Guthrie-Plotinus: movements

(h.) (The body has but a single kind of motion while the soul has different ones.) If the soul is a body, how does it happen that she has different kinds of motion instead of a single one, as is the case with the body? Will these movements be explained by voluntary determinations, and by (seminal) reasons? In this case neither the voluntary determinations, nor these reasons, which differ from each other, can belong to a single and simple body; such a body does not participate in any particular reason except by the principle that made it hot or cold. [Ennead IV,7 (2) 5]

Now among the things that become, or among those that although perpetually existent do not always result in the same actions, it may be boldly asserted that everything has a cause. We should not admit (the Stoic contention) that something happens without a cause, nor accept the (Epicurean) arbitrary convergence of the atoms, nor believe that any body initiates a movement suddenly and without determining reason, nor suppose (with Epicurus   again) that the soul undertakes some action by a blind impulse, without any motive. Thus to suppose that a thing does not belong to itself, that it could be carried away by involuntary movements, and act without motive, would be to subject it to the most crushing determinism. The will must be excited, or the desire awakened by some interior or exterior stimulus. No determination (is possible) without motive. [Ennead III,1 (3) 1]

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]

There remains to be considered the (Stoic) doctrine which, concatenating and interrelating all things among each other, establishes “a single cause which produces everything through seminal reasons.” This doctrine reattaches itself to (Heraclitus  ’s) which deduces from the action of the universal Soul the constitution and the movements of the individuals as well as those of the universe. [Ennead III,1 (3) 7]

The qualities that are natural, quantities, numbers, magnitudes, states, actions and natural experiences, movements and recuperations, either general or particular, are among the contents of the intelligible world, where time is replaced by eternity, and space is replaced by the “telescoping” of intelligible entities (that are within each other). As all entities are together in the intelligible world, whatever entity you select (by itself) is intellectual and living “being,” identity and difference, movement and rest; it is what moves, and what is at rest; it is “being,” and quality; that is, it is all. There every essence is in actualization, instead of merely being in potentiality; consequently it is not separated from quality. [Ennead V,9 (5) 10]

(Plato) further states that the relation of the souls of the stars to their bodies is the same as that of the universal Soul to the universe, where he makes the stars participate in the movements of the universal Soul. He thus grants to those souls the blessedness which is suitable to them. The intercourse of the soul with the body is usually blamed for two things: because it hinders the soul from busying herself with the conceptions of intelligence, and then because it exposes her to agreeable or painful sensations which fill her with desires. Now neither of these two results affect the soul that has not entered into a body, and which does not depend thereon by belonging to some particular individual. Then, on the contrary, she possesses the body of the universe, which has no fault, no need, which can cause her neither fears nor desires, because she has nothing to fear. Thus no anxiety ever forces her to descend to terrestrial objects, or to distract herself from her happy and sublime contemplation. Entirely devoted to divine things, she governs the world by a single power, whose exercise involves no anxiety. [Ennead IV,8 (6) 2]

(Following the ideas of Aristotle  , Plotinos   wonders whether some objector) will ask whether the composition of a body requires anything beyond extension and all the other qualities? Yes: it demands a substrate to receive them (as a residence). This substrate is not a mass; for in this case, it would be an extension. But if this substrate have no extension, how can it be a residence (for form)? Without extension, it could be of no service, contributing neither to form nor qualities, to magnitude nor extension. It seems that extension, wherever it be, is given to bodies by matter. Just as actions, effects, times and movements, though they do not imply any matter, nevertheless are beings, it would seem that the elementary bodies do not necessarily imply matter (without extension), being individual beings, whose diverse substance is constituted by the mingling of several forms. Matter without extension, therefore, seems to be no more than a meaningless name. [Ennead II,4 (12) 11]

How can the Soul impart to the heavens a local movement, herself possessing a different kind of motion? Perhaps the circular movement, when considered by itself, may not seem a local movement. If then it be a local movement only by accident, what is its own nature, by itself? It is the reflection upon itself, the movement of consciousness, of reflection, of life; it withdraws nothing from the world, it changes the location of nothing, while embracing all. Indeed, the power which governs the universal Animal (or world) embraces everything, and unifies everything. If then it remained immovable, it would not embrace everything either vitally or locally; it would not preserve the life of the interior parts of the body it possesses, because the bodily life implies movement. On the contrary, if it be a local movement, the Soul will possess a movement only such as it admits of. She will move, not only as soul, but as an animated body, and as an animal; her movement will partake both of the movement proper to the soul, and proper to the body. Now the movement proper to the body is to mobilize in a straight line; the movement proper to the Soul, is to contain; while both of these movements result in a third, the circular movement which includes both transportation and permanence. [Ennead II,2 (14) 1]

If the soul return here below, she possesses, according to the life which she is to lead, either the same guardian, or another. With her guardian she enters into this world as if in a skiff. Then she is subjected to the power (by Plato) called the Spindle of Necessity; and, embarking in this world, she takes the place assigned to her by fortune. Then she is caught by the circular movement of the heavens, whose action, as if it were the wind, agitates the skiff in which the soul is seated; or rather, is borne along. Thence are born varied spectacles, transformations and divers incidents for the soul which is embarked in this skiff; whether because of the agitation of the sea which bears it, or because of the conduct of the passenger who is sailing in the bark, and who preserves her freedom of action therein. Indeed, not every soul placed in the same circumstances makes the same movements, wills the same volitions, or performs the same actions. For different beings, therefore, the differences arise from circumstances either similar or different, or even the same events may occur to them under different circumstances. It is this (uncertainty) that constitutes Providence. [Ennead III,4 (15) 6]

