Guthrie-Plotinus: element

First, there are certain objects, such as bodies, whose beauty exists only by participation, instead of being inherent in the very essence of the subject. Such are beautiful in themselves, as is, for example, virtue. Indeed, the same bodies seem beautiful at one time, while at another they lack beauty; consequently, there is a great difference between being a body and being beautiful. What then is the principle whose presence in a body produces beauty therein? What is that element in the bodies which moves the spectator, and which attracts, fixes and charms his glances? This is the first problem to solve; for, on finding this principle, we shall use it as a means to resolve other questions. [Ennead I,6 (1) 1]

Returning to our first consideration, we shall examine the nature of the element of beauty in bodies. It is something perceivable at the very first glance, something which the soul recognizes as kindred, and sympathetic to her own nature, which she welcomes and assimilates. But as soon as she meets an ugly object, she recoils, repudiates it, and rejects it as something foreign, towards which her real nature feels antipathy. That is the reason why the soul, being such as it is, namely, of an essence superior to all other beings, when she perceives an object kindred to her own nature, or which reveals only some traces of it, rejoices, is transported, compares this object with her own nature, thinks of herself, and of her intimate being as it would be impossible to fail to perceive this resemblance. [Ennead I,6 (1) 2]

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

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

The first principles, therefore, are existence and intelligence, identity and difference, movement and rest. Rest is the condition of identity; movement is the condition of thought, since the latter presupposes the differences of the thinking subject and of the object thought, and because it is silent if reduced to unity. The elements of thought (subject and object) must thus stand in the relation of differences, but also in that of unity, because they form a consubstantial unity, and because there is a common element in all that is derived therefrom. Besides, here difference is nothing else than distinction. The plurality formed by elements of thought constitutes quantity and number; and the characteristic of every element, quality. From these first principles (the categories, that are the genera of being) all things are derived. [Ennead V,1 (10) 4]

Besides everything that is a mass or a magnitude could not occupy the first rank in nature; those gross objects which are by sensation considered beings must be ranked as inferior. In seeds, it is not the moist element that should be valued, but the invisible principle, number, and the (seminal) reason. Number and “pair” are only names for the reasons (ideas) and intelligence. The “pair” is indeterminate so far as it plays the part of substrate (in respect to unity). The number that is derived from the pair, and the one, constitute every kind of form, so that Intelligence has a shape which is determined by the ideas begotten within it. Its shape is derived in one respect from the one, and in another respect, from itself, just like actualized sight. Thought, indeed, is actualized sight, and both these entities (the faculty and the actualization) form but one. [Ennead V,1 (10) 5]

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]

As to the souls which have left the sense-world, so long as they remain in the intelligible world, they are above the guardian condition, and the fatality of generation. Souls bring with them thither that part of their nature which is desirous of begetting, and which may reasonably be regarded as the essence which is divisible in the body, and which multiplies by dividing along with the bodies. Moreover, if a soul divide herself, it is not in respect to extension; because she is entirely in all the bodies. On the other hand, the Soul is one; and from a single animal are ceaselessly born many young. This generative element splits up like the vegetative nature in plants; for this nature is divisible in the bodies. When this divisible essence dwells in the same body, it vivifies the body, just as the vegetative power does for plants. When it retires, it has already communicated life, as is seen in cut trees, or in corpses where putrefaction has caused the birth of several animals from a single one. Besides, the vegetative power of the human soul is assisted by the vegetative power that is derived from the universal (Soul), and which here below is the same (as on high). [Ennead III,4 (15) 6]

(As says pseudo-Zoroaster, in his Magic Oracles), “The soul should not be expelled from the body by violence, lest she go out (dragging along with her something foreign,” that is, corporeal). In this case, she will be burdened with this foreign element whithersoever she may emigrate. By “emigrating,” I mean passing into the Beyond. On the contrary, one should wait until the entire body naturally detaches itself from the soul; in which case she no longer needs to pass into any other residence, being completely unburdened of the body. [Ennead I,9 (16) 1]

The musician can rise to the rank of the lover, and either remain there, or rise still higher. But the lover has some reminiscence of the beautiful; but as here below he is separated (from it, he is incapable of clearly knowing what it is). Charmed with the beautiful objects that meet his views, he falls into an ecstasy. He must therefore be taught not to content himself with thus admiring a single body, but, by reason, to embrace all bodies that reveal beauty; showing him what is identical in all, informing him that it is something alien to the bodies, which comes from elsewhere, and which exists even in a higher degree in the objects of another nature; citing, as examples, noble occupations, and beautiful laws. He will be shown that beauty is found in the arts, the sciences, the virtues, all of which are suitable means of familiarizing the lover with the taste of incorporeal things. He will then be made to see that beauty is one, and he will be shown the element which, in every object, constitutes beauty. From virtues he will be led to progress to intelligence and essence, while from there he will have nothing else to do but to progress towards the supreme goal. [Ennead I,3 (20) 2]

If such be the nature of existence, it could be neither body, nor the substrate of bodies; for their existence is nonentity. (Materialists, however, object), How could we refuse to attribute “being” to the nature of bodies, such as these cliffs and rocks, to the solid earth, and in short, to all these impenetrable objects? When I am struck, am I not by the shock forced to acknowledge that these objects exist as (real) “being”? On the other hand, how does it happen that entities that are not impenetrable, which can neither shock others nor be shocked by them, which are completely invisible, like soul and intelligence, are genuine beings? Our answer is that the earth, which possesses corporeal nature in the highest degree, is inert; the element that is less gross (the air) is already more mobile, and resides in a higher region; while fire withdraws still more from corporeal nature. The things which best suffice themselves least agitate and trouble the others; those that are heavier and more terrestrial, by the mere fact that they are incomplete, subject to falling, and incapable of rising, fall by weakness, and shock the others by virtue of their inertia, and their weight. Thus inanimate bodies fall more heavily, and shock and wound others more powerfully. On the contrary, animated bodies, by the mere fact of greater participation in existence, strike with less harshness. That is why movement, which is a kind of life, or at least an image of life, exists in a higher degree in things that are less corporeal. [Ennead III,6 (26) 6]

