two reasons): if we say that they might have been better, we are either speaking of the qualities which each of them is capable of acquiring by himself; and in this case we should blame only him who has not acquired them — or, we are speaking of those qualities which he should derive not from himself, but from the Creator, in which case it would be as absurd to claim for man more qualities than he has received, than it would be to do so in the case of plants or animals. What we should examine is not if one being be inferior to another, but if it be complete within its own sphere; for evidently natural inequalities are unavoidable. This again depends on conformity to nature, not that inequalities depend on the will of the principle which has regulated all things. [Ennead III,3 (48) 3]

If man were simple — that is, if he were no more than what he had been created, and if all his actions and passions derived from the same principle — we would no more exercise our reason to complain for his behoof than we have to complain for that of other animals. But we do have something to blame in the man, and that in the perverted man. We have good grounds for this blame, because man is not only that which he was created, but has, besides, another principle which is free (intelligence, with reason). This free principle, however, is not outside of Providence, and the Reason of the universe, any more than it would be reasonable to suppose that the things above depended on the things here below. On the contrary, it is superior things which shed their radiance on inferior ones, and this is the cause of the perfection of Providence. As to the Reason of the universe, it itself is double also; one produces things, while the other unites generated things to intelligible ones. Thus are constituted two providences: a superior one, from above (intellectual Reason, the principal power of the soul), and an inferior one, the (natural and generative power, called) reason, which derives from the first; and from both results the concatenation of things, and universal Providence (or, Providence, and destiny). [Ennead III,3 (48) 4]

Men (therefore, not being only what they were made) possess another principle (free intelligence with reason); but not all make use of all the principles they possess; some make use of the one principle (their intelligence), while others make use of the other (principle of reason), or even of the lower principle (of imagination and sensation). All these principles are present in the man, even when they do not react on him; and even in this case, they are not inert; each fulfils its peculiar office; only they do not all act simultaneously upon him (or, are not perceived by his consciousness). It may seem difficult to understand how this may be the case with all of them present, and it might seem easier to consider them absent; but they are present in us, in the sense that we lack none of them; although we might consider them absent in the sense that a principle that does not react on a man might be considered absent from him. It might be asked why these principles do not react on all men, since they are part of them? We might, referring chiefly to this (free, intelligent, reasonable) principle, say that first, it does not belong to animals; second, it is not even (practiced) by all men. If it be not present in all men, so much the more is it not alone in them, because the being in whom this principle alone is present lives according to this principle, and lives according to other principles only so far as he is compelled by necessity. The cause (which hinders intelligence and reason from dominating us) will have to be sought in the (Stoic) substrate of the man, either because our corporeal constitution troubles the superior principle (of reason and intelligence), or because of the predominance of our passions. [Ennead III,3 (48) 4]

(After all), we have not yet reached any conclusion, because this substrate of man is composed of two elements: the (“seminal) reason,” and matter; (and either of them might be the cause). At first blush, it would seem that the cause (of the predominance of our lower natures) must be sought in matter, rather than in the (“seminal) reason”; and that which dominates in us is not (“seminal) reason,” but matter and organized substrate. This, however, is not the case. What plays the part of substrate in respect of the superior principle (of free intelligence and reason), is both the (“seminal) reason,” and that which is generated thereby, conforming to that reason; consequently, the predominant element in us is not matter, any more than our corporeal constitution. [Ennead III,3 (48) 4]

Besides, our individual characters might be derived from pre-existences. In this case we would say that our (“seminal) reason” has degenerated as a result of our antecedents, that our soul has lost her force by irradiating what was below her. Besides, our (“seminal) reason” contains within itself the very reason of our constituent matter, a matter which it discovered, or conformed to its own nature. In fact, the (“seminal) reason” of an ox resides in no matter other than that of an ox. Thus, as said (Plato), the soul finds herself destined to pass into the bodies of animals other than men, because, just like the (“seminal) reason,” she has altered, and has become such as to animate an ox, instead of a man. By this decree of divine justice she becomes still worse than she was. [Ennead III,3 (48) 4]