The limit of purification decides to which (of the three hypostases of) divinity the soul may hope to assimilate and identify herself; therefore we shall have to consider that limit. To decide that would be to examine the limit of the soul’s ability to repress anger, appetites, and passions of all kinds, to triumph over pain and similar feelings — in short, to separate her from the body. This occurs when, recollecting herself from the various localities over which she had, as it were, spread herself, she retires within herself; when she estranges herself entirely from the passions, when she allows the body only such pleasures as are necessary or suitable to cure her pains, to recuperate from its fatigues, and in avoiding its becoming importunate; when she becomes insensible to sufferings; or, if that be beyond her power, in supporting them patiently, and in diminishing them by refusing to share them; when she appeases anger as far as possible, even suppressing it entirely, if possible; or at least, if that be impossible, not participating therein; abandoning to the animal nature all unthinking impulses, and even so reducing to a minimum all reflex movements; when she is absolutely inaccessible to fear, having nothing left to risk; and when she represses all sudden movements, except nature’s warning of dangers. Evidently, the purified soul will have to desire nothing shameful. In eating and drinking, she will seek only the satisfaction of a need, while remaining foreign to it; nor will she seek the pleasures of love; or, if she does, she will not go beyond the exactions of nature, resisting every unconsidered tendency, or even in remaining within the involuntary flights of fancy. [Ennead I,2 (19) 5]

There are desires and aversions in the soul, which demand consideration. It is impossible to deny that pain, anger, joy, appetite and fear are changes and affections which occur in the soul, and that move her. We must here draw a distinction, for it would be denying the evidence to insist that there are in us no changes or perception of these changes. We cannot attribute them to the soul, which would amount to the admission that she blushes, or grows pale, without reflecting that these “passions,” though produced by the soul, occur in a different substance. For the soul, shame consists in the opinion that something is improper; and, as the soul contains the body, or, to speak more exactly, as the body is a dependency of the animating soul, the blood, which is very mobile, rushes to the face. Likewise, the principle of fear is in the soul; paleness occurs in the body because the blood concentrates within the interior parts. In joy, the noticeable dilation belongs to the body also; what the body feels is not a “passion.” Likewise with pain and appetite; their principle is in the soul, where it remains in a latent condition; what proceeds therefrom is perceived by sensation. When we call desires, opinions and reasonings “movements of the soul,” we do not mean that the soul becomes excited in the production of these movements, but that they originate within her. When we call life a movement, we do not by this word mean an alteration; for to act according to one’s nature is the simple and indivisible life of each part of the soul. [Ennead III,6 (26) 3]

In short, we insist that action, life and desire are not alterations, that memories are not forms impressed on the soul, and that actualizations of the imagination are not impressions similar to those of a seal on wax. Consequently in all that we call “passions” or “movements,” the soul undergoes no change in her substance (substrate) or “being” (nature); virtue and vice in the soul are not similar to what heat, cold, whiteness or blackness are in bodies; and the soul’s relation to vice and virtue is entirely different, as has been explained. [Ennead III,6 (26) 3]

Human souls rush down here below because they have gazed at their images (in matter) as in the mirror of Bacchus. Nevertheless, they are not separated from their principle, Intelligence. Their intelligence does not descend along with them, so that even if by their feet they touch the earth, their head rises above the sky. They descend all the lower as the body, over which their intermediary part is to watch, has more need of care. But their father Jupiter, pitying their troubles, made their bonds mortal. At certain intervals, he grants them rest, delivering them from the body, so that they may return to inhabit the region where the universal Soul ever dwells, without inclining towards things here below. Indeed what the universe at present possesses suffices it both now and in the future, since its duration is regulated by eternal and immutable reasons, and because, when one period is finished, it again begins to run through another where all the lives are determined in accordance with the ideas. In that way all things here below are subjected to intelligible things, and similarly all is subordinated to a single reason, either in the descent or in the ascension of souls, or in their activities in general. This is proved by the agreement between the universal order and the movements of the souls which by descending here below, conform to this order without depending on it; and perfectly harmonize with the circular movement of heaven. Thus the actions, fortunes and destinies ever are prefigured in the figures formed by the stars. That is the symphony whose sound is so melodious that the ancients expressed it symbolically by musical harmony. Now this could not be the case unless all the actions and experiences of the universe were (well) regulated by reasons which determine its periods, the ranks of souls, their existences, the careers that they accomplish in the intelligible world, or in heaven, or on the earth. The universal Intelligence ever remains above the heaven, and dwelling there entirely, without ever issuing from itself; it radiates into the sense-world by the intermediation of the Soul which, placed beside it, receives the impression of the idea, and transmits it to inferior things, now immutably, and then changeably, but nevertheless in a regulated manner. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 12]

