Guthrie-Plotinus: desires

Let us now propound a question about experiences to these men who feel love for incorporeal beauties. What do you feel in presence of the noble occupations, the good morals, the habits of temperance, and in general of virtuous acts and sentiments, and of all that constitutes the beauty of souls? What do you feel when you contemplate your inner beauty? What is the source of your ecstasies, or your enthusiasms? Whence come your desires to unite yourselves to your real selves, and to refresh yourselves by retirement from your bodies? Such indeed are the experiences of those who love genuinely. What then is the object which causes these, your emotions? It is neither a figure, nor a color, nor any size; it is that (colorless) invisible soul, which possesses a wisdom equally invisible; this soul in which may be seen shining the splendor of all the virtues, when one discovers in oneself, or contemplates in others, the greatness of character, the justice of the heart, the pure temperance, the imposing countenance of valor, dignity and modesty, proceeding alone firmly, calmly, and imperturbably; and above all, intelligence, resembling the divinity, by its brilliant light. What is the reason that we declare these objects to be beautiful, when we are transported with admiration and love for them? They exist, they manifest themselves, and whoever beholds them will never be able to restrain himself from confessing them to be veritable beings. Now what are these genuine beings? They are beautiful. [Ennead I,6 (1) 5]

We must still ascend to the Good to which every soul aspires. Whoever has seen it knows what I still have to say, and knows the beauty of the Good. Indeed, the Good is desirable for its own sake; it is the goal of our desires. To attain it, we have to ascend to the higher regions, turn towards them, and lay aside the garment which we put on when descending here below; just as, in the (Eleusynian, or Isiac) mysteries, those who are admitted to penetrate into the recesses of the sanctuary, after having purified themselves, lay aside every garment, and advance stark naked. [Ennead I,6 (1) 6]

The sense-soul, which preserves the forms of sense-objects previously perceived, must preserve them without the body. Otherwise, these forms would inhere in the body like figures and corporeal shapes. Now, if the forms inhered in the sense-soul in this manner, they could not be received therein otherwise (than as corporeal impressions). That is why, if we do grant the existence of an entelechy, it must be inseparable from the body. Even the faculty of appetite, not indeed that which makes us feel the need of eating and drinking, but that which desires things that are independent of the body, could not either be an entelechy. [Ennead IV,7 (2) 8]

(18). If intelligible entities are separated from sense objects, how does it happen that the soul descends into a body? So long as the soul is a pure and impassible intelligence, so long as she enjoys a purely intellectual life like the other intelligible beings, she dwells among them; for she has neither appetite nor desire. But that part which is inferior to intelligence and which is capable of desires, follows their impulsion, “proceeds” and withdraws from the intelligible world. Wishing to ornament matter on the model of the Ideas she contemplated in Intelligence, in haste to exhibit her fruitfulness, and to manifest the germs she bears within her (as said Plato, in the Banquet  ), the soul applies herself to produce and create, and, as result of this application, she is, as it were, orientated (or, in “tension”) towards sense-objects. With the universal Soul, the human soul shares the administration of the whole world, without, however, entering it; then, desiring to administer some portion of the world on her own responsibility, she separates from the universal Soul, and passes into a body. But even when she is present with the body, the soul does not devote herself entirely to it, as some part of her always remains outside of it; that is how her intelligence remains impassible. [Ennead IV,7 (2) 13]

(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]

Consider now the human soul which undergoes numberless ills while in the body, eking out a miserable existence, a prey to griefs, desires, fears, sufferings of all kinds, for whom the body is a tomb, and the sense-world a “cave” or “grotto.” This difference of opinions about the condition of the universal Soul and the human soul is not contradictory, because these two souls do not have the same reasons for descent into a body. To begin with, the location of thought, that we call the intelligible world, contains not only the entire universal Intelligence, but also the intellectual powers, and the particular intelligences comprised within the universal Intelligence; since there is not only a single intelligence, but a simultaneously single and plural intelligence. Consequently, it must also have contained a single Soul, and a plurality of souls; and it was from the single Soul, that the multiple particular and different souls had to be born, as from one and the same genus are derived species that are both superior and inferior, and more or less intellectual. Indeed, in the intelligible world, there is, on one hand, the (universal) Intelligence which, like some great animal, potentially contains the other intelligences. On the other hand, are the individual intelligences, each of which possess in actualization what the former contains potentially. We may illustrate by a living city that would contain other living cities. The soul of the universal City would be more perfect and powerful; but nothing would hinder the souls of the other cities from being of the same kind. Similarly, in the universal Fire, there is on one hand a great fire, and on the other small fires, while the universal Being is the being of the universal Fire, or rather, is the source from which the being of the universal Fire proceeds. [Ennead IV,8 (6) 3]

Though I should set myself in opposition to popular views, I shall set down clearly what seems to me the true state of affairs. Not the whole soul enters into the body. By her higher part, she ever remains united to the intelligible world; as, by her lower part, she remains united to the sense-world. If this lower part dominates, or rather, if it be dominated (by sensation) and troubled, it hinders us from being conscious of what the higher part of the soul contemplates. Indeed that which is thought impinges on our consciousness only in case it descends to us, and is felt. In general, we are conscious of what goes on in every part of the soul only when it is felt by the entire soul. For instance, appetite, which is the actualization of lustful desire, is by us cognized only when we perceive it by the interior sense or by discursive reason, or by both simultaneously. Every soul has a lower part turned towards the body, and a higher part turned towards divine Intelligence. The universal Soul manages the universe by her lower part without any kind of trouble, because she governs her body not as we do by any reasoning, but by intelligence, and consequently in a manner entirely different from that adopted by art. The individual souls, each of whom administers a part of the universe, also have a part that rises above their body; but they are distracted from thought by sensation, and by a perception of a number of things which are contrary to nature, and which come to trouble them, and afflict them. Indeed, the body that they take care of constitutes but a part of the universe, is incomplete, and is surrounded by exterior objects. That is why it has so many needs, why it desires luxuriousness, and why it is deceived thereby. On the contrary, the higher part of the soul is insensible to the attraction of these transitory pleasures, and leads an undisturbed life. [Ennead IV,8 (6) 8]

Let us first consider if it may be affirmed that all souls form but one in the sense in which it is said that the soul of each individual is one. It seems absurd to pretend that my soul and yours form but one in this (numerical) sense; for then you would be feeling simultaneously with my feeling, and you would be virtuous when I was, and you would have the same desires as I, and not only would we both have the same sentiments, but even the identical sentiments of the universal (Soul), so that every sensation felt by me would have been felt by the entire universe. If in this manner all the souls form but one, why is one soul reasonable, and the other unreasonable, why is the one in an animal, and the other in a plant? On the other hand, if we do not admit that there is a single Soul, we will not be able to explain the unity of the universe, nor find a single principle for (human) souls. [Ennead IV,9 (8) 1]

Your mind remains in uncertainty because the divinity is none of these things (that you know). Apply it first to these things, and later fix it on the divinity. While doing so, do not let yourself be distracted by anything exterior for the divinity is not in any definite place, depriving the remainder of its presence, but it is present wherever there is any person who is capable of entering into contact therewith. It is absent only for those who cannot succeed therein. Just as, for other objects, one could not discover what one seeks by thinking of something else, and as one should not add any alien thing to the object that is thought if one wishes to identify oneself therewith; likewise here one must be thoroughly convinced that it is impossible for any one whose soul contains any alien image to conceive of the divinity so long as such an image distracts the soul’s attention. It is equally impossible that the soul, at the moment that she is attentive, and attached to other things, should assume the form of what is contrary to them. Just as it is said of matter that it must be absolutely deprived of all qualities to be susceptible of receiving all forms; likewise, and for a stronger reason, the soul must be stripped of all form, if she desire to be filled with and illuminated by the primary nature without any interior hindrance. Thus, having liberated herself from all exterior things, the soul will entirely turn to what is most intimate in her; she will not allow herself to be turned away by any of the surrounding objects and she will put aside all things, first by the very effect of the state in which she will find herself, and later by the absence of any conception of form. She will not even know that she is applying herself to the contemplation of the One, or that she is united thereto. Then, after having sufficiently dwelt with it, she will, if she can, come to reveal to others this heavenly communion. Doubtless it was enjoyment of this communion that was the basis of the traditional conversation of Minos   with Jupiter. Inspired with the memories of this interview, he made laws which represented it, because, while he was drawing them up, he was still under the influence of his union with the divinity. Perhaps even, in this state, the soul may look down on civil virtues as hardly worthy of her, inasmuch as she desires to dwell on high; and this does indeed happen to such as have long contemplated the divinity. [Ennead VI,9 (9) 7]