Let us return to matter as a substrate, and then to what is said to exist within it. This will lead us to see that it consists of nonentity, and that it is impassible. Matter is incorporeal because the body exists only as posterior thereto, because it is a composite of which it constitutes an element. It is called incorporeal because existence and matter are two things equally distinct from the body. Not being soul, matter is neither intelligence, nor life, nor (“seminal) reason,” nor limit. It is a kind of infinity. Neither is it an (active) power; for what could it produce? Since matter is none of the above-mentioned things, it could not be called existence. It deserves only the name “nonentity” yet not even in the sense in which we may say that movement or rest are not existence; matter is real nonentity. It is an image and phantom of extension, it is aspiration to a form of hypostatic existence. Its perseverance is not in rest (but in change). By itself, it is invisible, it escapes whoever wishes to see it. It is present when you do not look at it, it escapes the eye that seeks it. It seems to contain all the contraries: the large and small, the more and the less, the lack and excess. It is a phantom equally incapable of remaining or escaping; for matter does not even have the strength of avoiding (form), because it has received no strength from intelligence, and it is the lack of all existence. Consequently, all its appearances are deceptions. If we represent matter as being greatness, it immediately appears as smallness; if we represent it as the more, we are forced to recognize it as the less. When we try to conceive of its existence, it appears as nonentity; like all the things it contains, it is a fugitive shadow, and a fleeting game, an image within an image. It resembles a mirror, in which one might see the reflections of objects external to it; the mirror seems to be filled, and to possess everything, though really containing nothing. [Ennead III,6 (26) 7]

(According to Aristotle), it is absolutely necessary that what can be affected must have powers and qualities opposed to the things that approach it, and affect it. Thus, it is the cold that alters the heat of an object, and humidity that alters its dryness, and we say that the substrate is altered, when it ceases being hot, and grows cold; and ceasing to be dry, becomes humid. Another proof of this truth is the destruction of the fire that, by changing, becomes another element. Then we say that it is the fire, but not the matter that has been destroyed. What is affected is therefore that which is destroyed; for it is always a passive modification that occasions destruction. Consequently being destroyed and being affected are inseparable notions. Now it is impossible for matter to be destroyed; for how could it be destroyed, and in what would it change? [Ennead III,6 (26) 8]

How and why did the universal Soul make the universe, while the individual souls only manage a part thereof? That is not more surprising than to see, among men who possess the same knowledge, some command a greater number, and others a lesser. This is the case because there is a great difference between souls. Some, instead of separating from the universal Soul, have remained in the intelligible world, and still contain the body (of the universal), while others, when the body (of the universe) already existed, and while the universal Soul, their sister, governed it, accepted destinies assigned them by fate, as if (the universal Soul) had prepared for them dwellings to receive them. Besides, the universal Soul contemplates universal Intelligence, and the individual souls rather contemplate individual intelligences. These souls might indeed possibly have also been capable of making the universe; but that is no longer possible to them now that the universal Soul has already done it, and has preceded them. Besides, the very same question would have arisen even if an entirely different soul had first made the universe. Perhaps it is better to state that if the universal Soul has created the universe, it is chiefly because she is more closely related to intelligible entities, for the souls that are nearest thereto are the most powerful. Maintaining themselves in this quiet region, they act with greater facility; for to act without suffering is the sign of a greater power. Thus the power depending on the intelligible world abides within itself, and by abiding within itself, produces. The other souls, descending towards the body, withdraw from the intelligible world, and fall into the abyss (of matter). Perhaps also the element of manifoldness within them, finding itself drawn towards the lower regions, along with it dragged the conceptions of those souls, and made them descend hither. Indeed the distinction of the second or third rank for souls must be understood in this sense that some are nearer, and some further from the intelligible world. Likewise, among us, all souls are not equally disposed in regard to this world. Some succeed in uniting with it, others approach it by their aspirations; others do not quite succeed, because they do not all use the same faculties, and some use the first, others the second, and some the third, though they all equally possess all faculties. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 6]

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

It is possible, even in plant-life, to distinguish something which is the characteristic property of their bodies, and a power that imparts it to them. What in us in the soul’s faculty of desire, is in plant-life the natural element (or, vegetative power). [Ennead IV,4 (28) 22]

It may however still be asked, What are the passions characteristic of the earth, and which may be objects of judgment for the soul? It may besides be objected that the plants, considered in the terrestrial element that constitutes them, do not feel. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 22]

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]

If the body resemble an object warmed rather than illuminated, why does nothing vital remain after the reasonable soul has abandoned it? It does preserve some vital element, but only for a short time; this trace soon disappears, as vanishes the heat of an object when it is removed from the fire. After death, some trace of life still remains. This is proved by the growth of hair and nails on corpses; and it is well known that animals, even after being cut in pieces, still move for some time. Besides, the disappearance of the (vegetative) life simultaneously with the reasonable soul, does not prove their identity, and that they (the reasonable soul, and the vegetative soul) are not different. When the sun disappears, it causes the disappearance not only of the light that surrounds it immediately, and as it were depends from it, but also of the brilliance which these objects receive from this light, and which completely differs from it. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 29]