On descending from the intelligible world, souls first come into heaven, and they there take a body by means of which they pass even into terrestrial bodies, according as they more or less advance (outside of the intelligible world). There are some who issue from heaven into the bodies of an inferior nature; there are some also who pass from one body into another. The latter no longer have the power to reascend into the intelligible world because they have forgotten; they are weighted down by the burden they carry along with themselves. Now souls differ either by the bodies to which they are united, or by their different destinies, or by their kind of life, or by their primitive nature. Thus differing from each other in all these relations, or in only some, the souls here below either succumb to fate, or are alternately subjected to it, and liberated; or, while supporting what is necessary, preserve the liberty of devoting themselves to actions that are characteristic of them, and live according to some other law, following the order that rules the whole universe. This order embraces all the (“seminal) reasons,” and all the causes, the movements of the souls, and the divine laws. It agrees with these laws, it borrows from them its principles, and relates thereto all things that are its consequences. It preserves in an imperishable condition all the beings which are able to preserve themselves conformably to the constitution of the intelligible world. It leads the other beings whither their nature calls them, so that whithersoever they may descend, there is a cause which assigns to them some particular position or condition. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 15]

It may again be objected that it is indeed the soul that remembers; but only because she is resident in the body, and is not pure; she must be affected in some particular manner to be able to impress the body with the forms of sense-objects; her seat must be in the body to receive these forms, and to preserve them. But to begin with, these forms could not have any extension; then they could not be either (Stoic) seal-imprints, or impressions; for in the soul there is no impulsion, nor any imprint similar to that of a seal on wax, and the operation itself by which it perceives sense-objects is a kind of thought (or intellection). Indeed, it would be impossible to speak of an impression in the act of thought. Thought has no need of the body or a corporeal quality. It is besides necessary for the soul to remember her movements, as for instance, her desires which have not been satisfied, and whose object the body has not attained; for what could the body tell us of an object which the body has not yet reached? (Speaking of thoughts), how could the soul, conjointly with the body, remember things which the body, by its very nature, could absolutely not know? [Ennead IV,3 (27) 26]

Why are the thoughts and rational aspirations in us different (from what they are in the universal Soul)? Why is there in us posteriority in respect to time (as we conceive things in a successive manner, while the universal Soul conceives them simultaneously)? Why do we have to question ourselves (about this)? Is it because several forces are active in us, and contend for mastery, and there is no single one which alone commands? Is it because we successively need various things to satisfy our needs, because our present is not determined by itself, but refers to things which vary continually, and which are outside of ourselves? Yes, that is the reason why our determinations change according to the present occasion and need. Various things come from the outside to offer themselves to us successively. Besides, as several forces dominate in us, our imagination necessarily has representations that are various, transient, modified by each other, and hindering the movements and actions characteristic of each power of the soul. Thus, when lust arises in us, imagination represents to us the desired object, warns us, and instructs us about the passion born of lust, and at the same time begs of us to listen to it, and to satisfy it. In this state, the soul floats in uncertainty, whether it grant to the appetite the desired satisfaction, or whether she refuse it. Anger, for instance, excites us to vengeance, and thereby produces the same uncertainty. The needs and passions of the body also suggest to us varying actions and opinions; as do also the ignorance of the true goods, the soul’s inability to give a certain judgment, while in this hesitating condition, and the consequences which result from the mingling of the things we have just mentioned. Still our own highest part makes judgments more certain than those reached by the part common (to the soul and to the body), a part that is very uncertain, being a prey to diversity of opinions. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 17]

The parts of each small organism undergo changes and sympathetic affections which are not much felt, because these parts are not individual organisms (and they exist only for some time, and in some kinds of organisms). But in the universal organism, where the parts are separated by so great distances, where each one follows its own inclinations, where there is a multitude of different animals, the movements and change of place must be more considerable. Thus the sun, the moon and the other stars are seen successively to occupy different places, and to revolve regularly. It is not unreasonable therefore to suppose that souls would change location, as they change character, and that they would dwell in a place suitable to their dispositions. They would thus contribute to the order of the universe by occupying some, a place analogous to the head in the human body; and others, a place analogous to the human feet; for the universe admits of place for all degrees of perfection. When a soul does not choose the best (actions), and yet does not attach herself to what is worst, she would naturally pass into some other place, which is indeed pure, but yet proportioned to the mediocrity she has chosen. As to the punishments, they resemble the remedies applied by physicians to sickly organs. On some the physician lays certain substances; in some he makes incisions, or he changes the condition of some others, to reestablish the health of the whole system, by giving to each organ the special treatment suitable to it. Likewise, the health of the universe demands that the one (soul) be changed; that another be taken away from the locality where she languishes, and be located where she would recover from the disease. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 45]

Nor should the world be considered badly made, merely because we suffer so much therein. This idea results from entertaining unjustifiable expectations of its perfections, and from confusing it with the intelligible world of which it is an image. Could a more beautiful image, indeed, be imagined? After the celestial fire could we imagine a better fire than our own? After the intelligible earth, could we imagine a better earth than ours? After the actualization by which the intelligible world embraces itself, could we imagine a sphere more perfect, more wonderful, or better ordered in its movements? After the intelligible sun, how could we imagine any sun different from the one that we see? [Ennead II,9 (33) 4]