From first to last Providence descends from on high, communicating its gifts not according to the law of an equality that would be numeric, but proportionate, varying its operations according to locality (or occasion). So, in the organization of an animal, from beginning to end, everything is related; every member has its peculiar function, superior or inferior, according to the rank it occupies; it has also its peculiar passions, passions which are in harmony with its nature, and the place it occupies in the system of things. So, for instance, a blow excites responses that differ according to the organ that received it; the vocal organ will produce a sound; another organ will suffer in silence, or execute a movement resultant from that passion; now, all sounds, actions and passions form in the animal the unity of sound, life and existence. The parts, being various, play different roles; thus there are differing functions for the feet, the eyes, discursive reason, and intelligence. But all things form one unity, relating to a single Providence, so that destiny governs what is below, and providence reigns alone in what is on high. In fact, all that lies in the intelligible world is either rational or super-rational, namely: Intelligence and pure Soul. What derives therefrom constitutes Providence, as far as it derives therefrom, as it is in pure Soul, and thence passes into the animals. Thence arises (universal) Reason, which, being distributed in unequal parts, produces things unequal, such as the members of an animal. As consequences from Providence are derived the human deeds which are agreeable to the divinity. All such actions are related (to the plan of Providence); they are not done by Providence; but when a man, or another animate or inanimate being performs some deeds, these, if there be any good in them, enter into the plan of Providence, which everywhere establishes virtue, and amends or corrects errors. Thus does every animal maintain its bodily health by the kind of providence within him; on the occasion of a cut or wound the (“seminal) reason” which administers the body of this animal immediately draws (the tissues) together, and forms scars over the flesh, re-establishes health, and invigorates the members that have suffered. [Ennead III,3 (48) 5]

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]

If then (the bad things do not conform to Providence), the diviners and astrologers predict evil things only by the concatenation which occurs between contraries, between form and matter, for instance, in a composite being. Thus in contemplating the form and (“seminal) reason” one is really contemplating the being which receives the form; for one does not contemplate in the same way the intelligible animal, and the composite animal; what one contemplates in the composite animal is the (“seminal) reason” which gives form to what is inferior. Therefore, since the world is an animal, when one contemplates its occurrences, one is really contemplating the causes that make them arise, the Providence which presides over them, and whose action extends in an orderly manner to all beings and events; that is, to all animals, their actions and dispositions, which are dominated by Reason and mingled with necessity. We thus contemplate what has been mingled since the beginning, and what is still continually mingled. In this mixture, consequently, it is impossible to distinguish Providence from what conforms thereto, nor what derives from the substrate (that is, from matter, and which, consequently, is deformed, and evil). This is not a human task, not even of a man who might be wise or divine; such a privilege can be ascribed only to God. [Ennead III,3 (48) 6]

Now let us suppose that the senses have perceived a man, and have furnished an appropriate image thereof to discursive reason. What will the latter say? It may say nothing, limiting itself to taking notice of him. However, it may also ask itself who this man is; and, having already met him, with the aid of memory, decide that he is Socrates. If then discursive reason develop the image of Socrates, then it divides what imagination has furnished. If discursive reason add that Socrates is good, it still deals with things known by the senses; but that which it asserts thereof, namely, his goodness, it has drawn from itself, because within itself it possesses the rule of goodness. But how does it, within itself, possess goodness? Because it conforms to the Good, and receives the notion of it from the Intelligence that enlightens itself; for (discursive reason), this part of the soul, is pure, and receives impressions from Intelligence. [Ennead V,3 (49) 3]

We ourselves are kings when we think in conformity with intelligence. This, however, can take place in two ways. Either we have received from intelligence the impressions and rules which are, as it were, engraved within us, so that we are, so to speak, filled with intelligence; or we can have the perception and intuition of it, because it is present with us. When we see intelligence, we recognize that by contemplation of it we ourselves are grasping other intelligible entities. This may occur in two ways; either because, by the help of this very power, we grasp the power which cognizes intelligible entities; or because we ourselves become intelligence. The man who thus knows himself is double. Either he knows discursive reason, which is characteristic of the soul, or, rising to a superior condition, he cognizes himself and is united with intelligence. Then, by intelligence, that man thinks himself; no more indeed as being man, but as having become superior to man, as having been transported into the intelligible Reason, and drawing thither with himself the best part of the soul, the one which alone is capable of taking flight towards thought, and of receiving the fund of knowledge resulting from his intuition. But does discursive reason not know that it is discursive reason, and that its domain is the comprehension of external objects? Does it not, while doing so, know that it judges? Does it not know that it is judging by means of the rules derived from intelligence, which itself contains? Does it not know that above it is a principle which possesses intelligible entities, instead of seeking (merely) to know them? But what would this faculty be if it did not know what it is, and what its functions are? It knows, therefore, that it depends on intelligence, that it is inferior to intelligence, and that it is the image of intelligence, that it contains the rules of intelligence as it were engraved within itself, such as intelligence engraves them, or rather, has engraved them on it. [Ennead V,3 (49) 4]