That is why the divinities in heaven lead an easy life, truth being mother, nurse, element and food. So they see everything; not the things which are subject to generation, but those which have the permanence of being, so that they see themselves in everything else. In this intelligible world everything is transparent. No shadow limits vision. All the essences see each other and interpenetrate each other in the most intimate depth of their nature. Light everywhere meets light. Every being contains within itself the entire intelligible world, and also beholds it entire in any particular being. All things there are located everywhere. Every thing there is all, and all is each thing; infinite splendor radiates around. Everything is great, for there even the small is great. This world has its sun and its stars; each star is a sun, and all suns are stars. Each of them, while shining with its own due splendor, reflects the light of the others. There abides pure movement; for He who produces movement, not being foreign to it, does not disturb it in its production. Rest is perfect, because it is not mingled with any principle of disturbance. The beautiful is completely beautiful there, because it does not dwell in that which is not beautiful (that is, in matter). Each one of the celestial things, instead of resting on an alien foundation, has its own especial seat, its origin, and its principle, in its own being, and does not differ from the region within which it dwells, because it is Intelligence that is its substrate, and itself is intelligible. [Ennead V,8 (31) 4]

Rising therefore to the One, we must add nothing to Him; we must rest in Him, and take care not to withdraw from Him, and fall into the manifold. Without this precaution there will be an occurrence of duality, which cannot offer us unity, because duality is posterior to Unity. The One cannot be enumerated along with anything, not even with uniqueness (the monad), nor with anything else. He cannot be enumerated in any way; for He is measure, without Himself being measured; He is not in the same rank with other things, and cannot be added to other things (being incommensurable). Otherwise, He would have something in common with the beings along with which He would be enumerated; consequently, He would be inferior to this common element, while on the contrary He must have nothing above Him (if He is to be the one first Being). Neither essential (that is, intelligible) Number, nor the lower number which refers to quantity, can be predicated of the unique; I repeat, neither the essential intelligible Number, whose essence is identical with thought, nor the quantative number, which, because all number is quantity, constitutes quantity concurrently with, or independently of other genera. Besides, quantative number, by imitating the former (essential intelligible) Numbers in their relation to the Unique, which is their principle, finds its existence in its relation to real Unity, which it neither shares nor divides. Even when the dyad (or “pair”) is born, (it does not alter) the priority of the Monad (or Uniqueness). Nor is this Uniqueness either of the unities that constitute the pair, nor either of them alone; for why should it be one of them rather than the other? If then the Monad or Uniqueness be neither of the two unities which constitute the pair, it must be superior to them, and though abiding within itself, does not do so. In what then do these unities differ from the Uniqueness (or Monad)? What is the unity of the “pair”? Is the unity formed by the “pair” the same as that which is contained in each of the two unities constituting the “pair”? The unities (which constitute the “pair”) participate in the primary Unity, but differ from it. So far as it is one, the “pair” also participates in unity, but in different ways; for there is no similarity between the unity of a house and the unity of an army. In its relation to continuity, therefore, the “pair” is not the same so far as it is one, and so far as it is a single quantity. Are the unities contained in a group of five in a relation to unity different from that of the unities contained in a group of ten? (To answer this we must distinguish two kinds of unity.) The unity which obtains between a small and a great ship, and between one town and another, and between one army and another, obtains also between these two groups of five and of ten. A unity which would be denied as between these various objects would also have to be denied as obtaining between these two groups. (Enough of this here); further considerations will be studied later. [Ennead V,5 (32) 4]

How could this newly formed image (the demiurgic creator) have undertaken to create by memory of the things he knew? As he did not exist before, he could not have known anything, any more than the mother (Wisdom) which is attributed to him. Besides, it is quite surprising that, though the (Gnostics) did not descend upon this world as images of souls, but as veritable, genuine souls, nevertheless hardly one or two of them succeeds in detaching themselves from the (sense) world and by gathering together their memories, to remember some of the things they previously knew, while this image (the demiurgical creator), as well as his mother (Wisdom), which is a material image, was capable of conceiving intelligible entities in a feeble manner, indeed, as say the Gnostics, but after all from her very birth. Not only did she conceive intelligible things, and formed an idea of the sense-world from the intelligible world, but she also discovered with what elements she was to produce the sense-world. Why did she first create the fire? Doubtless because she judged she would begin thereby; for why did she not begin with some other element? If she could produce fire because she had the conception thereof, why, as she had the conception of the world — as she must have begun by a conception of the totality — did she not create the whole at one single stroke? Indeed, this conception of the world embraced all its parts. It would also have been more natural, for the demiurgical creator should not have acted like a workman, as all the arts are posterior to nature and to the creation of the world. Even to-day, we do not see the natures when they beget individuals, first produce the fire, then the other elements successively, and finally mingle them. On the contrary, the outline and organization of the entire organism are formed at once in the germ born at the monthly periods in the womb of the mother. Why then, in creation, should matter not have been organized at one stroke by the type of the world, a type that must have contained fire, earth, and all the rest of them? Perhaps the (Gnostics) would have thus conceived of the creation of the world, if (instead of an image) they had had in their system a genuine Soul. But their demiurgic creator could not have proceeded thus. To conceive of the greatness, and especially of the dimension of the heavens, of the obliquity of the zodiac, of the course of the stars, the form of the earth, and to understand the reason of each of these things, would not have been the work of an image, but rather of a power that proceeded from the better principles, as the (Gnostics) in spite of themselves acknowledge. [Ennead II,9 (33) 12]