(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]

We must further examine if the Aristotelians have the right to say that acting contains both actualizations and movements, the actualizations producing themselves instantaneously, and the movements successively; as, for instance, dividing implies time. Or will they say that all actualizations are movements, or, at least, are accompanied by movements? Will they trace all actions to “experiencing” (or, reactions), or will they acknowledge absolute actions, like walking or speaking? Or will they distinguish all actions that relate to “experiencing” as movements, and all absolute actions as actualizations? Or will they place actions of both kinds among movements, and among actualizations? They would no doubt classify walking, which is an absolute thing, as movement; and thinking, which is a verb without passive voice, as an actualization. Otherwise the Aristotelians will be obliged to insist that there is nothing active in walking or thinking. But if walking and thinking do not belong to the category of acting, it will be necessary to explain to what they do belong. Will it be said that thinking relates to the thinkable (the intelligible), as intellection does, because sensation relates to the sense-object? If sensation be related to the sense-object, why do they not equally relate “sensing” (feeling) to the sense-object? Sensation, relating to something else, has a relation with that thing; but, besides that relation, it has the property of being an “action” or an “experience” (or, reaction). If therefore reaction (or, suffering), besides belonging to something else, or depending on something else, has the property of itself being something, like actualization, then walking, besides belonging to something else (to the feet), and depending on something else (on the motive power), nevertheless by itself possesses the property of being movement. In this case, it will have to be recognized that intellection, besides being a relation, by itself also is a movement or an actualization. [Ennead VI,1 (42) 18]

Let us now examine if certain actualizations seem to be imperfect when they are not joined to time, thus identifying themselves with movements, as life identifies itself with living. For (according to the Aristotelians) the life of each (being) is accomplished in a perfect time, and happiness is an actualization; not an individual one, indeed, but a sort of movement. Consequently we will have to call life and happiness movements, and movement will have to be made a genus, though recognizing that movement forms a genus very different from quantity and quality; and, like them, relates to being. This genus could be divided into two species, movements of body and movements of soul, or movements spontaneous and communicated; or again, movements proceeding from the beings themselves, or movements proceeding from others. In this case, the movements proceeding from the beings themselves are actions, whether they communicate to others, or remain absolute in themselves (and not communicating to others, like speaking and walking); and the movements proceeding from others are “reactions” though the communicated movements seem to be identical with the movements proceeding from others. For example, division is one and the same thing, whether it be considered within him who divides, or in that which is divided; nevertheless dividing is something different from being divided. Or again, division is not one and the same thing according as it proceeds from him who divides, or as it is received by him who is divided; to divide means to cause in the divided thing another movement, which is the result of the dividing action or movement. Perhaps, indeed, the difference does not lie in the very fact of being divided, but in the movement which results from the division, as for instance, in suffering; for this is what constitutes reaction (or “passion”). [Ennead VI,1 (42) 19]

Let it be granted, then, that reaction is not the contrary of action. Nevertheless, as it differs therefrom, it could not share the same genus. If both reaction and action be movements, they share the same genus, that of alteration, which is a movement, as respects quality. When alteration proceeds from the being endowed with quality, is there any action, though this being remain impassible? Yes, for though impassible, it is active. It may be asked, is this being no longer active when it acts on some other object, as, for instance, by striking it, and then reacts? The answer is, that it would be active and passive simultaneously. If it be active, when it reacts — when, for instance, it rubs — why is it considered active rather than passive? Because it reacts in being rubbed while it rubs. Could we say that, because it is moved while moving, there were in it two movements? But how could there be two movements in it? Shall we assert that there is but one? In this case, how could the same movement be action and reaction simultaneously? Doubtless, it will be considered action, in so far as it proceeds from the mover; and reaction, inasmuch as it passes from the mover into the moved; and this, without ceasing to be one and the same thing. Would you say that reaction was a movement of a kind different from action? How then would the altering movement in a certain manner modify what reacts without an equal reaction in what is acting? But how (can we conceive) of reaction in that which acts on another object? Is the mere presence of the movement in the moved sufficient to constitute reaction? But if, on one hand, the (“seminal) reason” of the swan whitens, and on the other hand the swan that is being born becomes white, shall we say that the swan is passive in becoming what it is his nature to be? If he becomes white even after his birth, is he still passive? If one thing increase, and another thing be increased, will we admit that the thing that increases reacts? Will we rather attribute reaction to the thing qualified? If one thing be embellished, and another thing embellishes it, could we say that the embellished thing reacts? If however, the embellishing thing decreases, and, like tin, tarnishes, or on the contrary, like copper, takes on polish; shall we say that the tin acts, and the copper reacts (that is, “suffers”)? Besides, it would be impossible to say that that which learns is passive (suffering)? Would this be because the action of him who acts passes into him? But how could there be any reaction (“suffering”) since there is nothing there but an act? This action, no doubt, is not a reaction (“suffering”); but he who receives it is passive, because he participates in passivity. Indeed, from the fact that the learner does not himself act, it does not necessarily result that he is passive; for learning is not being struck, but grasping and discerning, as takes place with the process of vision. [Ennead VI,1 (42) 20]