As the One does not contain any difference, He is always present; and we are ever present to Him as soon as we contain no more difference. It is not He who is aspiring to us, or who is moving around us; on the contrary, it is we who are aspiring to Him. Though we always move around Him, we do not always keep our glance fixed on Him. We resemble a chorus which always surrounds its leader, but (the members of) which do not always sing in time because they allow their attention to be distracted to some exterior object; while, if they turned towards the leader, they would sing well, and really be with him. Likewise, we always turn around the One, even when we detach ourselves from Him, and cease knowing Him. Our glance is not always fixed on the One; but when we contemplate Him, we attain the purpose of our desires, and enjoy the rest taught by Heraclitus  . Then we disagree no more, and really form a divine choric ballet around Him. [Ennead VI,9 (9) 8]

Another proof that our welfare resides up there is the love that is innate in our souls, as is taught in the descriptions and myths which represent love as the husband of the soul. In fact, since the soul, which is different from the divinity, proceeds from Him, she must necessarily love Him; but when she is on high her love is celestial; here below, her love is only commonplace; for it is on high that dwells the celestial Venus (Urania); while here below resides the vulgar and adulterous Venus. Now every soul is a Venus, as is indicated by the myth of the birth of Venus and Cupid, who is supposed to be born simultaneously with her. So long as she remains faithful to her nature, the soul therefore loves the divinity, and desires to unite herself to Him, who seems like the noble father of a bride who has fallen in love with some handsome lover. When however the soul has descended into generation, deceived by the false promises of an adulterous lover, she has exchanged her divine love for a mortal one. Then, at a distance from her father, she yields to all kinds of excesses. Ultimately, however, she grows ashamed of these disorders; she purifies herself, she returns to her father, and finds true happiness with Him. How great her bliss then is can be conceived by such as have not tasted it only by comparing it somewhat to earthly love-unions, observing the joy felt by the lover who succeeds in obtaining her whom he loves. But such mortal and deceptive love is directed only to phantoms; it soon disappears because the real object of our love is not these sense-presentations, which are not the good we are really seeking. On high only is the real object of our love; the only one with which we could unite or identify ourselves, which we could intimately possess, because it is not separated from our soul by the covering of our flesh. This that I say will be acknowledged by any one who has experienced it; he will know that the soul then lives another life, that she advances towards the Divinity, that she reaches Him, possesses Him, and in his condition recognizes the presence of the Dispenser of the true life. Then she needs nothing more. On the contrary, she has to renounce everything else to fix herself in the Divinity alone, to identify herself with Him, and to cut off all that surrounds Him. We must therefore hasten to issue from here below, detaching ourselves so far as possible from the body to which we still have the regret of being chained, making the effort to embrace the Divinity by our whole being, without leaving in us any part that is not in contact with Him. Then the soul can see the Divinity and herself, so far as is possible to her nature. She sees herself shining brilliantly, filled with intelligible light; or rather, she sees herself as a pure light, that is subtle and weightless. She becomes divinity, or, rather, she is divinity. In this condition, the soul is a shining light. If later she falls back into the sense-world, she is plunged into darkness. [Ennead VI,9 (9) 9]

Before obtaining the vision of the divinity, the soul desires what yet remains to be seen. For him, however, who has risen above all things, what remains to be seen is He who is above all other things. Indeed, the nature of the soul will never reach absolute nonentity. Consequently, when she descends, she will fall into evil, that is, nonentity, but not into absolute nonentity. Following the contrary path, she will arrive at something different, namely, herself. From the fact that she then is not in anything different from herself, it does not result that she is within anything, for she remains in herself. That which, without being in essence, remains within itself, necessarily resides in the divinity. Then it ceases to be “being,” and so far as it comes into communion with the Divinity it grows superior to “being” (it becomes supra-being). Now he who sees himself as having become divinity, possesses within himself an image of the divinity. If he rise above himself, he will achieve the limit of his ascension, becoming as it were an image that becomes indistinguishable from its model. Then, when he shall have lost sight of the divinity, he may still, by arousing the virtue preserved within himself, and by considering the perfections that adorn his soul, reascend to the celestial region, by virtue rising to Intelligence, and by wisdom to the Divinity Himself. [Ennead VI,9 (9) 11]

It is the second point, therefore, that we shall here discuss. It is related to the study of the object we desire to know; for it is the soul that desires to know that object. Now the soul must first examine her own nature in order to know whether she possess the faculty of contemplating the divinity, if this study be suited to her, and if she may hope for success therein. For indeed if the soul be foreign to divine things, the soul has no business to ferret out their nature. If however a close kinship obtains between them, she both can and should seek to know them. [Ennead V,1 (10) 1]

All that is moved must have a direction towards which it is moved; we must therefore conclude that that which has no direction towards which it is moved must be at a stand-still, and that anything born of this principle must be born without causing this principle to cease being turned towards itself. We must, however, remove from our mind the idea of a generation operated within time, for we are here treating of eternal things. When we apply to them the conception of generation, we mean only a relation of causality and effect. What is begotten by the One must be begotten by Him without any motion on the part of the One; if He were moved, that which was begotten from Him would, because of this movement, be ranked third, instead of second. Therefore, since the One is immovable, He produces the hypostatic (form of existence) which is ranked second, without volition, consent, or any kind of movement. What conception are we then to form of this generation of Intelligence by this immovable Cause? It is a radiation of light which escapes without disturbing its quietness, like the splendor which emanates perpetually from the sun, without affecting its quietness, which surrounds it without leaving it. Thus all things, in so far as they remain within existence, necessarily draw from their own essence (“being”) and produce externally a certain nature that depends on their power, and that is the image of the archetype from which it is derived. Thus does fire radiate heat; thus snow spreads cold. Perfumes also furnish a striking example of this process; so long as they last, they emit exhalations in which everything that surrounds them participates. Everything that has arrived to its point of perfection begets something. That which is eternally perfect begets eternally; and that which it begets is eternal though inferior to the generating principle. What then should we think of Him who is supremely perfect? Does He not beget? On the contrary, He begets that which, after Him, is the greatest. Now that which, after Him, is the most perfect, is the second rank principle, Intelligence. Intelligence contemplates Unity, and needs none but Him; but the Unity has no need of Intelligence. That which is begotten by the Principle superior to Intelligence can be nothing if not Intelligence; for it is the best after the One, since it is superior to all other beings. The Soul, indeed, is the word and actualization of Intelligence, just as Intelligence is word and actualization of the One. But the Soul is an obscure word. Being an image of Intelligence, she must contemplate Intelligence, just as the latter, to subsist, must contemplate the One. Intelligence contemplates the One, not because of any separation therefrom, but only because it is after the One. There is no intermediary between the One and Intelligence, any more than between Intelligence and the Soul. Every begotten being desires to unite with the principle that begets it, and loves it, especially when the begetter and the begotten are alone. Now when the begetter is supremely perfect, the begotten must be so intimately united to Him as to be separated from Him only in that it is distinct from Him. [Ennead V,1 (10) 6]

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]

Why do not all souls act like the universal Soul? They do act like her, but do so only in the place where they are. Why do our bodies not move in a circle, like the heavens? Because they include an element whose natural motion is rectilinear; because they trend towards other objects, because the spherical element in us can no longer easily move in a circle, because it has become terrestrial, while in the celestial region is was light and movable enough. How indeed could it remain at rest, while the Soul was in motion, whatever this movement was? This spirit(ual body) which, within us, is spread around the soul, does the same thing as do the heavens. Indeed, if the divinity be in everything, the Soul, which desires to unite herself to Him, must move around Him, since He resides in no determinate place. Consequently, Plato attributes to the stars, besides the revolution which they perform in common with the universe, a particular movement of rotation around their own centre. Indeed, every star, in whatever place it may be, is transported with joy while embracing the divinity; and this occurs not by reason, but by a natural necessity. [Ennead II,2 (14) 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]