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

(It is generally agreed that) all calamities, sufferings, griefs and similar evils are aggravated in proportion to their duration. If then, in all these cases, evil be increased with time, why should not the same circumstance obtain in the contrary case? Why should happiness also not be increased? Referring to griefs and sufferings, it might reasonably be said that they are increased by duration. When, for example, sickness is prolonged, and becomes a habitual condition, the body suffers more and more profoundly as time goes on. If, however, evil ever remain at the same degree, it does not grow worse, and there is no need of complaining but of the present. Consideration of the past evil amounts to considering the traces left by evil, the morbid disposition whose intensity is increased by time, because its seriousness is proportionate to its duration. In this case it is not the length of time, but the aggravation of the evil which adds to the misfortune. But the new degree (of intensity) does not subsist simultaneously with the old, and it is unreasonable to predicate an increase as summation of what is no more to what now is. On the contrary, it is the fixed characteristic of happiness to have a fixed term, to remain ever the same. Here also the only increase possibly due to duration of time depends on the relation between an increase in virtue and one in happiness; and the element to be reckoned with here is not the number of years of happiness, but the degree of virtue finally acquired. [Ennead I,5 (36) 6]

We now pass to the opinions of (Zeno   and the other Stoic) philosophers, who assert that two bodies which make up a mixture mutually interpenetrate each other totally. They support this view by observing that when the bodies interpenetrate totally, they are divided without the occurrence of a continuous division (which would make their molecules lose their magnitude). Indeed, perspiration issues from the human body without its being divided or riddled with holes. To this it may be objected that nature may have endowed our body with a disposition to permit perspiration to issue easily. To this (the Stoics) answer that certain substances (like ivory), which when worked into thin sheets, admit, in all their parts, a liquid (oat-gruel) which passes from one surface to the other. As these substances are bodies, it is not easy to understand how one element can penetrate into another without separating its molecules. On the other hand, total division must imply mutual destruction (because their molecules would lose all magnitude whatever). When, however, two mingled bodies do not together occupy more space than either of them separately (the Stoics) seem forced to admit to their adversaries that this phenomenon is caused by the displacement of air. [Ennead II,7 (37) 1]

In the case where the compound occupies more space than each element separately, it might (though with little probability), be asserted, that, since every body, along with its other qualities, implies size, a local extension must take place. No more than the other qualities could this increase perish. Since, out of both qualities, arises a new form, as a compound of the mixture of both qualities; so also must another size arise, the mixture combining the size out of both. Here (the Peripatetics) might answer (the Stoics): “If you assert a juxtaposition of substances, as well as of the masses which possess extension, you are actually adopting our opinions. If however one of the masses, with its former extension, penetrate the entire mass of the other, the extension, instead of increasing, as in the case where one line is added to another by joining their extremities, will not increase any more than when two straight lines are made to coincide by superimposing one on the other.” [Ennead II,7 (37) 1]

What happens when a mass of water transforms itself into air? This question demands particular treatment; for how can the transformed element occupy a greater extension? (We shall not try to explain it on either the Peripatetic or Stoic principles) because we have sufficiently developed above the numerous reasons advanced by both those schools. We had better now consider which of the two systems we ourselves might adopt, and on which side lies reason. Besides, we should consider whether, besides these both, there be not place for a third opinion. [Ennead II,7 (37) 2]

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

But what element is common to them? It does not suffice for them to proceed from the Good to have something identical; they must also have some common characteristic; for a same principle may give rise to different things; or again, one and the same thing may become different while passing from the giving principle into the receivers; for there is a difference between that which constitutes the first actualization, and that which is given thereby. Thus, that which is in the things of which we speak is already different. Nothing hinders the characteristic of all these things (in life, intelligence and idea) from being the form of Good, but this form exists at different degrees in each of them. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 18]

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

The element of truth in all this, however, is that every action, disposition and life is joined by some accessory (pleasure or pain) that unites with it. Indeed, sometimes action meets an obstacle to its natural accomplishment, and life is affected by the mixture of a little of its contrary, which limits its independence; sometimes, however, action is produced without anything troubling its purity and serenity, and then life flows along a tranquil course. Those who consider that this state of intelligence is desirable, and preferable to everything else, in their inability to express their thoughts more definitely, say that it is mingled with pleasure. Such likewise is the meaning of expressions used by those who apply to divine things terms intended to express joy here below, and who say, “He is intoxicated with nectar! Let us to the banquet  ! Jupiter smiles!” This happy state of intelligence is that which is the most agreeable, the most worthy of our wishes, and of our love; nor is it transitory, and does not consist in a movement; its principle is that which colors intelligence, illumines it, and makes it enjoy a sweet serenity. That is why Plato adds to the mixture truth, and puts above it that which gives measure. He also adds that the proportion and the beauty which are in the mixture pass from there into the beautiful. That is the good that belongs to us, that is the fate that awaits us. That is the supreme object of desire, an object that we will achieve on condition of drawing ourselves up to that which is best in us. Now this thing full of proportion and beauty, this form composed (of the elements of which we have spoken), is nothing else but a life full of radiance, intelligence and beauty. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 30]

As to Him who made “being” (equivalent to) freedom, whose nature it is to make free beings, and who (therefore) might be called the “author of liberty” — excuse the expression — to what could He be enslaved? It is His being (or, nature) to be free; or rather, it is from Him that being derives its freedom; for (we must not forget that) “being” is posterior to Him, who Himself (being beyond it), “has” none. If then there be any actualization in Him, if we were to consider that He was constituted by an actualization, He would nevertheless contain no difference, He will be master of His own self that produces the actualization, because He Himself and the actualization fuse (and are identical). But if we acknowledge no actualization whatever (in the Divinity), if we predicate actualization only of the things that tend towards Him, and from Him derive their hypostatic existence, we should still less recognize in Him any element that is master, or that masters. We should not even say that He was master of Himself, nor that He had a master, but because we have already predicated of “being” what is meant by being master of oneself. We therefore classify (the Divinity) in a rank higher still. [Ennead VI,8 (39) 12]