The cause that a being undergoes an experience is that it contains the kind of movement called alteration, whichever way it modify him; on the contrary, action means to have in oneself a definite movement, derived from oneself, or a movement which has its goal in some other being, and its origin in self. In both cases there is movement; but with this distinction: that action, so far as it is action, is impassible; while an experience consists in the experiencer’s reception of a disposition new to him, without the reception of anything that contributes towards his being; so as to avoid (the case of the statue, above, where) the experience happened to one being (the metal), while it was another being that was produced (the statue). Consequently, the same thing will in one state be an action, and in other, an experience. Thus the same movement will in one being be an action, because it is considered from a certain viewpoint; and from another it will be an experience, because it is disposed some other way. Action and experience seem therefore to be relative, if one consider the action in its relation with experience, since the same thing is action in the one, and experience in the other. Also, because neither of these two can be considered in itself, but only in him who acts, or experiences, when the one moves, and the other is moved. Each of these terms therefore implies two categories; one gives the movement, the other receives it; consequently we have transmission and reception, which result in relation. If he who received the movement possesses it as he possesses color, why could it not also be said that he possessed movement? Absolute movements, such as walking (and thinking) possess steps and thought. [Ennead VI,1 (42) 22]

As to the things which are simply posited as attributes, they should, as principles or elements, be classified under relation. Among the accidents of things, some, like quantity and quality, are contained within them; while others contain them, as time and place. Then there are actions and experiences, as movements; then their consequences, as “being in time,” and “being in place”; the latter is the consequence of the combination, the former is the consequence of movement. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 3]

To what genus could (movement) be reduced? It constitutes neither the being nor the quality of the (being) in which it exists. It is not even reducible to action, for in passion (or, experience) there are several kinds of movements; and it is the actions and passions which are reducible to movement. Further, movement need not necessarily be a relative merely because movement does not exist in itself, that it belongs to some being, and that it exists in a subject; otherwise, we should have to classify quality also as a relation; for quality belongs to some (being) and exists in a subject; it is not so however, with a quantity. It might be objected that, though each of them exist in some subject, the one by virtue of its being a quality, and the other, of being a quantity, they themselves are not any the less species of essences. The same argument would apply to movement; though it belong to some subject, it is something before belonging to a subject, and we must consider what it is in itself. Now what is relative is not at first something by itself, and then the predicate of something else; but what is born of the relation existing between two objects, is nothing else outside the relation to which it owes its name; thus the double, so far as it is called doubleness, is neither begotten, nor exists except in the comparison established between it and a half, since, not being conceived of before, it owes its name and its existence to the comparison thus established. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 21]

What then is movement? While belonging to a subject, it is something by itself before belonging to a subject, as are quality, quantity, and being. To begin with, nothing is predicated before it, and of it, as a genus. Is change anterior to movement? Here change is identical with movement, or if change is to be considered a genus, it will form a genus to be added to those already recognized. Besides, it is evident that, on this hypothesis, movement will become a species, and to it will be opposed, as another species, “generation,” as, for instance, “generation” is a change, but not a movement. Why then should generation not be a movement? Is it because what is generated does not yet exist, and because movement could not exist in non-being? Consequently, neither will generation be a change. Or is this so because generation is an alteration and increase, and because it presupposes that certain things are altered, and increase? To speak thus is to busy ourselves with things that precede generation. Generation presupposes production of some other form; for generation does not consist in an alteration passively undergone, such as being warmed, or being whitened; such effects could be produced before realization of the generation. What then occurs in generation? There is alteration. Generation consists in the production of an animal or plant, in the reception of a form. Change is much more reasonably to be considered a species, than movement; because the word change means that one thing takes the place of another, while movement signifies the actualization by which a being passes from what is proper to it, to what is not, as in the translation from one place to another. If that be not admitted (to define movement), it will at least have to be acknowledged that the action of studying it, as that of playing the lyre, and in general, all the movements that modify a habit, would be subsumed within our definition. Alteration therefore could not be anything else but a species of movement; since it is a movement which produces passage from one state to another. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 21]

We are therefore justified in calling movement “an active form that is aroused,” by opposition to the other forms which remain inactive. (They may be so named), whether or not they be permanent. We may add that it is “the cause of the other forms,” when it results in producing something else. This (sense-) movement may also be called the “life of bodies.” I say “this movement,” because it bears the same name as the movements of the intelligence, and those of the soul. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 22]

What further proves that movement is a genus, is that it is very difficult, if not impossible, to grasp it by a definition. But how can it be called a form when its result is deterioration, or something passive? It may then be compared to the warming influence of the rays of the sun, which exerts on some things an influence that makes them grow, while other things it shrivels. In both cases, the movement has something in common, and is identical, so far as it is a movement; the difference of its results is due to the difference of the beings in which it operates. Are then growing sick and convalescence identical? Yes, so far as they are movements. Is their difference then due to their subjects, or to anything else? This question we will consider further on, while studying alteration. Now let us examine the elements common to all movements; in that way we shall be able to prove that movement is a genus. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 22]