If then it be by virtue that we are assimilated (to divinity), does this divinity to whom we are trying to achieve assimilation, Himself possess virtue? Besides, what divinity is this? Surely it must be He who must most seem to possess virtue, the world-Soul, together with the principle predominating in her, whose wisdom is most admirable (supreme Intelligence) — for it is quite reasonable that we should be assimilated to Him. Nevertheless, one might, unreflectingly, question whether all virtues might suit this divinity; whether, for instance, moderation in his desires, or courage could be predicated of Him; for, as to courage, nothing can really harm Him, and He therefore has nothing to fear; and as to moderation, no pleasant object whose presence would excite His desires, or whose absence would in Him awaken regrets, could possibly exist. But inasmuch as the divinity, just as we ourselves, aspires to intelligible things, He is evidently the source of our gracious sanity and virtues. So we are forced to ask ourselves, “Does the divinity possess these virtues?” [Ennead I,2 (19) 1]

It would not be proper to attribute to Him the homely (or, civil) virtues, such as prudence, which “relates to the rational part of our nature”; courage, which “relates to our irascible part”; temperance, which consists of the harmonious consonance of our desires and our reason; last, of justice, which “consists in the accomplishment by all these faculties of the function proper to each of them,” “whether to command, or to obey,” (as said Plato). But if we cannot become assimilated to the divinity by these homely virtues, that process must demand similarly named virtues of a superior order. However, these homely virtues would not be entirely useless to achieve that result, for one cannot say that while practising them one does not at all resemble the divinity as they who practise them are reputed to be godlike. These lower virtues do therefore yield some resemblance to the divinity, but complete assimilation can result only from virtues of a higher order. [Ennead I,2 (19) 1]

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]

What is manifold needs to seek itself, and naturally desires to embrace itself, and to grasp itself by self-consciousness. But that which is absolutely One could not reflect on itself, and need self-consciousness. The absolutely identical principle is superior to consciousness and thought. Intelligence is not the first; it is not the first either by its essence, nor by the majestic value of its existence. It occupies only the second rank. It existed only when the Good already existed; and as soon as it existed, it turned towards the Good. In turning towards the Good, Intelligence cognized the latter; for thought consists of conversion towards the Good, and aspiration thereto. Aspiration towards the Good, therefore, produced thought, which identifies itself with the Good; for vision presupposes the desire to see. The Good, therefore, cannot think; for it has no good other than itself. Besides, when something other than the Good thinks the Good, it thinks the Good because it takes the form of the Good, and resembles the Good. It thinks, because itself becomes for itself a good and desirable object, and because it possesses an image of the Good. If this thing always remain in the same disposition, it will always retain this image of the Good. By thinking itself, Intelligence simultaneously thinks the Good; for it does not think itself as being actualized; yet every actualization has the Good as its goal. [Ennead V,6 (24) 5]

How could that part of the soul that is superior to sensation and passion remain unalterable, while admitting vice, false opinions, and ignorance (or folly); when it has desires or aversions; when it yields itself to joy or pain, to hate, jealousy, and appetite; when, in one word, it never remains calm, but when all the things that happen to it agitate it, and produce changes within it? [Ennead III,6 (26) 1]

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]

What! Would nothing exist (in the sense-world) if matter did not exist? Nothing! It is as with a mirror; remove it, and the images disappear. Indeed, that which by its nature is destined to exist in something else could not exist in that thing; now the nature of every image is to exist in something else. If the image were an emanation of the causes themselves, it could exist without being in anything else; but as these causes reside in themselves, so that their image may reflect itself elsewhere, there must be something else destined to serve as location for that which does not really enter into it; something which by its presence, its audacity, its solicitations, and by its indigence, should as it were forcibly obtain (what it desires), but which is deceived because it does not really obtain anything; so that it preserves its indigence, and continues to solicitate (satisfaction). As soon as Poverty exists, it ceaselessly “begs,” as a (well-known Platonic) myth tells us; that shows clearly enough that it is naturally denuded of all good. It does not ask to obtain all that the giver possesses; it is satisfied with the possession of some of it, thus revealing to us how much the images that appear in matter are different from real beings. Even the very name of Poverty, which is given to matter, indicates that it is insatiable. When Poverty is said to unite with Abundance, we do not mean that it unites with Existence or Fulness, but with a work of wonderful skill, namely, a thing that is nothing but specious appearance., [Ennead III,6 (26) 14]

The objects that concentrate the rays of the sun, are themselves visible, by receiving from the fire of sensation what takes fire in their hearth. They appear because the images that form themselves are around and near them, and touch each other, and finally because there are two limits in these objects. But when the (“seminal) reason” is in matter, it remains exterior to matter in an entirely different manner; it has a different nature. Here it is not necessary that there be two limits; matter and reason are strangers to each other by difference of nature, and by the difference between their natures that makes any mixture of them impossible. The cause that each remains in itself is that what enters into matter does not possess it, any more than matter possesses what enters into it. That is how opinion and imagination do not mingle in our soul, and each remains what it was, without entailing or leaving anything, because no mingling can occur. These powers are foreign to each other, not in that there is a mere juxtaposition, but because between them obtains a difference that is grasped by reason, instead of being seen by sight. Here imagination is a kind of phantom, though the soul herself be no phantom, and though she seem to accomplish, and though she really accomplish many deeds as she desires to accomplish them. [Ennead III,6 (26) 15]

Now let us return to that which has always been what it is. Let us, in thought, embrace all beings: air, light, sun, and moon. Let us then consider the sun, the light, and so forth, as being all things, without ever forgetting that there are things that occupy the first rank, others the second, or the third. Let us, at the summit of this series of beings, conceive of the universal Soul as subsisting eternally. Let us then posit that which holds the first rank after her, and thus continue till we arrive at the things that occupy the last rank, and which, as it were, are the last glimmerings of the light shed by the soul. Let us represent these things as an extension first dark, and then later illuminated by the form which comes to impress itself on an originally dark background. This background is embellished by reason in virtue of the entire universal Soul’s independent power of embellishing matter by means of reasons, just as the “seminal reasons” themselves fashion and form animals as microcosms. According to its nature, the Soul gives a form to everything she touches. She produces without casual conception, without the delays of deliberation, or of those of voluntary determination. Otherwise, she would not be acting according to her nature, but according to the precepts of a borrowed art. Art, indeed, is posterior to nature. Art imitates by producing obscure and feeble imitations of nature’s works, toys without value or merit; and besides, art makes use of a great battery of apparatus to produce these images. On the contrary, the universal Soul, dominating bodies by virtue of her nature (“being”) makes them become and be what she desires; for the things themselves that exist since the beginning cannot raise resistance to her will. In inferior things, as the result of mutual obstruction, matter does not receive the exact form that the (“seminal) reason” contains in germ. But as the universal Soul produces the universal form, and as all things are therein co-ordinated, the work is beautiful because it is realized without trouble or obstacle. In the universe there are temples for the divinities, houses for men, and other objects adapted to the needs of other beings. What indeed could the Soul create if not what she has the power to create? As fire warms, as snow cools, the soul acts now within herself, and then outside of herself, and on other objects. The action which inanimate beings elicit from themselves slumbers, as it were, within them; and that which they exert on others consists in assimilating to themselves that which is capable of an experience. To render the rest similar to itself, is indeed the common characteristic of every being. The soul’s power of acting on herself and on others is a vigilant faculty. It communicates life to beings who do not have it in themselves, and the life communicated to them is similar to the life of the soul herself. Now as the soul lives in reason, she imparts a reason to the body, which reason is an image of the one she herself possesses. Indeed, what she communicates to the bodies is an image of life. She also imparts to them the shapes whose reasons she contains. Now as she possesses the reasons of all things, even of the divinities, the world contains all things. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 10]

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]

Doubtless we will have to acknowledge that there are affections which pass from the body into the soul; but there are also affections which belong exclusively to the soul, because the soul is a real being, with characteristic nature and activities. In this case, the soul must have desires, and recall them, remembering that they have, or have not been satisfied; because, by her nature, she does not form part of the things which are (as Heraclitus said) in a perpetual flow. Otherwise, we could not attribute to the soul coenesthesia (or, common feeling), conscience, reflection, or the intuition of herself. If she did not possess them by her nature, she would not acquire them by union with the body. Doubtless there are activities which the soul cannot carry out without the assistance of the organs; but she herself possesses the faculties (or “powers”) from which these activities are outgrowths. Besides, she, by herself, possesses other faculties, whose operations are derived from her alone. Among these is memory, whose exercise is only hindered by the body. Indeed, when the soul unites with the body, she forgets; when she separates from the body, and purifies herself, she often recovers memory. Since the soul possesses memory when she is alone, the body, with its changeable nature, that is ever subject to a perpetual flow, is a cause of forgetfulness, and not of memory; the body therefore is, for the soul, the stream of Lethe (or forgetfulness). To the soul alone, therefore, belongs memory. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 26]