Will he who thus knows himself content himself therewith? Surely not. Exercising a further faculty, we will have the intuition of the intelligence that knows itself; or, seizing it, inasmuch as it is “ours” and we are “its,” we will thus cognize intelligence, and know ourselves. This is necessary for our knowledge of what, within intelligence, self-consciousness is. The man becomes intelligence when, abandoning his other faculties, he by intelligence sees Intelligence, and he sees himself in the same manner that Intelligence sees itself. [Ennead V,3 (49) 4]

We must, therefore, contemplate the soul and her divinest part in order to discover the nature of Intelligence. This is how we may accomplish it: From man, that is from yourself, strip off the body; then that power of the soul that fashions the body; then sensation, appetite, and anger, and all the lower passions that incline you towards the earth. What then remains of the soul is what we call the “image of intelligence,” an image that radiates from Intelligence, as from the immense globe of the sun radiates the surrounding luminary sphere. Of course, we would not say that all the light that radiates from the sun remains within itself around the sun; only a part of this light remains around the sun from which it emanates; another part, spreading by relays, descends to us on the earth. But we consider light, even that which surrounds the sun, as located in something else, so as not to be forced to consider the whole space between the sun and us as empty of all bodies. On the contrary, the soul is a light which remains attached to Intelligence, and she is not located in any space because Intelligence itself is not spatially located. While the light of the sun is in the air, on the contrary the soul, in the state in which we consider her here, is so pure that she can be seen in herself by herself, and by any other soul that is in the same condition. The soul needs to reason, in order to conceive of the nature of Intelligence according to her own nature; but Intelligence conceives of itself without reasoning because it is always present to itself. We, on the contrary, are present both to ourselves and to Intelligence when we turn towards it, because our life is divided into several lives. On the contrary, Intelligence has no need of any other life, nor of anything else; what Intelligence gives is not given to itself, but to other things; neither does Intelligence have any need of what is inferior to it; nor could Intelligence give itself anything inferior, since Intelligence possesses all things; instead of possessing in itself the primary images of things (as in the case of the soul), Intelligence is these things themselves. [Ennead V,3 (49) 9]

They who join to this passion as much of a desire for immortality as our mortal nature admits, seek beauty in the perpetuity of the procreation which renders man imperishable. They determine to procreate and produce beauty according to nature; procreating because their object is perpetuity; and procreating beautifully because they possess affinity with it. In fact, perpetuity does bear affinity to beauty; perpetual nature is beauty itself; and such also are all its derivatives. [Ennead III,5 (50) 1]

(Plutarch  ) held that Plato, by Love, meant the world. He should have stated that Love is part of the world, and was born in it. His opinion is erroneous, as may be demonstrated by several proofs. First, (Plato) calls the world a blessed deity, that is self-sufficient; however, he never attributes these characteristics to Love, which he always calls a needy being. Further, the world is composed of a body and a Soul, the latter being Venus; consequently, Venus would be the directing part of Love; or, if we take the world to mean the world-Soul, just as we often say “man” when we mean the human soul, Love would be identical with Venus. Third, if Love, which is a Guardian, is the world, why should not the other Guardians (who evidently are of the same nature) not also be the world? In this case, the world would be composed of Guardians. Fourth, how could we apply to the world that which (Plato) says of Love, that it is the “guardian of fair children”? Last, Plato describes Love as lacking clothing, shoes, and lodging. This could not be applied to the world without absurdity or ridicule. [Ennead III,5 (50) 5]