On the contrary, in the system of Aristotle, the immutability of the stars is easily explained, but only after accepting his theory of a fifth element (the quintessence). If, however, it be rejected, it would be impossible to demonstrate that the heaven, let alone its parts, the sun and the stars, do not perish, while (as Aristotle does) we regard the body of the heaven as being composed of the same elements as terrestrial animals. [Ennead II,1 (40) 2]

For example, fire (as the principal element of the heaven), is both lively and swift, and cannot remain in the inferior regions, any more than the earth can abide in the superior regions. When it has reached these regions where it is to remain, it becomes established in the most suitable place. But even so, like all other bodies, it still seeks to extend in all directions. However, it cannot ascend, since there is no place higher than the one it occupies; nor can it descend, because of the opposition of its own nature. The only thing left for it to do is to yield to the guidance and natural impulsion of the life-imparting universal Soul, that is, to move into the most beautiful place, in the universal Soul. Its falling from here is prevented by the universal Soul’s circular movement which dominates and supports it, as well as by its innate indisposition to descend, so that its continuance in the higher regions is unopposed. (The fire has no similarity with) the constitutive parts of our body which are forced to derive their suitable form from elsewhere. If unaided, they are not even capable of preserving their organization. Merely to subsist, they are forced to borrow parts from other objects. The case is entirely different with the fire of the heaven, which needs no food because it loses nothing. If indeed it allowed anything to escape, we might indeed be forced to state that when in the heaven a fire is extinguished, a substitute must be lit. But in such a case the universal living Organism would no more remain identical. [Ennead II,1 (40) 3]

Is the heaven composed exclusively of fire? Does the fire allow any of its substance to flow off, or escape? Does it, therefore, need being fed? (Plato) thinks the body of the universe is composed of earth and fire; fire to explain its being visible, and earth to explain its being tangible. This would lead us to suppose that the stars are composed of fire not exclusively, but predominatingly, since they seem to possess a tangible element. This opinion is plausible because Plato supports it with reasonable grounds. Sense, sight and touch would lead us to believe that the greater part, if not the whole, of the heaven, is fire. But reason suggests that the heaven also contains earth, because without earth it could not be tangible. This however does not imply that it contains also air and water. It would seem absurd to think that water could subsist in so great a fire; nor could air survive therein without immediately being transformed to steam. It might be objected that two solids which play the parts of extremes in a proportion, cannot be united without two means. This objection, however, might have no cogency, for this mathematical relation might not apply to natural things, as indeed we are led to surmise by the possibility of mingling earth and water without any intermediary. To this it may be answered that earth and water already contain the other elements. Some persons might think that the latter could not effectually unite earth and water; but this would not disturb our contention that the earth and water are related because each of these two elements contains all the others. [Ennead II,1 (40) 6]

Besides, we shall have to examine whether the earth be invisible without fire, and the fire intangible without the earth. Were this the case, nothing would possess its own proper being. All things would be mixed; each would reclaim its name only by the element preponderating in it; for it has been claimed that the earth could not exist without the humidity of water, which alone keeps all its parts united. Even were this granted, it would, none the less, remain absurd to say that each of these elements is something, while claiming that it does not possess any characteristically individual constitution, except by its union with the other elements, which, nevertheless, would not, any the more, exist individually, each in itself. What reality, indeed, would inhere in the nature or being of the earth, if none of its parts were earth except because the water that operated as a bond? Besides, with what could water unite without the preliminary existence of an extension whose parts were to be bound together for the formation of a continuous whole? The existence of an extension, however small it be, will imply the self-existence of earth, without the assistance of water; otherwise, there would be nothing for water to bind together. Nor would the earth have any need of air, since the air exists before the observation of any change within it. Nor is fire any more necessary to the constitution of the earth; fire only serves in making it visible, like all other objects. It is indeed reasonable to assert that it is fire which renders objects visible, and it is a mistake to state that “one sees darkness,” which cannot be seen any more than silence can be heard. Besides, there is no necessity for fire to be in earth; light suffices (to make it visible). Snow, and many other very cold substances are, without any fire, very brilliant — that is, unless we say that the fire approached them, and colored them before leaving them. [Ennead II,1 (40) 6]

It is unlikely that the universal Organism is composed of universal elements. That terrestrial animals are thus composed is certain; but to introduce the terrestrial element into the composition of the heaven would be to admit something contrary to nature, and to the order thereby established. (Epicurus  ’s opinion that) the stars carry terrestrial bodies along in their rapid flight is undemonstrable. Besides, the presence of the earth would be an obstacle to the shine and splendor of the celestial fire. [Ennead II,1 (40) 6]

The earth was mingled with the upper fire not to produce the stars, but because fire has something terrestrial, as earth has something igneous, as a result of all the bodies being contained within the body of the universe. In short, every one of the elements includes mixture of itself and of the other with which it participates. This results from the interrelating community existing within the universe (the “sympathy”). So each element, without combining with any other, borrows some of its properties. For example, water participates in the fluidity of the air, without however mingling therewith; so the earth does not possess the fire, but derives its brightness from it. On the other hand, a mixture would render all properties common to both elements, confounding them together, and would not limit itself to merely approximating earth and fire, that is, a certain solidity with a certain density. On this subject we can invoke the authority of (Plato), “The divinity lit this light in the second circle above the earth,” thereby referring to the sun, which he elsewhere calls “the most brilliant star.” [Ennead II,1 (40) 7]