Does memory belong to the powers by which we feel and know? Is it by appetite that we remember the things that excite our desires, and by anger that we remember the things that irritate us? Some will think so. It is indeed the same faculty which feels pleasure, and retains remembrance thereof. Thus when, for instance, appetite meets an object which has already made it experience pleasure, it remembers this pleasure on seeing this object. Why indeed should appetite not be similarly moved by some other object? Why is it not moved in some manner by the same object? Why should we not thus attribute to it the sensation of things of this kind? Further, why should appetite itself not be reduced to the power of sensation, and not do likewise for everything, naming each thing, by what predominates therein? [Ennead IV,3 (27) 28]

What about intellectual conceptions? Are they also preserved by imagination? If imagination accompany every thought, and if later it, as it were, preserves its image, we should thus have the memory of the known object; otherwise some other solution will have to be sought. Perhaps reason, whose actualization always accompanies thought, has the function of receiving it and transmitting it to imagination. Indeed, thought is indivisible, and so long as it is not evoked from the depths of intelligence, it remains as it were hidden within it. Reason develops it, and making it pass from the state of thought to that of image, spreads it out as it were in a mirror, for our imagination. That is why we grasp (the thought) only when the soul, which always desires rational thought, has achieved a thought. There is a difference between thought and the perception of thought. We are always thinking, but we do not always perceive our thought. That comes from the fact that the principle that perceives the thoughts also perceives the sensations, and occupies itself with both in turn. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 30]

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]

Consequently, it may be said that the origin of the desires should be located in the common (combination) and in the physical nature. To desire and seek something would not be characteristic of a body in any state whatever (which would not be alive). On the other hand, it is not the soul which seeks after sweet or bitter flavors, but the body. Now the body, by the very fact that it is not simply a body (that it is a living body), moves much more than the soul, and is obliged to seek out a thousand objects to satisfy its needs: at times it needs sweet flavors, at others, bitter flavors; again humidity, and later, heat; all of them being things about which it would not care, were it alone. As the suffering is accompanied by knowledge, the soul, to avoid the object which causes the suffering, makes an effort which constitutes flight, because she perceives the passion experienced by the organ, that contracts to escape the harmful object. Thus everything that occurs in the body is known by sensation, and by that part of the soul called nature, and which gives the body a trace of the soul. On one hand, desire, which has its origin in the body, and reaches its highest degree in nature, attaches itself thereto. On the other hand, sensation begets imagination, as a consequence of which the soul satisfies her need, or abstains, and restrains herself; without listening to the body which gave birth to desire, nor the faculty which later felt its reaction. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 20]

Why therefore should we recognize two kinds of desires, instead of acknowledging only one kind in the living body? Because nature differs from the body to which it gives life. Nature is anterior to the body because it is nature that organizes the body by moulding it, and shaping it; consequently, the origin of desire is not in nature, but in the passions of the living body. If the latter suffer, it aspires to possess things contrary to those that make it suffer, to make pleasure succeed pain, and satisfaction succeed need. Nature, like a mother, guesses the desires of the body that has suffered, tries to direct it, and to lure it back. While thus trying to satisfy it, she thereby shares in its desires, and she proposes to accomplish the same ends. It might be said that the body, by itself, possesses desires and inclinations; that nature has some only as a result of the body, and because of it; that, finally the soul is an independent power which grants or refuses what is desired by the organism. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 20]

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]

The stars know our desires through the agreement and sympathy established between them and us by the harmony reigning in the universe. Our desires are granted by the same method. Likewise, magic is founded on the harmony of the universe; it acts by means of the forces which are interconnected by sympathy. If so, why should we not attribute to the earth the faculty of sensation? Granting this, what sort of sensations would we attribute to it? To begin with, why should we not attribute to it touch, whether by one part feeling the condition of another, and by the transmission of the sensation to the governing power, or by the whole earth feeling the fire, and other similar things; for if the terrestrial element is inert, it certainly is not insensible. The earth will therefore feel the great things, and not those of minor importance. Why should it feel? Surely if the earth have a soul, she will not ignore the strongest motions therein. The earth must also be supposed to feel, in order to dispose all that depends on her for the benefit of humanity. All these things she will suitably dispose by the laws of harmony. She can hear and grant the prayers addressed to her, but in a manner other than we ourselves would do. Besides, she might exercise other senses in her relations, either with herself, or with foreign things; as, for example, to have the sensations of taste and smell perceived by other beings. Perhaps even she has need to perceive the odors of the liquids to fulfil her providential functions in respect to animals, and to take care of her own body. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 26]

Enough of this. Let us return to the question from which we digressed. We granted that the desires, pains and pleasures (considered not only as sentiments, but as passions), originate in the constitution of the organized and living body. Must the same origin be assigned to the irascible (power)? Were this so, we would have several questions to ask: Does anger belong to the entire organism, or only to a particular organ, such as the heart when so disposed, or to the bile, as long as it is part of a living body? Is anger different from the principle which gives the body a trace of the soul, or is it an individual power, which depends on no other power, whether irascible or sensitive? [Ennead IV,4 (28) 28]

Let us now recall what has already been established. The universe is a single living being by virtue of its unity being sympathetic with itself. The course of its life is regulated by reason; it is entirely in agreement with itself; it has nothing fortuitous, it offers a single order, and a single harmony. Besides, all the (star) figures are each conformed to a reason and to a determinate number. The parts of the universal living beings which constitute this kind of a dance — we mean the figures produced in it, of the parts figured therein, as well as the things derived therefrom — are the very actualization of the universe. Thus the universe lives in the manner we have determined, and its powers contribute to this state according to the nature they have received from the reason that has produced them. The figures are, in some way, the reasons of the universal Living being, the intervals or contrasts (of the parts) of the Living being, the attitudes they take according to the laws of rhythm, and according to the reason of the universe. The beings which by their relative distances produce these figures are the divers members of this living being. The different powers of this living being act without deliberation, as its members, because deliberation is a process foreign to the nature of themselves or to this living being. Aspiration to a single aim is the characteristic of the single living being; but it includes manifold powers. All these different wills aspire to the same end as the single will of the organism, for each part desires some one of the different objects that it contains. Each wishes to possess something of the other’s possessions, and to obtain what it lacks; each experiences a feeling of anger against another, when it is excited against that other; each increases at the expense of another, and begets another. The universe produces all these actions in its parts, but at the same time it seeks the Good, or rather, it contemplates it. It is always the Good that is sought by the right will, which is above passions, and thus accords with the will of the universe. Similarly, servants ascribe many of their actions to the orders received from their master; but the desire of the Good carries them where their own master is carried. Consequently, the sun and the other stars exert what influence they do exert on things here below through contemplation of the intelligible world. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 35]

Things which arise from the universe without the incitation of somebody are generally caused by the vegetative life of the universe. As to the things whose production is due to somebody, either by simple wishes, or by cunning enchantments, they should be ascribed not to some star, but to the very nature of that which is produced. 1. Of course, the necessaries of life, or what serves some other use, should be attributed to the goodness of the stars; it is a gift made by a stronger part to a weaker one. Any harmful effect on the generation of animals exercised by the stars must depend on their substance’s inability to receive what has been given them; for the effect is not produced absolutely, but relatively to some subject or condition, for that which “suffers” or is to “suffer” must have a determinate nature. 2. Mixtures also exert a great influence, because each being furnishes something useful to life. Moreover, something good might happen to a person without the assistance of beings which by nature would seem useful. 3. The co-ordination of the universe does not always give to each person what he desires. 4. Besides, we ourselves add much to what has been given to us. 5. All things are not any the less embraced in a same unity; they form an admirable harmony; besides, they are derived from each other, though originating from contraries; for indeed all things are parts of a single animal. If any one of these begotten things is imperfect because it is not completely formed, the fact is that matter not being entirely subdued, the begotten thing degenerates and falls into deformity. Thus some things are produced by the stars, others are derived from the nature of substance, while others are added by the beings themselves. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 38]