By herself, the soul is not evil, and not every soul is evil. What soul deserves to be so considered? That of the man who, according to the expression of Plato, is a slave to the body. In this man it is natural for the soul to be evil. It is indeed the irrational part of the soul which harbors all that constitutes evil: indetermination, excess, and need, from which are derived intemperance, cowardliness, and all the vices of the soul, the involuntary passions, mothers of false opinions, which lead us to consider the things we seek or avoid as goods or evils. But what produces this evil? How shall we make a cause or a principle of it? To begin with, the soul is neither independent of matter, nor, by herself, perverse. By virtue of her union with the body, which is material, she is mingled with indetermination, and so, to a certain point, deprived of the form which embellishes and which supplies measure. Further, that reason should be hindered in its operations, and cannot see well, must be due to the soul’s being hindered by passions, and obscured by the darkness with which matter surrounds her. The soul inclines towards matter. Thus the soul fixes her glance, not on what is essence, but on what is simple generation. Now the principle of generation is matter, whose nature is so bad that matter communicates it to the beings which, even without being united thereto, merely look at it. Being the privation of good, matter contains none of it, and assimilates to itself all that touches it. Therefore, the perfect Soul, being turned towards ever pure Intelligence, repels matter, indeterminateness, the lack of measure, and in short, evil. The perfect Soul does not approach to it, does not lower her looks; she remains pure and determined by Intelligence. The soul which does not remain in this state, and which issues from herself (to unite with the body), not being determined by the First, the Perfect, is no more than an image of the perfect Soul because she lacks (good), and is filled with indetermination. The soul sees nothing but darkness. The soul already contains matter because she looks at what she cannot see; or, in the every-day expression, because the soul looks at darkness. [Ennead I,8 (51) 4]

Let us examine the significance of the doctrine that evils cannot be destroyed, that they are necessary, that they do not exist among the divinities, but that they ever besiege our mortal nature, and the place in which we dwell. Surely heaven is free from all evil because it moves eternally with regularity, in perfect order; because in the stars is neither injustice nor any other kind of evil, because they do not conflict with each other in their courses; and because their revolutions are presided over by the most beautiful harmony. On the contrary, the earth reveals injustice and disorder, (chiefly) because our nature is mortal, and we dwell in a lower place. But when Plato, says, that we must flee from here below, he does not mean that we should leave the earth, but, while remaining therein, practice justice, piety, and wisdom. It is wickedness that must be fled from, because wickedness and its consequences are the evil of man. [Ennead I,8 (51) 6]

When (Theodor) tells (Socrates) that evils would be annihilated if men practised (Socrates’) teachings, the latter answers that that is impossible, for evil is necessary even if only as the contrary of good. But how then can wickedness, which is the evil of man, be the contrary of good? Because it is the contrary of virtue. Now virtue, without being Good in itself, is still a good, a good which makes us dominate matter. But how can Good in itself, which is not a quality, have a contrary? Besides, why need the existence of one thing imply its contrary? Though we may grant that there is a possibility of the existence of the contrary of some things — as for instance, that a man in good health might become sick — there is no such necessity. Nor does Plato assert that the existence of each thing of this kind necessarily implies that of its contrary; he makes this statement exclusively of the Good. But how can there be a contrary to good, if the good be “being,” let alone “above being”? Evidently, in reference to particular beings, there can be nothing contrary to “being.” This is proved by induction; but the proposition has not been demonstrated as regards universal Being. What then is the contrary of universal Being, and first principles in general? The contrary of “being” must be nonentity; the contrary of the nature of the Good is the nature and principle of Evil. These two natures are indeed respectively the principles of goods and of evils. All their elements are mutually opposed, so that both these natures, considered in their totality, are still more opposed than the other contraries. The latter, indeed, belong to the same form, to the same kind, and they have something in common in whatever subjects they may be. As to the Contraries that are essentially distinguished from each other, whose nature is constituted of elements opposed to the constitutive elements of the other, those Contraries are absolutely opposed to each other, since the connotation of that word implies things as opposite to each other as possible. Measure, determination, and the other characteristics of the divine nature are the opposites of incommensurability, indefiniteness, and the other contrary things that constitute the nature of evil. Each one of these wholes, therefore, is the contrary of the other. The being of the one is that which is essentially and absolutely false; that of the other is genuine Being; the falseness of the one is, therefore, the contrary of the truth of the other. Likewise what pertains to the being of the one is the contrary of what belongs to the being of the other. We also see that it is not always true to say that there is no contrary to “being,” for we acknowledge that water and fire are contraries, even if they did not contain the common element of matter, of which heat and cold, humidity and dryness, are accidents. If they existed alone by themselves, if their being were complete without any common subject, there would still be an opposition, and an opposition of “being.” Therefore the things that are completely separate, which have nothing in common, which are as distant as possible, are by nature contrary. This is not an opposition of quality, nor of any kinds of beings; it is an opposition resulting from extreme distance, and from being composed of contraries, thereby communicating this characteristic to their elements. [Ennead I,8 (51) 6]