By these words he hinders us from admitting that the sun is anything else than fire. He also indicates that fire has no quality other than light, which he considers as distinct from flame, and as possessing only a gentle heat. This light is a body. From it emanates another being that we, by verbal similarity, also call light, and which we acknowledge to be incorporeal. This second kind of light derives from the former, being its flower and brightness, and constitutes the essentially white (that is, brilliant) body (of lightning, or comets). (Unfortunately, however), the word “terrestrial” (which designates the element allied to the fire, as we have said above), we are wont to regard unfavorably because Plato makes the earth consist of solidity, while we speak of the earth as a unity, though (Plato) distinguishes several qualities within this element. [Ennead II,1 (40) 7]

In the first place, what common element is there in matter, form, and the concretion of matter and form? The (Aristotelians) give the name of “being” alike to these three entities, though recognizing that they are not “being” in the same degree. They say that form is more being than is matter, and they are right; they would not insist (as do the Stoics) that matter is being in the greater degree. Further, what element is common to the primary and secondary beings, since the secondary owe their characteristic title of “being” to the primary ones? [Ennead VI,1 (42) 2]

If, when we speak of things, we utter nothing true, then there is nothing real in the relation, and this kind of being has no foundation. But if, when we compare two moments, we say, This one is anterior, and that one is posterior, we speak truly, then we conceive that the anterior and the posterior are something independent of the subjects in which they exist. Likewise with the left and the right, as well as with sizes; we admit that in these, besides the quantity which is suitable to them, there is a certain habituation, as far as the one surpasses and the other is surpassed. If, without our enunciating or conceiving anything, it be real that such a thing is the double of another; if the one possess while the other is possessed, even if we had known nothing about it; if the objects had been equal before we had noticed them; if they be likewise identical in respect of quality; finally if, in all relative things, there be a habituation which is independent of the subjects in which it is found; and if we limit ourselves to noticing its existence (without creating it); if the same circumstances obtain in the relation of knowledge to what can be known, a relation which evidently constitutes a real habituation; if it be so, there is nothing left to do but to ask whether this habituation (named a relation) be something real. We shall have to grant, however, that this habituation subsists in certain subjects as long as these subjects remain such as they were, and even if they were separate; while, in other subjects, this habituation is born only when they are brought together. We shall also have to grant that, in the very subjects that remain, there are some in which this habituation is annihilated or altered (such as, for example, the left direction, or proximity). This has led people to believe that in all these relations there is nothing real. This point having been granted, we shall have to seek what common element there is in all these relations, and to examine whether what is common to them all constitutes a kind, or an accident; and last, we shall have to consider how far that which we have discovered corresponds to reality. [Ennead VI,1 (42) 7]

What shall be said of thickness and thinness, of fatness and leanness? If the element common to these conceptions be a power belonging to the capacities, dispositions, and physical powers, which gives to each object the power it possesses, the statements of the absence of power will no longer be classified along with (the powers). Besides, in what sense can we call the figure and form of each thing a “power?” Further, essence would have been deprived of all powers that were essential, retaining only those it might have received. Then, quality would comprehend all actualizations of the beings, which, properly, are actualizations only so far as they act spontaneously; and also all actualizations of these properties, but only so far as they really exist. But quality consists in (unessential) powers (such as habituations and dispositions) classified below beings. For instance, boxing ability does not belong among necessary human qualifications, such as rational functions. The latter would not be called a quality (as we would speak of boxing ability); and reasoning would be considered a quality only figuratively. [Ennead VI,1 (42) 10]

How can all qualities be potentialities? It is easy to see that beauty and health are qualities. But how could ugliness and sickness, weakness and general impotence, be qualities? Is it because they qualify certain things? But what hinders the qualified things from being called such by mere nomenclature, as homonyms, and not because of a single (all-sufficient) reason? Besides, what would hinder them from being considered not only according to one of the four modes, but even after each one of the four, or at least after any two of them? First, the quality does not consist in “acting” and “experiencing”; so that it is only by placing oneself at different viewpoints that one could call what “acts” and “experiences” a quality, in the same sense as health and sickness, disposition and habitude, force and weakness. Thus power is no longer the common element in these qualities, and we shall have to seek something else possessing this characteristic, and the qualities will no longer all be reasons. How indeed could a sickness, become a habituation, or be a reason? [Ennead VI,1 (42) 10]

Shall the affections which consist in the forms and powers, and their contraries, the privations, be called qualities? If so, one kind will no longer exist; and we shall have to reduce these things to a unity, or category; that is why knowledge is called a form and a power, and ignorance a privation and impotence. Must we also consider impotence and sickness a form, because sickness and vice can and do accomplish many things badly? Not so, for in this case he who missed his aim would be exerting a power. Each one of these things exerts its characteristic activity in not inclining towards the good; for it could not do what was not in its power. Beauty certainly does have some power; is it so also with triangularity? In general, quality should not be made to consist in power, but rather in the disposition, and to consider it as a kind of form of character. Thus the common element in all qualities is found to be this form, this classification, which no doubt is inherent in being, but which certainly is derivative from it. [Ennead VI,1 (42) 10]

Summing up what we have discovered about the nature of Essence, we find first three genera. Then, these three, Essence, Movement and Stability were contemplated respectively by the essence, movement and stability within ourselves, which we also harmonized with those intelligibles. Then again we lost the power of distinguishing them by uniting, confusing, and blending these three genera. But a little later we divided, extricated and distinguished them so as again to see essence, movement and stability; three things, of which each exists apart. The result of this process then is that they are regarded as different, discerning them by their differences, and recognizing difference in essence by positing three things each of which exists apart. On the other hand, if they be considered in their relation with unity and in unity, if they be all reduced to being something single and identical, one may see the arising, or rather the existing of identity. To the three genera already recognized, therefore, we shall have to add identity or difference, or (in Platonic language), “sameness and other-ness.” These two classifications added to the three others, will in all make five genera for all things. Identity and difference (are genuine genera, indeed, because they) also communicate their characteristics to inferior (beings), each of which manifests some such element. [Ennead VI,2 (43) 8]