(5). The purpose of action is to contemplate, and to possess the contemplated object. The object or activity, therefore, is contemplation. It seeks to achieve indirectly what it is unable to accomplish directly. It is not otherwise when one has achieved the object of one’s desires. One’s real desire is not to possess the desired object without knowing it, but to know it more thoroughly, to present it to the sight of the soul, and to be able to contemplate it therein. Indeed, activity always has in view some good; one desires to posses it interiorly, to appropriate it, and to possess the result of one’s action. Now as Good can be possessed only by the soul, activity once more brings us back to contemplation. Since the soul is a “reason,” what she is capable of possessing could be no more than a silent “reason,” being so much the more silent as it is more a “reason,” for perfect “reason” seeks nothing farther; it rests in the manifestation of that with which it is filled; the completer the manifestation, the calmer is the contemplation, and the more does it unite the soul. Speaking seriously, there is identity between knowing subject and known object in the actualization of knowledge. If they were not identical, they would be different, being alien to each other, without any real bond, just as reasons (are foreign to the soul) when they slumber within her, without being perceived. The reason must therefore not remain alien to the learning soul, but become united thereto, and become characteristic of her. Therefore when the soul has appropriated a “reason,” and has familiarized herself therewith, the soul as it were draws it out of her (breast) to examine it. Thus she observes the thing that she (unconsciously) possessed, and by examining it, distinguishes herself therefrom, and by the conception she forms of it, considers it as something foreign to her; for though the soul herself be a “reason” and a kind of intelligence, nevertheless when she considers something, she considers it as something distinct from herself, because she does not possess the true fulness, and is defective in respect to her principle (which is intelligence). Besides, it is with calmness that she observes what she has drawn from within herself; for she does not draw from within herself anything of which she did not formerly have even a notion. But she only drew from within herself that of which her view was incomplete, and which she wished to know better. In her actualizations (such as sensation), she adapts the “reasons” she possesses to exterior objects. On one hand, as she possesses (the intelligible entities) better than does nature, she is also calmer and more contemplative; on the other hand, as she does not possess (the intelligible entities) perfectly, more (than intelligence) she desires to have direct experimental knowledge and contemplation of the object she contemplates. After having (temporarily) withdrawn from her own higher part, and having (by discursive reason) run through the series of differences, she returns to herself, and again gives herself up to contemplation by her higher part (intelligence) from which she had withdrawn (to observe the differences); for the higher part does not deal with differences, as it abides within herself. Consequently the wise mind is identical with reason, and in itself possesses what it manifests to others. It contemplates itself; it arrives at unity not only in respect to exterior objects, but also in respect to itself; it rests in this unity, and finds all things within itself. [Ennead III,8 (30) 6]

(10). A further consideration. Since intelligence is a sort of intuition, namely, a seeing (or actualizing) intuition (or vision), it really consists of a potentiality that has passed into actualization. It will therefore contain two elements, which will play the parts of (intelligible) matter, and of form, just like actualized vision, for actualized vision also implies duality. Therefore intuition, before being actualized, was unity. Thus unity has become duality, and duality has become unity. (Sense-) vision receives from sense-objects its fulness, and its perfection, so to speak. As to intellectual vision, however, its fulness comes from a principle that is the Good. Now if intelligence were the Good itself, what would be the use of its intuition or its actualization? Other beings, indeed, aspire to the Good, as the goal of their activity; but the Good itself has need of nothing; and therefore possesses nothing but itself. After having named it, nothing should be added thereto by thought; for, to add something, is to suppose that He needs this attribute. Not even intelligence should be attributed to Him; that would be introducing therein something alien, distinguishing in Him two things, Intelligence and the Good. Intelligence needs the Good, but the Good has no need of Intelligence. On achieving the Good, Intelligence takes its form, for it derives its form from the Good; and it becomes perfect, because it assumes the nature (of the Good). The model (or, archetype) must be judged by the trace it leaves in Intelligence, conceiving of its true character according to the impression it leaves. Only by this impression does Intelligence behold and achieve the Good. That is why Intelligence aspires to the Good; and as Intelligence ever aspires to the Good, Intelligence ever achieves it. The Good itself, however, never aspires to anything; for what could He desire? Nor does He achieve anything, since He desires nothing. Therefore (the Supreme) is not Intelligence, which ever desires, and aspires to the form of Good. [Ennead III,8 (30) 11]

The advantages derived from this conversion towards the divinity are first self-consciousness, so long as he remains distinct from the divinity. If he penetrate into his interior sanctuary, he possesses all things, and renouncing self-consciousness in favor of indistinction from the divinity, he fuses with it. As soon as he desires to see something, so to speak, outside of himself, it is he himself that he considers, even exteriorly. The soul that studies the divinity must form an idea of him while seeking to know him. Later, knowing how great is that divinity to which she desires to unite herself, and being persuaded that she will find beatitude in this union, she plunges herself into the depths of the divinity until, instead of contenting herself with contemplating the intelligible world, she herself becomes an object of contemplation, and shines with the clearness of the conceptions whose source is on high. [Ennead V,8 (31) 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]

Besides, what advantage could the (world-Soul) have imagined she was gaining by creating the world? That she did so in order to be honored seems unworthy, for it would be attributing to her the desires of a sculptor. Another theory is that the (world-Soul) created the world by virtue of a rational conception, and she thus exercised her power, though creating did not inhere in her nature. If so, how did she make the world? When will she destroy it? If she repented, what is she waiting for (before she destroys her handiwork)? If, however, she has not yet repented, she could not repent after time will have accustomed her to her work, and will have made her more kindly disposed thereto. If however she be awaiting individual souls, the latter should not have returned into generation, since, in the former generation, they have already experienced evils here below, and consequently, they should long since have ceased to descend upon this earth. [Ennead II,9 (33) 4]

But what is there to be feared in magnitude? If (the essence) that has increased could feel (it would feel that which in itself has become evil; for) it would feel that it had issued from itself, and had even gone to a great distance (from itself). No (essence), indeed, seeks that which is other than itself; every (essence) seeks itself. The movement by which (an essence) issues from itself is caused either by “audacity,” or necessity. Every (being) exists in the highest degree not when it becomes manifold or great, but when it belongs to itself; now this occurs when it concentrates upon itself. That which desires to become great in some other manner is ignorant of that in which true greatness consists; instead of proceeding towards its legitimate goal, it turns towards the outside. Now, on the contrary, to turn towards oneself, is to remain in oneself. The demonstration of this may be seen in that which participates in greatness; if (the being) develop itself so that each of its parts exist apart, each part will indeed exist, but (the being) will no longer be what it originally was. To remain what it is, all its parts must converge towards unity; so that, to be what it was in its being, it should not be large, but single. When it possesses magnitude, and quantity inheres in it, it is destroyed, while when it possesses unity, it possesses itself. Doubtless the universe is both great and beautiful; but it is beautiful only so far as the unity holds it in from dissipating into infinity. Besides, if it be beautiful, it is not because it is great, but because it participates in beauty; now, if it need participation in beauty, it is only because it has become so large. Indeed, isolated from beauty, and considered in itself as great, it is ugly. From this point of view, what is great is with beauty in the relation obtaining between matter and form, because what needs adornment is manifold; consequently, what is great has so much more need of being adorned and is so much more ugly (as it is great). [Ennead VI,6 (34) 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]

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

Since therefore we have given up desires as forms in the determination of the nature and quality (of the good), shall we have recourse to other rules, such as, for instance (the Pythagorean) “oppositions,” such as order and disorder, proportion and disproportion, health and sickness, form and formlessness, being and destruction, consistence and its lack? Who indeed would hesitate to attribute to the form of good those characteristics which constitute the first member of each of these opposition-pairs? If so, the efficient causes of these characteristics will also have to be traced to the good; for virtue, life, intelligence and wisdom are comprised within the form of good, as being things desired by the soul that is wise. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 20]

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]

Intelligence has two powers: by the first, which is her own power of thinking, she sees what is within her. By the other she perceives what is above her by the aid of a kind of vision and perception; by the vision, she first saw simply; then, by (perceptive) seeing, she received intellection and fused with the One. The first kind of contemplation is suitable to the intelligence which still possesses reason; the second is intelligence transported by love. Now, it is when the nectar intoxicates her, and deprives her of reason, that the soul is transported with love, and that she blossoms into a felicity that fulfils all her desires. It is better for her to abandon herself to this intoxication than to remain wise. In this state does intelligence successively see one thing, and then another? No: methods of instruction (or, constructive speech) give out everything successively; but it is eternally that intelligence possesses the power of thought, as well as the power not to think; that is, to see the divinity otherwise than by thought. Indeed, while contemplating Him, she received within herself germs, she felt them when they were produced and deposited within her breast; when she sees them, she is said to think; but when she sees the divinity, it is by that superior power by virtue of which she was to think later. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 35]