Another hypothesis is that evil owes its character only to its being an obstacle for the soul, as certain objects are bad for the eye, because they hinder it from seeing. In this case, the evil of the soul would be the cause that produces the evil, and it would produce it without being absolute Evil. If, then, vice be an obstacle for the soul, it will not be absolute Evil, but the cause of evil, as virtue is not the good, and only contributes to acquiring it. If virtue be not good, and vice be not evil, the result is that since virtue is neither absolute beauty nor goodness, vice is neither absolute ugliness nor evil. We hold that virtue is neither absolute beauty, nor absolute goodness, because above and before it is absolute Beauty and Goodness. Only because the soul participates in these, is virtue or beauty considered a good. Now as the soul, by rising above virtue, meets absolute Beauty and Goodness, thus in descending below wickedness the soul discovers absolute Evil. To arrive at the intuition of evil the soul, therefore, starts from wickedness, if indeed an intuition of evil be at all possible. Finally, when the soul descends, she participates in evil. She rushes completely into the region of diversity, and, plunging downwards she falls into a murky mire. If she fell into absolute wickedness, her characteristic would no longer be wickedness, and she would exchange it for a still lower nature. Even though mingled with a contrary nature, wickedness, indeed, still retains something human. The vicious man, therefore, dies so far as a soul can die. Now when, in connection with the soul, we speak of dying, we mean that while she is engaged in the body, she penetrates (further) into matter, and becomes saturated with it. Then, when the soul has left the body, she once more falls into the same mud until she have managed to return into the intelligible world, and weaned her glance from this mire. So long as she remains therein, she may be said to have descended into hell, and to be slumbering there. [Ennead I,8 (51) 13]

Is it not unreasonable to assert that Mars, or Venus, in a certain position, should produce adulteries? Such a statement attributes to them incontinence such as occurs only among man, and human passion to satisfy unworthy impulses. Or again, how could we believe that the aspects of planets is favorable when they regard each other in a certain manner? How can we avoid believing that their nature is determinate? What sort of an existence would be led by the planets if they occupied themselves with each single one of the innumerable ever-arising and passing beings, giving them each glory, wealth, poverty, or incontinence, and impelling all their actions? How could the single planets effect so many simultaneous results? Nor is it any more rational to suppose that the planets’ actions await the ascensions of the signs, nor to say that the ascension of a sign contains as many years as there are degrees of ascension in it. Absurd also is the theory that the planets calculate, as it were on their fingers, the period of time when they are to accomplish something, which before was forbidden. Besides, it is an error not to trace to a single principle the government of the universe, attributing everything to the stars, as if there were not a single Chief from which depends the universe, and who distributes to every being a part and functions suitable to its nature. To fail to recognize Him, is to destroy the order of which we form a part, it is to ignore the nature of the world, which presupposes a primary cause, a principle by whose activity everything is interpenetrated. [Ennead II,3 (52) 6]