First, the word “movement” can be used in different senses, just as essence, when considered a genus. Further, as we have already said, all the movements by which one thing arrives at a natural state, or produces an action suitable to its nature, constitute so many species. Then, the movements by which one thing arrives at a state contrary to its nature, have to be considered as analogous to that to which they lead. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 22]

But what common element is there in alteration, growth and generation, and their contraries? What is there in common between these movements, and the displacement in space, when you consider the four movements, as such? The common element is that the moved thing, after the movement, is no longer in the former state; that it no more remains quiet, and does not rest so long as the movement lasts. It ceaselessly passes to another state, alters, and does not remain what it was; for the movement would be vain if it did not make one thing other than it was. Consequently “otherness” does not consist in one thing becoming other than it was, and then persisting in this other state, but in ceaseless alteration. Thus, time is always different from what it was because it is produced by movement; for it is movement measured in its march and not in its limit of motion, or stopping point; it follows, carried away in its course. Further, one characteristic common to all kinds of movement is that it is the march (or process) by which potentiality and possibility pass into actualization; for every object in movement, whatever be the nature of this movement, succeeds in moving only because it formerly possessed the power of producing an action, or of experiencing the passion of some particular nature. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 22]

As to movement of displacement, we may ask if ascending be the opposite of descending, in what the circular movement differs from the rectilinear movement, what difference obtains in throwing an object at the head or at the feet. The difference is not very clear, for in these cases the motive power is the same. Shall we say that there is one power which causes raising, and another that lowers, especially if these movements be natural, and if they be the result of lightness or heaviness? In both cases, there is something in common, namely, direction towards its natural place, so that the difference is derived from exterior circumstances. Indeed, in circular and rectilinear movement, if someone move the same object in turn circularly and in a straight line, what difference is there in the motive power? The difference could be derived only from the figure (or outward appearance) of the movement, unless it should be said that the circular movement is composite, that it is not a veritable movement, and that it does not produce any change by itself. In all of these cases, the movement of displacement is identical, and presents only adventitious differences. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 24]

Of what do composition (blending, or mixture) and decomposition consist? Do they constitute other kinds of movement than those already noticed, generation and destruction, growth and decrease, movement of displacement and alteration? Shall composition and decomposition be reduced to some one of these kinds of motion, or shall we look at this process inversely? If composition consist in approximating one thing to another, and in joining them together; and if, on the other hand, decomposition consist in separating the things which were joined, we have here only two movements of displacement, a uniting, and a separating one. We should be able to reduce composition and decomposition to one of the above recognized kinds of motion, if we were to acknowledge that this composition was mingling, combination, fusion, and union — a union which consists in two things uniting, and not in being already united. Indeed, composition includes first the movement of displacement, and then an alteration; just as, in increase, there was first the movement of displacement, and then movement in the kind of the quality. Likewise, here there is first the movement of displacement, then the composition or decomposition, according as things approximate or separate. Often also decomposition is accompanied or followed by a movement of displacement, but the things which separate undergo a modification different from the movement of displacement; similarly, composition is a modification which follows the movement of displacement, but which has a different nature. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 25]

Shall we have to admit that composition and decomposition are movements which exist by themselves, and analyze alteration into them? Condensation is explained as undergoing an alteration; that means, as becoming composite. On the other hand, rarefaction is also explained as undergoing an alteration, namely, that of decomposition; when, for instance, one mingles water and wine, each of these two things becomes other than it was, and it is the composition which has operated the alteration. We will answer that here composition and decomposition no doubt precede certain alterations, but these alterations are something different than compositions and decompositions. Other alterations (certainly) are not compositions and decompositions, for neither can condensation nor rarefaction be reduced to these movements, nor are they composed of them. Otherwise, it would be necessary to acknowledge the (existence of) emptiness. Besides, how could you explain blackness and whiteness, as being composed of composition and decomposition? This doctrine would destroy all colors and qualities, or at least, the greater part of them; for if all alteration, that means, all change of quality, consisted in a composition or decomposition, the result would not be the production of a quality, but an aggregation or disaggregation. How indeed could you explain the movements of teaching and studying by mere “composition”? [Ennead VI,3 (44) 25]

Let us now examine the different kinds of movements. Shall we classify movements of displacement in movements upwards and downwards, rectilinear or curvilinear, or in movements of animate and inanimate beings? There is indeed a difference between the movement of inanimate beings, and that of animate beings; and these latter have different kinds of motion, such as walking, flying, and swimming. Their movements could also be analyzed in two other ways, according as it was conformable to, or against their nature; but this would not explain the outer differences of movements. Perhaps the movements themselves produce these differences, and do not exist without them; nevertheless, it is nature that seems to be the principle of the movements, and of their exterior differences. It would further be possible to classify movements as natural, artificial, and voluntary; of the natural, there are alteration and destruction; of the artificial, there are the building of houses, and construction of vessels; of the voluntary, there are meditation, learning, devoting oneself to political occupations, and, in general, speaking and acting. Last, we might, in growth, alteration and generation, distinguish the natural movement, and that contrary to nature; or even establish a classification founded on the nature of the subjects in which these movements occur. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 26]