But to which part of ourselves should we refer free will? To appetite or desire, to anger or sex passion, for instance? Or shall it be to the reason, engaged in search after utility, and accompanied by desire? If to anger or sex passion, we should be supposed to grant freedom of will to brutes, to children, to the angry, to the insane, to those misled by magic charms, or suggestions of the imagination, though none of such persons be master of himself? If again (we are to ascribe freedom of will) to reason accompanied by desire, does this mean to reason even when misled, or only to right reason, and right desire? One might even ask whether reason be moved by desire, or desire by reason. For, admitting that desires arise naturally, a distinction will nevertheless have to be established: if they belong to the animal part, and to the combination (of soul and body), the soul will obey the necessity of nature; if they belong to the soul alone, many things which are generally attributed to the domain of our free will will have to be withdrawn therefrom. Besides, passions are always preceded by some sort of abstract reasoning. Further, how can imagination itself — which constrains us; and desire — which drags us whither Necessity compels, make us “masters of ourselves” under these circumstances? Besides, how can we be “masters of ourselves” in general when we are carried away? That faculty of ours which necessarily seeks to satisfy its needs, is not mistress of the things towards which it is compelled to move. How should we attribute freedom of will to (a soul) that depends on something else? (To a soul) which, in this thing, holds the principle of her own determinations? (To a soul) that regulates her life thereby, and derives therefrom her nature? (To a soul) that lives according to the instructions received therefrom? Freedom of will would then have to be acknowledged even in inanimate things; for even fire acts according to its inborn nature. [Ennead VI,8 (39) 2]

Some person might try to establish a distinction founded on the fact that the animal and the soul do not act unconsciously. If they know it by mere sensation, how far does that sensation contribute to the freedom of will? For sensation, limiting itself to perception, does not yield the percipient mastery over anything. If they know it by knowledge, and if this knowledge contain only the accomplished fact, their actions are then determined by some other principle. If, even independently of desire, reason or knowledge make us perform certain actions, or dominate us, to what faculty shall the action be ascribed, and how does it occur? If reason produce another desire, how does it do so? If reason manifest itself and liberate us by the process of calming our desires, the free will lies no longer in the action, but in intelligence; for every action, however much directed by reason, would then be something mixed, not revealing an unconfused free will. [Ennead VI,8 (39) 2]

The question must be examined carefully, for it will later be applied to the divinities. Responsibility has been traced to the will, and this to reason first, and later to right reason. Better, to reason enlightened by knowledge; for freedom of will is not possessed incontestably if one be ignorant of why his decision or action is good, if one have been led to do the right thing by chance, or by some sensible representation. Since the latter is not within our power, we could not impute to free will the actions it inspired. By “sensible representation,” or, “phantasy,” we mean the imagination excited within us by the passions of the body; for it offers us different images according as the body has need of food, of drink, or of sensual pleasures. Those who act according to the “sensible representations” excited within them by divers qualities of the humors of the body are not wholly responsible for their actions. That is why depraved men, who usually act according to these images, do not, according to us, perform actions that are free and voluntary. We ascribe free will only to him who, enfranchised from the passions of the body, performs actions determined solely by intelligence. We refer liberty, therefore, to the noblest principle, to the action of the intelligence; we regard as free only the decisions whose principle it is, and as voluntary, only the desires it inspires. This freedom is that which we ascribe to the divinities, who live in conformity with Intelligence, and with the Desire of which it is the principle. [Ennead VI,8 (39) 3]

We might ask how that which is produced by a desire could be autocratically free, since the desire implies a need, and drags us towards something exterior; for whoever desires really yields to an inclination, even though the latter should lead him to the Good. We might further ask whether intelligence, doing that which is in its nature to do, in a manner conformable to its nature, is free and independent, since it could have done the opposite. Further, we may ask whether we have the right to attribute free will to that which does not do any deeds; last, whether that which does a deed, is not, by the mere fact that every action has a purpose, subject to an external necessity. How indeed could one attribute freedom to a being that obeys its nature? [Ennead VI,8 (39) 4]

What shall we now say of virtue considered as “habit” or disposition? Does it not occupy itself with regulating and moderating the passions and desires when the soul is not healthy? In what sense do we then say that it depends on us to be good, and that “virtue has no master?” In this sense, that it is we who will and choose; more, in the sense that virtue, by its assistance, yields us liberty and independence, and releases us from servitude. If then virtue be another kind of intelligence, “a habit that intellectualizes the soul,” even in this respect must liberty be sought not in practical activity, but in the intelligence divorced from activity. [Ennead VI,8 (39) 5]

Liberty therefore belongs to the immaterial principle, and to this should be traced our free will. This principle is the volition which rules itself, and which remains within itself; even when by necessity compelled to take some resolution affecting external affairs. All that proceeds from (the immaterial principle) and exists by it, depends on us, and is free; what is outside of it, and with it; what it itself wills and carries out unhindered, also constitutes what primarily depends on us. The contemplative and primary Intelligence therefore possesses independence, because in the accomplishment of its function it depends on no other being, because fulfilling (its function, Intelligence) remains entirely turned towards itself, exclusively engaged with itself, resting in the Good, living according to its will, satisfied, and without needs. Besides, will is nothing more than thought; but it was called “will” because it was conformed to intelligence; for will imitates what conforms to intelligence. On the one hand, will desires the Good; on the other, for Intelligence to think truly, is to abide within the Good. Intelligence therefore possesses what the will desires, and, in attaining these its desires, will becomes thought. Since, therefore, we define liberty as the will’s achievement of the Good, why should not liberty also be predicated of the Intelligence which is founded on (the Good) that is the object of the desire of our will? If, however, there should still be objection to ascribing liberty to intelligence, this could be the case only by ascribing it to something still higher (namely, super-Intelligence). [Ennead VI,8 (39) 6]

He is simultaneously the lovable and love; He is love of himself; for He is beautiful only by and in Himself. He coexists with Himself only on condition that the thing, which exists in Himself, is identical with Him. Now as in Him the thing that coexists is identical with Him, and as in Him also that which desires, and that which is desirable play the part of hypostasis and subject, here once more appears the identity of desire and “being.” If this be so, it is evidently again He who is the author of Himself, and the master of Himself; consequently, He was made not such as some other being desired it, but He is such as He Himself desires. [Ennead VI,8 (39) 15]

Shall we then, among desires, distinguish actions when they proceed from intelligence, and experiences when they invoke and draw (on the soul), so that the being be less passive by what it receives from others, than by what it receives from itself? Doubtless a being can act upon itself. (We can then define) an affective experience, and a being’s experience, as follows. They consist of undergoing, without any contribution from oneself, a modification which does not contribute to “being,” and which, on the contrary, alters, or at least, does not improve. [Ennead VI,1 (42) 21]

Is the expression of the essence of something simultaneously the expression of its unity, so that it possesses as much unity as it possesses essence? Or does this simultaneousness exist without any direct proportion between the amount of unity and essence? Yes; for it is possible that something have less unity without, on that account, having any the less essence; an army, a choric ballet have not less essence than a house, though far less unity. The unity present in each thing seems therefore to aspire to the Good, which has the most unity; for the closer something approaches the Good, the greater unity does it achieve; that is the criterion of greater or less unity. Indeed, every (being) desires not only merely to be (alive), but to enjoy the Good. That is why everything, so far as it can, hastens to become one, and those (beings) which by nature possess unity naturally trend towards Him by desiring to unite with themselves. For every (being) hastens not to separate from others, but on the contrary their tendency is to tend towards each other and themselves. That is why all souls, while preserving their individual nature, would like to fuse into a single soul. The One reigns everywhere in the sense-world, as well as in the Intelligible. It is from Him that everything originates, it is towards Him that everything trends. In Him do all (beings) seek their principle and their goal; for only therein do they find their good; only by that does each (being) subsist, and occupies its place in the universe; once that it exists, no (being) could help trending towards the One. This occurs not only in nature, but even in the arts; where each art seeks, to the extent of its ability, to conform its works to unity, to the extent of its ability, and to the possibilities of its works. But that which succeeds best, is Essence itself, which is quite close to unity. [Ennead VI,2 (43) 11]