In fact, we would still have to ask ourselves for the cause of the events (in our world) even if the stars, like many other things, really prognosticated future events. We would still have to wonder at the maintenance of the order without which no events could be prefigured. We might, therefore, liken the stars to letters, at every moment flung along the heavens, and which, after having been displayed, continued in ceaseless motion, so that, while exercising another function in the universe, they would still possess significance. Thus in a being animated by a single principle it is possible to judge one part by another; as it is possible, by the study of the eyes or some other organ of an individual, to conclude as to his characters, to the dangers to which he is exposed, and how he may escape them. Just as our members are parts of our bodies, so are we ourselves parts of the universe. Things, therefore, are made for each other. Everything is significant, and the wise man can conclude from one thing to another. Indeed many habitual occurrences are foreseen by men generally. In the universe everything is reduced to a single system. To this co-ordination is due the possibility of birds furnishing us with omens, and other animals furnishing us with presages. All things mutually depend from each other. Everything conspires to a single purpose, not only in each individual, whose parts are perfectly related; but also in the universe, and that in a higher degree, and far earlier. This multiple being could be turned into a single universal Living organism only by a single principle. As in the human body every organ has its individual function, likewise in the universe each being plays its individual part; so much the more that they not only form part of the universe, but that they themselves also form universes not without importance. All things, therefore, proceed from a single principle, each plays its individual part, and lends each other mutual assistance. Neither are they separate from the universe, but they act and react on each other, each assisting or hindering the other. But their progress is not fortuitous, nor is it the result of chance. They form a series, where each, by a natural bond, is the effect of the preceding one, and the cause of the following one. [Ennead II,3 (52) 7]

Our genuine selves are what is essentially “us”; we are the principle to which Nature has given the power to triumph over the passions. For, if we be surrounded by evils because of the body, nevertheless, the divinity has given us virtue, which “knows of no master” (is not subject to any compulsion). Indeed we need virtue not so much when we are in a calm state, but when its absence exposes us to evils. We must, therefore, flee from here below; we must divorce ourselves from the body added to us in generation, and apply ourselves to the effort to cease being this animal, this composite in which the predominant element is the nature of the body, a nature which is only a trace of the soul, and which causes animal life to pertain chiefly to the body. Indeed, all that relates to this life is corporeal. The other soul (the reasonable soul, which is superior to the vegetative soul), is not in the body; she rises to the beautiful, to the divine, and to all the intelligible things, which depend on nothing else. She then seeks to identify herself with them, and lives conformably to the divinity when retired within herself (in contemplation). Whoever is deprived of this soul (that is, whoever does not exercise the faculties of the reasonable soul), lives in subjection to fatality. Then the actions of such a being are not only indicated by the stars, but he himself becomes a part of the world, and he depends on the world of which he forms a part. Every man is double, for every man contains both the composite (organism), and the real man (which constitutes the reasonable soul). [Ennead II,3 (52) 9]

The influences proceeding from the stars commingle; and this mixture modifies all generated things, determining their nature and qualities. It is not the celestial influence which produces the horse, it is limited to exercising an influence upon him; for, the horse is begotten from horse, man from man; the sun can only contribute to their formation. Man is born from the (seminal logos), or reason of man; but the circumstances may be favorable or unfavorable to him. In fact, a son resembles the father, though he may be formed better or worse; but never does he entirely detach himself from matter. Sometimes, however, the matter so prevails over nature that the being is imperfect because the form does not dominate. [Ennead II,3 (52) 12]

Poverty, wealth, glory, and authoritative positions may have many different causes. If a man derive his wealth from his parents, the stars have only announced that he would be rich; and they would have only announced his nobility if he owed his wealth to his birth. If a man acquire wealth by his merit, in some way in which his body contributed thereto, the causes of his bodily vigor co-operated in his fortune; first his parents, then his fatherland, if it be possessed of a good climate, and last the fertility of the soil. If this man owe his wealth to virtue, this source should be considered exclusive; and likewise with the transitory advantages he may by divine favor possess. Even if his wealth be derived from virtuous persons, still, in another way, his fortune is due to virtue. If his wealth were derived from evil men, though by a just means, yet the wealth proceeds from a good principle which was active in them. Finally, if a man who has amassed wealth be evil, the cause of his fortune is this very wickedness, and the principle from which it derives; even those who may have given him money must be included in the order of its causes. If a man owe his wealth to labor, such as agricultural work, the causes of the wealth include the care of the ploughman and the co-operation of exterior circumstances. Even if he found a treasure, it is something in the universe which contributed thereto. Besides, this discovery may have been foretold; for all things concatenate with everything else, and, consequently, announce each other. If a man scatter his wealth, he is the cause of their loss; if his wealth be taken from him, the cause is the man who takes it. Many are the contributory causes of a shipwreck. Glory may be acquired justly or unjustly. Just glory is due to services rendered, or to the esteem of other people. Unjust glory is caused by the injustice of those who glorify that man. Deserved power is due to the good sense of the electors, or to the activity of the man who acquired it by the co-operation of his friends, or to any other circumstance. A marriage is determined by a preference, or by some accidental circumstance, or by the co-operation of several circumstances. The procreation of children is one of its consequences; it occurs in accordance with the (“seminal) reason,” in case it meet no obstacle; if it be defective, there must be some interior defect in the pregnant mother, or the fault lies in the impotence of the father. [Ennead II,3 (52) 14]