It is evident that quantity informs us of the amount of a thing, and permits us to measure this; therefore itself must be an amount. This then is the element common to number (the discrete quantity), and to continuous dimension. But number is anterior, and continuous dimension proceeds therefrom; number consists in a certain blending of movement and stability; continuous dimension is a certain movement or proceeds from some movement; movement produces it in its progress towards infinity, but stability arrests it in its progress, limits it, and creates unity. Besides, we shall in the following explain the generation of number and dimension; and, what is more, their mode of existence, and how to conceive of it rightly. It is possible that we might find that number should be posited among the primary genera, but that, because of its composite nature, continuous dimension should be posited among the posterior or later genera; that number is to be posited among stable things, while dimension belongs among those in movement. But, as said above, all this will be treated of later. [Ennead VI,2 (43) 13]

Intelligence is thinking essence, a composite of all genera, and not a single genus. Veritable Intelligence is indeed essence connected with all things; consequently it is all essence. As to essence considered alone, it constitutes a genus, and is an element of Intelligence. Last, justice, temperance, and in general all the virtues are so many actualizations of Intelligence. They could not, therefore, rank amidst the primary genera. They are posterior to a genus, and constitute species. [Ennead VI,2 (43) 18]

This is by what we must begin. Having to speak of sense-objects, and knowing that all of them are contained in this world here below, we must first scrutinize this world, establish within it divisions according to the nature of the (beings) which compose it, and then distribute them into genera, just as we would do if we had to analyze the voice whose nature is infinite (by the diversity of sounds it produces), reducing it to a definite number of kinds. Observing the elements common to many sounds, we would reduce them to one unity, then, to a superior unity, further to a supreme unity, in which these sounds appear as a small number of classes. Then, the elements common to these individuals would be called “species,” and that common to various species would be called a genus. As to the voice, it is easy enough to discover each species, to reduce all the species to unity, and to predicate of all of them (as highest genus or category) the general element, the voice. But an analysis as summary as this is impossible with the (more complicated universe). In the sense-world we will have to recognize several genera, which will differ from those of the intelligible world, since the sense-world itself differs from the intelligible world so much that it is not its counterpart, but only its image, whose only element common (to its model) is the name. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 1]

In bodies, one may besides distinguish on one hand matter, on the other, the form imprinted thereon; and we designate each of these separately as a genus, or subsume both under a unity, inasmuch as we designate both by the common label of “being,” or rather, “generation.” But what is the common element in matter and form? In what manner, and of what is matter a genus? For what difference inheres in matter? In what sequence could we incorporate that which is composed of both? But in the case that that which is composed of both be itself corporeal being, while neither of the two is a body, how then could either be incorporated in a single genus, or within the same genus along with the compound of both? How (could this incorporation into a single genus be effected with) the elements of some object and the object itself? To answer that we should begin by the (composite) bodies: which would be tantamount to learning to read by beginning with syllables (and not with letters). [Ennead VI,3 (44) 2]

Matter is something common which is found in all things; nevertheless it does not form a genus because it does not admit of any differences, unless its differences consist in appearing in different forms; as, here, fire, and there, air. Philosophers who consider that matter is a genus base this opinion on the fact that matter is common to all the things in which it exists, or that it stands in the relation of the whole to the parts of particular objects (or, “matters”). In this case, however, the term “genus” would be used in a sense differing from the one it bears usually. It would then be no more than an only or single element, if we admit that an element can be a genus. If, conceiving that matter is united to matter, or exists within it, we add form to matter, matter would thereby be differentiated from the other forms, but it will not comprehend every being-like form. Were we to call the generating principle of being “form,” and were we to call the reason which constitutes the form “being-like reason,” we shall not yet have clearly defined the nature of “being.” Finally, if we give the name of “being” only to the combination of matter and form, the result will be that neither of these two (matter or form taken separately) will themselves be “being.” If, however, we were to assert that not only their combination, but also each of them separately were “being,” we then would be faced with the problem of what is common to all three. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 3]

What is the common element in these three things (matter, form and their combination)? What constitutes their (sublunary, mundane or) earthly “being”? Is it because matter, form and their combination form a foundation for other things? In that case, as matter is the foundation, or seat of form, then form will not be in the genus of “being.” But, as the combination also forms foundation for other things, then form united to matter will be the subject of the combinations, or rather, of all the things which are posterior to the combination, as quantity, quality, and movement. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 4]

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

It may further be objected that matter gives essence to material things, as Socrates gives essence to the white that is in him. We will answer that what possesses a superior degree of Essence may well confer a lesser degree of essence to what possesses a still inferior degree thereof, but that the reciprocal or converse condition is impossible. Now, as form is more essence than matter, essence cannot be predicated equally of matter and form, and “being” is not a genus whose species is matter, form and the combination. These three things have several common characteristics, as we have already said, but they differ in respect to essence; for when something which possesses a superior degree of essence approaches something which possesses an inferior degree (as when form approaches matter), this thing, although anterior in (the ontological) order, is posterior in respect to being; consequently, if matter, form and the combination be not “beings” equally, no longer is being for them something common, like a genus. Nevertheless, “being” will be in a less narrow relation with things which are posterior to matter, to form, and to the combination, though it gives each of them the property of belonging to themselves. It is thus that life has different degrees, one stronger, the other weaker, and that the images of a same object are some more lively, others more obscure. If essence be measured by a lower degree of essence, and if the superior degree which exists in other things be omitted, essence thus considered will be a common element. But that is not a good way of procedure. Indeed, each whole differs from the others, and the lesser degree of essence does not constitute something that was common to all; just as, for life, there is not something common to vegetative life, to sensitive life, and rational life. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 7]