As the existence of begotten things consists in perpetually acquiring (something or another), they will be annihilated by a removal of their future. An attribution of the future to the (intelligible) entities of a nature contrary (to begotten things), would degrade them from the rank of existences. Evidently they will not be consubstantial with existence, if this existence of theirs be in the future or past. The nature (“being”) of begotten things on the contrary consists in going from the origin of their existence to the last limits of the time beyond which they will no longer exist; that is in what their future consists. Abstraction of their future diminishes their life, and consequently their existence. That is also what will happen to the universe, in so far as it will exist; it aspires to being what it should be, without any interruption, because it derives existence from the continual production of fresh actualizations; for the same reason, it moves in a circle because it desires to possess intelligible nature (“being”). Such is the existence that we discover in begotten things, such is the cause that makes them ceaselessly aspire to existence in the future. The Beings that occupy the first rank and which are blessed, have no desire of the future, because they are already all that it lies in them to be, and because they possess all the life they are ever to possess. They have therefore nothing to seek, since there is no future for them; neither can they receive within themselves anything for which there might be a future. Thus the nature (“being”) of intelligible existence is absolute, and entire, not only in its parts, but also in its totality, which reveals no fault, which lacks nothing, and to which nothing that in any way pertains to nonentity could be added; for intelligible existence must not only embrace in its totality and universality all beings, but it must also receive nothing that pertains to nonentity. It is this disposition and nature of intelligible existence that constitutes the aeon (or eternity); for (according to Aristotle  ) this word is derived from “aei on,” “being continually.” [Ennead III,7 (45) 4]

The (Aristotelian) ideal of living well and happiness are (practically) identical. Should we, on that account, grant even to animals the privilege of achieving happiness? Why might we not say that they live well, if it be granted them, in their lives, to follow the course of nature, without obstacles? For if to live well consist either in pleasure (pleasant passions, as the Epicureans taught), or in realizing one’s own individual aim (the Stoic ideal), then this living well is, in either case, possible for animals, who can both enjoy pleasure, and accomplish their peculiar aim. Thus singing birds live a life desirable for them, if they enjoy pleasure, and sing conformably to their nature. If further we should define happiness as achieving the supreme purpose towards which nature aspires (the Stoic ideal), we should, even in this case, admit that animals share in happiness when they accomplish this supreme purpose. Then nature arouses in them no further desires, because their whole career is completed, and their life is filled from beginning to end. [Ennead I,4 (46) 1]

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]

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]

Let us now return to our most important problem. Intelligence needs to contemplate itself, or rather, it continually possesses this contemplation. It first sees that it is manifold, and then that it implies a difference, and further, that it needs to contemplate, to contemplate the intelligible, and that its very essence is to contemplate. Indeed, every contemplation implies an object; otherwise, it is empty. To make contemplation possible there must be more than an unity; contemplation must be applied to an object, and this object must be manifold; for what is simple has no object on which it could apply its action, and silently remains withdrawn in its solitude. Action implies some sort of difference. Otherwise, to what would action apply itself? What would be its object? The active principle, must, therefore, direct its action on something else than itself, or must itself be manifold to direct its action on itself. If, indeed, it direct its action on nothing, it will be at rest; and if at rest, it will not be thinking. The thinking principle, therefore, when thinking, implies duality. Whether the two terms be one exterior to the other, or united, thought always implies both identity and difference. In general, intelligible entities must simultaneously be identical with Intelligence, and different from Intelligence. Besides, each of them must also contain within itself identity and difference. Otherwise, if the intelligible does not contain any diversity, what would be the object of thought? If you insist that each intelligible entity resembles a (“seminal) reason,” it must be manifold. Every intelligible entity, therefore, knows itself to be a compound, and many-colored eye. If intelligence applied itself to something single and absolutely simple, it could not think. What would it say? What would it understand? If the indivisible asserted itself it ought first to assert what it is not; and so, in order to be single it would have to be manifold. If it said, “I am this,” and if it did not assert that “this” was different from itself, it would be uttering untruth. If it asserted it as an accident of itself, it would assert of itself a multitude. If it says, “I am; I am; myself; myself;” then neither these two things will be simple, and each of them will be able to say, “me;” or there will be manifoldness, and, consequently, a difference; and, consequently, number and diversity. The thinking subject must, therefore, contain a difference, just as the object thought must also reveal a diversity, because it is divided by thought. Otherwise, there will be no other thought of the intelligible, but a kind of touch, of unspeakable and inconceivable contact, prior to intelligence, since intelligence is not yet supposed to exist, and as the possessor of this contact does not think. The thinking subject, therefore, must not remain simple, especially, when it thinks itself; it must split itself, even were the comprehension of itself silent. Last, that which is simple (the One) has no need of occupying itself with itself. What would it learn by thinking? Is it not what it is before thinking itself? Besides, knowledge implies that some one desires, that some one seeks, and that some one finds. That which does not within itself contain any difference, when turned towards itself, rests without seeking anything within itself; but that which develops, is manifold. [Ennead V,3 (49) 10]

We have shown elsewhere that something must follow the One, and that the One is a power, and is inexhaustible; and this is so, because even the last-rank entities possess the power of begetting. For the present we may notice that the generation of things reveals a descending procession, in which, the further we go, the more does manifoldness increase; and that the principle is always simpler than the things it produces. Therefore, that which has produced the sense world is not the sense-world itself, but Intelligence and the intelligible world; and that which has begotten Intelligence and the intelligible world is neither Intelligence nor the intelligible world, but something simpler than them. Manifoldness is not born of manifoldness, but of something that is not manifold. If That which was superior to Intelligence were manifold, it would no longer be the (supreme) Principle, and we would have to ascend further. Everything must, therefore, be reduced to that which is essentially one, which is outside of all manifoldness; and whose simplicity is the greatest possible. But how can manifold and universal Reason be born of the One, when very evidently the One is not a reason? As it is not a reason, how can it beget Reason? How can the Good beget a hypostatic form of existence, which would be good in form? What does this hypostatic form of existence possess? Is it identity? But what is the relation between identity and goodness? Because as soon as we possess the Good, we seek identity and permanence; and because the Good is the principle from which we must not separate; for if it were not the Good, it would be better to give it up. We must, therefore, wish to remain united to the Good. Since that is the most desirable for Intelligence, it need seek nothing beyond, and its permanence indicates its satisfaction with the entities it possesses. Enjoying, as it does, their presence in a manner such that it fuses with them, it must then consider life as the most precious entity of all. As Intelligence possesses life in its universality and fulness, this life is the fulness and universality of the Soul and Intelligence. Intelligence, therefore, is self-sufficient, and desires nothing; it contains what it would have desired if it had not already possessed such desirable object. It possesses the good that consists in life and intelligence, as we have said, or in some one of the connected entities. If Life and Intelligence were the absolute Good, there would be nothing above them. But if the absolute Good be above them, the good of Intelligence is this Life, which relates to the absolute Good, which connects with it, which receives existence from it, and rises towards it, because it is its principle. The Good, therefore, must be superior to Life and Intelligence. On this condition only does the life of Intelligence, the image of Him from whom all life proceeds, turn towards Him; on this condition only does Intelligence, the imitation of the contents of the One, whatever be His nature, turn towards Him. [Ennead V,3 (49) 16]

Thus he who does not desire to procreate seems to aspire to the possession of the beautiful in a higher degree. He who desires to procreate does no doubt desire to procreate the beautiful; but his desire indicates in him the presence of need, and dissatisfaction with mere possession of beauty; He thinks he will be procreating beauty, if he begets on that which is beautiful. They who wish to satisfy physical love against human laws, and nature, no doubt have a natural inclination as principle of a triple passion; but they lose their way straying from the right road for lack of knowledge of the end to which love was impelling them, of the goal of the aspiration (roused by) the desire of generation, and of the proper use of the image of beauty. They really do ignore Beauty itself. They who love beautiful bodies without desiring to unite themselves to them, love them for their beauty only. Those who love the beauty of women, and desire union with them, love both beauty and perpetuity, so long as this object is not lost from sight. Both of these are temperate, but they who love bodies for their beauty only are the more virtuous. The former admire sensual beauty, and are content therewith; the latter recall intelligible beauty, but, without scorning visible beauty, regard it as an effect and image of the intelligible Beauty. Both, therefore, love beauty without ever needing to blush. But, as to those (who violate laws human and divine), love of beauty misleads them to falling into ugliness; for the desire of good may often mislead to a fall into evil. Such is love considered as a passion of the soul. [Ennead III,5 (50) 1]