Plato speaks of the lots, and conditions chosen by one turn of the spindle (of Clotho); he speaks also of a guardian who helps each man to fulfil his destiny. These conditions are the disposition of the universe at the time of the soul’s entrance into the body, the nature of their body, parents and fatherland; in short, the aggregate of external circumstances. Evidently all these things, in detail as well as in totality, are simultaneously produced and related by one of the Fates, namely Clotho. Lachesis then presents the conditions to the souls. Finally Atropos renders the accomplishment of all the circumstances of each destiny irrevocable. [Ennead II,3 (52) 15]

Does the universal Soul form all the beings successively, first man, then the horse, then some other animal, and last the wild beasts? Does she begin by producing earth and fire; then, seeing the co-operation of all these things which mutually destroy or assist each other, does she consider only their totality and their connections, without regarding the accidents which occur to them later? Does she limit herself to the reproduction of preceding generations of animals, and does she leave these exposed to the passions with which they inspire each other? [Ennead II,3 (52) 16]

Is it possible, however, that for example, in physical love, the man may experience a desire simultaneously with the corresponding appetite? This is impossible, for two reasons. If we say that the man begins to experience the desire, while the corresponding appetite continues it, it is plain the man cannot experience a desire without the activity of the appetite. If on the other hand it be the appetite that begins, it is clear that it cannot begin being excited unless the body first find itself in suitable circumstances, which is unreasonable. [Ennead I,1 (53) 5]

No doubt these faculties are “ours,” but “we” are the superior principle which, from above, directs the organising but in this whole we shall have to distinguish an inferior part, mingled with the body, and a superior part, which is the true man. The former (irrational soul) constitutes the beast, as for instance, the lion; the latter is the rational soul, which constitutes man. In every ratiocination, it is “we” who reason, because ratiocination is the peculiar activity (or, energy) of the soul. [Ennead I,1 (53) 7]

In this conception of the soul, she will be foreign to the cause of the evils which the man does and suffers. These refer to the organism, that common part, understood as above. Although opinion be deceptive, and makes us commit much evil, and although opinion and ratiocination both belong to the soul, yet the soul may be sinless, inasmuch as we are only mastered by the worse part of our nature. Often, indeed, we yield to appetite, to anger, and we are the dupes of some imperfect image. The conception of false things, the imagination does not await the judgment of discursive reason. There are still other cases where we yield to the lower part of ourselves; in sensation, for instance, we see things that do not exist, because we rely on the common sensation of soul and body, before having discerned its objects by discursive reason. [Ennead I,1 (53) 9]

The real Man differs from the body; pure from every passion, he possesses the intellectual virtues, virtues which reside in the soul, either when she is separated from the body, or when she is — as usually here below — only separable by philosophy; for even when she seems to us entirely separated, the soul is, in this life, ever accompanied by a lower sensitive part, or part of growth, which she illuminates. [Ennead I,1 (53) 10]

As to the virtues which consist not in wisdom, but in ethical habits and austerities, they belong to the common part. To it alone, also, are vices to be imputed, inasmuch as it exclusively experiences envy, jealousy and cowardly pity. Friendships, however, should be referred some to the common part, and others to the pure Soul or inner Man. In childhood, the faculties of the composite common part are exercised, but rarely is it illuminated from above. When this superior principle seems inactive in relation to us, it is actively engaged towards the upper intelligible world; and it only begins to be active towards us when it advances as far as (fancy or representation), the middle part of our being. [Ennead I,1 (53) 10]