Let us now study stability or stillness, which is the contrary of movement. Are we to consider it itself a genus, or to reduce it to some one of the known genera? First, stability rather suits the intelligible world, and stillness the sense-world. Let us now examine stillness. If it be identical with stability, it is useless to look for it here below where nothing is stable, and where apparent stability is in reality only a slower movement. If stillness be different from stability, because the latter refers to what is completely immovable, and stillness to what is actually fixed, but is naturally movable even when it does not actually move, the following distinction should be established. If stillness here below be considered, this rest is a movement which has not yet ceased, but which is imminent; if by stillness is understood the complete cessation of movement in the moved, it will be necessary to examine whether there be anything here below that is absolutely without movement. As it is impossible for one thing to possess simultaneously all the species of movement, and as there are necessarily movements that are not realized in it — since it is usual to say that some particular movement is in something — when something undergoes no displacement, and seems still in respect to this movement, should one not say about it that in this respect it is not moving? Stillness is therefore the negation of movement. Now no negation constitutes a genus. The thing we are considering is at rest only in respect to local movement; stillness expresses therefore only the negation of this movement. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 27]

We have demonstrated that acting and experiencing were movements; that, among the movements, some are absolute, while others constitute actions or passions. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 28]

Time cannot (as the Stoics claim,) be movement. Neither can we gather together all movements, so as to form but a single one, nor can we consider the regular movement only; for these two kinds of motion are within time. If we were to suppose that there was a movement that did not operate within time, such a movement would still be far removed from being time, since, under this hypothesis, the movement itself is entirely different from that in which the movement occurs. Amidst the many reasons which, in past and present, have been advanced to refute this opinion, a single one suffices: namely, that movement can cease and stop, while time never suspends its flight. To the objection that the movement of the universe never stops, we may answer that this movement, if it consist in the circular movement (of the stars, according to Hestius of Perinthus; or of the sun, according to Eratosthenes) operates within a definite time, at the end of which it returns to the same point of the heavens, but it does not accomplish this within the same space of time taken up in fulfilling the half of its course. One of these movements is only half of the other, and the second is double. Besides, both, the one that runs through half of space, and the one that runs through the whole of it, are movements of the universe. Besides, it has been noticed that the movement of the exterior sphere is the swiftest. This distinction supports our view, for it implies that the movement of this sphere, and the time used to operate it, are different entities; the most rapid movement is the one that takes up the least time, and runs through the greatest amount of space; the slowest movements are those that employ the longest time, and run through only a part of that space. [Ennead III,7 (45) 8]

Is time then some part of movement? (Zeno  ) calls it the interval of movement; but the interval is not the same for all movements, even if the latter were of similar nature; for movements that operate within space may be swifter or slower. It is possible that the intervals of the most rapid and of the slowest movement might be measured by some third interval, which might far more reasonably be considered time. But which of these three intervals shall be called time? Rather, which of all the intervals, infinite in number as they are, shall time be? If time be considered the interval of the regular movement, it will not be the particular interval of every regular movement; otherwise, as there are several regular movements, there would be several kinds of time. If time be defined as the interval of movement of the universe, that is, the interval contained within this movement, it will be nothing else than this movement itself. [Ennead III,7 (45) 8]

Besides, this movement is a definite quantity. Either this quantity will be measured by the extension of the space traversed, and the interval will consist in that extension; but that extension is space, and not time. Or we shall say that movement has a certain interval because it is continuous, and that instead of stopping immediately it always becomes prolonged; but this continuity is nothing else than the magnitude (that is, the duration) of the movement. Even though after consideration of a movement it be estimated as great, as might be said of a “great heat” — this does not yet furnish anything in which time might appear and manifest; we have here only a sequence of movements which succeed one another like waves, and only the observed interval between them; now the sequence of movements forms a number, such as two or three; and the interval is an extension. Thus the magnitude of the movement will be a number, say, such as ten; or an interval that manifests in the extension traversed by the movement. Now the notion of time is not revealed herein, but we find only a quantity that is produced within time. Otherwise, time, instead of being everywhere, will exist only in the movement as an attribute in a substrate, which amounts to saying that time is movement; for the interval (of the movement) is not outside of movement, and is only a non-instantaneous movement. If then time be a non-instantaneous movement, just as we often say that some particular instantaneous fact occurs within time, we shall be forced to ask the difference between what is and what is not instantaneous. Do these things differ in relation to time? Then the persisting movement and its interval are not time, but within time. [Ennead III,7 (45) 8]

Somebody might object that time is indeed the interval of movement, but that it is not the characteristic interval of movement itself, being only the interval in which movement exerts its extension, following along with it. All these terms lack definition. This (extension) is nothing else than the time within which the movement occurs. But that is precisely the question at issue, from the very start. It is as if a person who had been asked to define time should answer “time is the interval of the movement produced within time.” What then is this interval called time, when considered outside of the interval characteristic of movement? If the interval characteristic of time be made to consist in movement, where shall the duration of rest be posited? Indeed, for one object to be in motion implies that another (corresponding object) is at rest; now the time of these objects is the same, though for one it be the time of movement, and for the other the time of rest (as thought Strato). What then is the nature of this interval? It cannot be an interval of space, since space is exterior (to the movements that occur within it). [Ennead III,7 (45) 8]