Does each soul include such a love in her being, and possess it as a hypostatic (form of existence)? Since the world-Soul possesses, as hypostasis (form of existence), the Love which is inherent in her being, our soul should also similarly possess, as hypostatic (form of existence), a love equally inherent in our being. Why should the same not obtain even with animals? This love inherent to the being of every soul is the guardian considered to be attached to each individual. It inspires each soul with the desires natural for her to experience; for, according to her nature, each soul begets a love which harmonizes with her dignity and being. As the universal Soul possesses universal Love, so do individual souls each possess her individual love. But as the individual souls are not separated from the universal Soul, and are so contained within her that their totality forms but a single soul, so are individual loves contained within the universal Love. On the other hand, each individual love is united to an individual soul, as universal Love is united to the universal Soul. The latter exists entire everywhere in the universe, and so her unity seems multiple; she appears anywhere in the universe that she pleases, under the various forms suitable to her parts, and she reveals herself, at will, under some visible form. [Ennead III,5 (50) 4]

All other Guardians have a similar constitution. Each of them desires, and causes the acquisition of the good he is destined to procure; that is the characteristic they have in common with Love. Neither could they ever attain satisfaction; they still desire some particular good. The result of this is that the men who here below are good are inspired by the love of the true, absolute Good, and not by the love of such and such a particular good. Those who are subordinated to divers Guardians are successively subordinated to such or such a Guardian; they let the simple and pure love of the absolute Good rest within themselves, while they see to it that their actions are presided over by another Guardian, that is, another power of their soul, which is immediately superior to that which directs them, or is active within them. As to the men who, driven by evil impulses, desire evil things, they seem to have chained down all the loves in their souls, just as, by false opinions, they darken the right reason which is innate within them. Thus all the loves implanted in us by nature, and which conform to nature, are all good; those that belong to the inferior part of the soul are inferior in rank and power; those that belong to the superior part are superior; all belong to the being of the soul. As to the loves which are contrary to nature, they are the passions of strayed souls, having nothing essential or substantial; for they are not engendered by the pure Soul; they are the fruits of the faults of the soul which produces them according to her vicious habits and dispositions. [Ennead III,5 (50) 7]

Since the Soul herself exists, Love also must necessarily exist, and it owes its existence to the desire of the Soul which aspires to the better and the Good. Love is a mixed being: it participates in need, because it needs satisfaction; it also participates in abundance, because it struggles to acquire good which it yet lacks, inasmuch as only that which lacked good entirely would cease to seek it. It is, therefore, correct to call Love the son of Abundance and Need, which are constituted by lack, desire, and reminiscence of the reasons — or ideas — which, reunited in the soul, have therein engendered that aspiration towards the good which constitutes love. Its mother is Need, because desire belongs only to need, and “need” signifies matter, which is entire need. Even indetermination, which characterizes the desire of the good, makes the being which desires the Good play the part of matter — since such a being would have neither form nor reason, considered only from its desiring. It is a form only inasmuch as it remains within itself. As soon as it desires to attain a new perfection, it is matter relatively to the being from whom it desires to receive somewhat. [Ennead III,5 (50) 10]

That is why Love is both a being which participates in matter, and is also a Guardian born of the soul; it is the former, inasmuch as it does not completely possess the good; it is the latter, inasmuch as it desires the Good from the very moment of its birth. [Ennead III,5 (50) 10]

Studying the origin of evils that might affect all beings in general, or some one class in particular, it is reasonable to begin by defining evil, from a consideration of its nature. That would be the best way to discover whence it arises, where it resides, to whom it may happen, and in general to decide if it be something real. Which one of our faculties then can inform us of the nature of evil? This question is not easy to solve, because there must be an analogy between the knower and the known. The Intelligence and the Soul may indeed cognize forms and fix their desires on them, because they themselves are forms; but evil, which consists in the absence of all goods, could not be described as a form. But inasmuch as there can be but one single science, to embrace even contraries, and as the evil is the contrary of the good, knowledge of the good implies that of evil. Therefore, to determine the nature of evil, we shall first have to determine that of good, for the higher things must precede the lower, as some are forms and others are not, being rather a privation of the good. Just in what sense evil is the contrary of the good must also be determined; as for instance, if the One be the first, and matter the last; or whether the One be form, and matter be its absence. Of this further. [Ennead I,8 (51) 1]

Elsewhere it is objected that matter does not exist; here the attempt is to show that matter is not evil in so far as it exists. (If this were the case), we should not seek the origin of evil outside of the soul, but it would be located within the soul herself; there evil consists in the absence of good. But, evidently, the soul would have nothing good on the hypothesis that privation of form is an accident of the being, which desires to receive form; that, consequently, the privation of good is an accident of the soul; and that the latter produces within herself wickedness by her (“seminal) reason.” Another result would be that the soul would have no life, and be inanimate; which would lead to the absurdity that the soul is no soul. [Ennead I,8 (51) 11]

This brings us to a consideration of the spindle, which, according to the ancients, is turned by the Fates, and by which Plato signifies that which, in the evolution of the world, moves, and that which is immovable. According to (Plato), it is the Fates, and their mother Necessity, which turn this spindle, and which impress it with a rotary motion in the generation of each being. It is by this motion that begotten beings arrive at generation. In the Timaeus   the (Intelligence, or) divinity which has created the universe gives the (immortal) principle of the soul, (the reasonable soul), and the deities which revolve in the heaven add (to the immortal principle of the soul) the violent passions which subject us to Necessity, namely, angers, desires, sufferings, and pleasures; in short, they furnish us with that other kind of soul (the animal nature, or vegetable soul) from which they derive these passions. Plato thus seems to subject us to the stars, by hinting that we receive from them our souls, subordinating to the sway of Necessity when we descend here below, both ourselves and our morals, and through these, the “actions” and “passions” which are derived from the passional habit of the soul (the animal nature). [Ennead II,3 (52) 9]

A being that were so unreceptive to anything external would have no ground for fear of anything external. Fear might indeed be natural to something. Neither would she be bold, for this sentiment, implies shelter from what is terrifying. As to such desires which are satisfied by the emptying or filling of the body, they belong only to some nature foreign enough to be emptied or filled. How could she participate in a mixture, inasmuch as the essential is unmingled? Further she would not wish to have anything introduced (in herself), for this would imply striving to become something foreign to herself. She would also be far from suffering, for how could she grieve, and about what? For that which is of simple being is self-sufficient, in that she remains in her own being. Neither will she rejoice at any increase, as not even the good could happen to her. What she is, she ever will be. Nor could we attribute to the pure soul sensation, ratiocination or opinion; for sensation is the perception, of a form or of an impassible body; and besides ratiocination and opinion (depend) on sensation. We shall, however, have to examine whether or no we should attribute to the soul thought; also, whether pure pleasure can affect a soul while she remains alone. [Ennead I,1 (53) 2]

Whether the soul, according to her being, be located in the body, above or within this latter, the soul forms with the body an entity called (a “living being” or) organism. In this case, the soul using the body as a tool is not forced to participate in its passions, any more than workmen participate in the experiences of their tools. As to sensations, of course, the soul must perceive them, since in order to use her instrument, the soul must, by means of sensation, cognize the modifications that this instrument may receive from without. Thus seeing consists of using the eyes; and the soul at the same time feels the evils which may affect the sight. Similar is the case with griefs, pains and any corporeal exigency; also with the desires which arise from the soul’s need to take recourse to the ministry of the body. But how do passions from the body penetrate into the soul? For a body could communicate her own properties to some other body; but how could she do so to a soul? [Ennead I,1 (53) 3]

Should we say that the soul is in the body, as form in matter? In this case, she is “being,” and she would be a separable form. If then she be in the body as, in the case of the axe, the schematic figure is in the iron, so as by her own proper virtue, to form the power of doing what iron thus formed accomplishes, we will have all the more reason to attribute the common passions to the body, which is an organized physical tool possessing potential life. For if as (Plato) says it be absurd to suppose that it is the soul that weaves, it is not any more reasonable to attribute the desires and griefs to the soul; rather, by far, to the living organism. [Ennead I,1 (53) 4]