Let us now examine in what sense it may be said (by Aristotle) that time is the number and measure of movement, which definition seems more reasonable, because of the continuity of movement. To begin with, following the method adopted with the definition of time as “the interval of movement,” we might ask whether time be the measure and number of any kind of movement. For how indeed could we give a numerical valuation of unequal or irregular movement. What system of numbering or measurement shall we use for this? If the same measure be applied to slow or to swift movement, in their case measure and number will be the same as the number ten applied equally to horses and oxen; and further, such measure might also be applied to dry and wet substances. If time be a measure of this kind, we clearly see that it is the measure of movements, but we do not discover what it may be in itself. If the number ten can be conceived as a number, after making abstraction of the horses it served to measure, if therefore a measure possess its own individuality, even while no longer measuring anything, the case must be similar with time, inasmuch as it is a measure. If then time be a number in itself, in what does it differ from the number ten, or from any other number composed of unities? As it is a continuous measure, and as it is a quantity, it might, for instance, turn out to be something like a foot-rule. It would then be a magnitude, as, for instance, a line, which follows the movement; but how will this line be able to measure what it follows? Why would it measure one thing rather than another? It seems more reasonable to consider this measure, not as the measure of every kind of movement, but only as the measure of the movement it follows. Then that measure is continuous, so far as the movement it follows itself continue to exist. In this case, we should not consider measure as something exterior, and separated from movement, but as united to the measured movement. What then will measure? Is it the movement that will be measured, and the extension that will measure it? Which of these two things will time be? Will it be the measuring movement, or the measuring extension? Time will be either the movement measured by extension, or the measuring extension; or some third thing which makes use of extension, as one makes use of a foot-rule, to measure the quantity of movement. But in all these cases, we must, as has already been noticed, suppose that movement is uniform; for unless the movement be uniform, one and universal, the theory that movement is a measure of any kind whatever will become almost impossible. If time be “measured movement,” that is, measured by quantity — besides granting that it at all needs to be measured — movement must not be measured by itself, but by something different. On the other hand, if movement have a measure different from itself, and if, consequently, we need a continuous measure to measure it, the result would be that extension itself would need measure, so that movement, being measured, may have a quantity which is determined by that of the thing according to which it is measured. Consequently, under this hypothesis, time would be the number of the extension which follows movement, and not extension itself which follows movement. [Ennead III,7 (45) 9]

The result of the preceding considerations is that time must be conceived of as the length of the life characteristic of the universal Soul; that her course is composed of changes that are equal, uniform, and insensible, so that that course implies a continuity of action. Now let us for a moment suppose that the power of the Soul should cease to act, and to enjoy the life she at present possesses without interruption or limit, because this life is the activity characteristic of an eternal Soul, an action by which the Soul does not return upon herself, and does not concentrate on herself, though enabling her to beget and produce. Now supposing that the Soul should cease to act, that she should apply her superior part to the intelligible world, and to eternity, and that she should there remain calmly united — what then would remain, unless eternity? For what room for succession would that allow, if all things were immovable in unity? How could she contain priority, posteriority, or more or less duration of time? How could the Soul apply herself to some object other than that which occupies her? Further, one could not then even say that she applied herself to the subject that occupied her; she would have to be separated therefrom in order to apply herself thereto. Neither would the universal Sphere exist, since it does not exist before time, because it exists and moves within time. Besides, even if this Sphere were at rest during the activity of the Soul, we could measure the duration of her rest because this rest is posterior to the rest of eternity. Since time is annihilated so soon as the Soul ceases to act, and concentrates in unity, time must be produced by the beginning of the Soul’s motion towards sense-objects, by the Soul’s life. Consequently (Plato) says that time is born with the universe, because the Soul produced time with the universe; for it is this very action of the Soul which has produced this universe. This action constitutes time, and the universe is within time. Plato does indeed call the movements of the stars, time; but evidently only figuratively, as (Plato) subsequently says that the stars were created to indicate the divisions of time, and to permit us to measure it easily. [Ennead III,7 (45) 12]

Some people hold that, by their movements, the planets produce not only poverty and wealth, health and sickness, but even beauty and ugliness; and, what is more, vices and virtues. At every moment the stars, as if they were irritated against men, (are said to) force them to commit actions concerning which no blame attaches to the men who commit them, since they are compelled thereto by the influence of the planets. It is even believed that the cause of the planets’ doing us evil or good is not that they love or hate us; but that their dispositions towards us is good or evil according to the localities through which they travel. Towards us they change their disposition according as they are on the cardinal points or in declination therefrom. It is even held that while certain stars are maleficent, others are beneficent, and that, nevertheless, the former frequently grant us benefits, while the latter often become harmful. Their effects differ according to their being in opposition, just as if they were not self-sufficient, and as if their quality depended on whether or not they looked at each other. Thus a star’s (influence) may be good so long as it regards another, and evil when it does so no longer. A star may even consider another in different manners, when it is in such or such an aspect. Moreover, the totality of the stars exercises a mingled influence which differs from the individual influences, just as several liquors may form a compound possessing qualities differing from either of the component elements. As these and similar assertions are freely made, it becomes important to examine each one separately. This would form a proper beginning for our investigation. [Ennead II,3 (52) 1]