So much then for what we had to say of sense-being, and the genus it constitutes. It remains to analyze it into species. Every sense-being is a body; but there are elementary and organized bodies; the former are fire, earth, water and air; the organized bodies are those of plants and animals, which are distinguished from each other by their forms. The earth and the other elements may be divided into species. Plants and bodies of animals may be classified according to their forms; or we could classify apart the terrestrial animals, that inhabit the earth, and those which belong to some other element. We might also analyze bodies into those that are light, heavy, or intermediary; the heavy bodies remaining in the middle of the world, the light bodies in the superior region which surrounds the world, and the intermediary bodies dwelling in the intermediary region. In each one of these regions the bodies are distinguished by their exterior appearance (or, figure); thus there exist the bodies of the (stars, or) celestial bodies, and then those that belong to particular elements. After having distributed the bodies according to the four elements, they could be blended together in some other manner, and thus beget their mutual differences of location, forms, and mixtures. Bodies could also be distinguished as fiery, terrestrial, and so forth, according to their predominating element. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 9]

What sort of differences, indeed, might we use to establish such divisions, and from what genus would we draw them? It seems absurd to classify quality by quality itself. This is just as if the difference of “beings” were to be called “beings.” By what indeed could one distinguish white from black, and colors from tastes and sensations of touch? If we distinguish the difference of these qualities by the sense-organs, these differences would no longer exist in the subjects. How indeed could one and the same sense distinguish the difference of the qualities it perceives? Is it because certain things exercise an action that is constructive or destructive on the eyes, or the tongue? We would then have to ask what is the constructive or destructive element in the sensations thus excited? Yet, even were this answered, such an answer would not explain wherein these things differ. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 17]

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

What is the seat of a movement acting on an object by passing from internal power to actualization? Is it in the motor? How will that which is moved and which suffers be able to receive it? Is it in the movable element? Why does it not remain in the mover? Movement must therefore be considered as inseparable from the mover, although not exclusively; it must pass from the mover into the mobile (element) without ceasing to be connected with the mover, and it must pass from the mover to the moved like a breath (or influx). When the motive power produces locomotion, it gives us an impulse and makes us change place ceaselessly; when it is calorific, it heats; when, meeting matter, it imparts thereto its natural organization, and produces increase; when it removes something from an object, this object decreases because it is capable thereof; last, when it is the generative power which enters into action, generation occurs; but if this generative power be weaker than the destructive power, there occurs destruction, not of what is already produced, but of what was in the process of production. Likewise, convalescence takes place as soon as the force capable of producing health acts and dominates; and sickness occurs, when the opposite power produces a contrary effect. Consequently, movement must be studied not only in the things in which it is produced, but also in those that produce it or transmit it. The property of movement consists therefore in being a movement endowed with some particular quality, or being something definite in a particular thing. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 23]

We have also studied relation, defining it as a habit, a “manner of being” of one thing in respect of another, which results from the co-operation of two things; we have explained that, when a habit of being constitutes a reference, this thing is something relative, not so much as it is being, but as far as it is a part of this being, as are the hand, the head, the cause, the principle, or the element. The relatives might be divided according to the scheme of the ancient (philosophers), by saying that some of them are efficient causes, while others are measures, that the former distinguish themselves by their resemblances and differences, while the latter consist in excess or in lack. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 28]

Plato himself, indeed, does say, not that the nature of time is to be a measure or something measured, but that to make it known there is, in the circular movement of the universe, a very short element (the interval of a day), whose object is to demonstrate the smallest portion of time, through which we are enabled to discover the nature and quantity of time. In order to indicate to us its nature (“being”), (Plato) says that it was born with the heavens, and that it is the mobile image of eternity. Time is mobile because it has no more permanence than the life of the universal Soul, because it passes on and flows away therewith; it is born with the heavens, because it is one and the same life that simultaneously produces the heavens and time. If, granting its possibility, the life of the Soul were reduced to the unity (of the Intelligence), there would be an immediate cessation of time, which exists only in this life, and the heavens, which exist only through this life. [Ennead III,7 (45) 13]

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]

We should not be surprised at water extinguishing fire, or at fire destroying some other element. Even this element was introduced to existence by some other element, and it is not surprising that it should be destroyed, since it did not produce itself, and was introduced to existence only by the destruction of some other element (as thought Heraclitus   and the Stoics). Besides, the extinguished fire is replaced by another active fire. In the incorporeal heaven, everything is permanent; in the visible heaven, the totality, as well as the more important and the most essential parts, are eternal. The souls, on passing through different bodies, (by virtue of their disposition), themselves change on assuming some particular form; but, when they can do so, they stand outside of generation, remaining united to the universal Soul. The bodies are alive by their form, and by the whole that each of them constitutes (by its union with a soul), since they are animals, and since they nourish themselves; for in the sense-world life is mobile, but in the intelligible world it is immobile. Immobility necessarily begat movement, self-contained life was compelled to produce other life, and calm being naturally exhaled vibrating spirit. [Ennead III,2 (47) 4]

Indeed, the fate of a soul conforms to her character, and, by going through with her part properly, the soul fulfils her part in the drama managed by universal Reason. The soul sings her part, that is, she does that which is in her nature to do. If her voice and features be beautiful, by themselves, they lend charm to the poem, as would be natural. Otherwise they introduce a displeasing element, but which does not alter the nature of the work. The author of the drama reprimands the bad actor as the latter may deserve it, and thus fulfils the part of a good judge. He increases the dignity of the good actor, and, if possible, invites him to play beautiful pieces, while he relegates the bad actor to inferior pieces. Likewise, the soul which takes part in the drama of which the world is the theatre, and which has undertaken a part in it, brings with her a disposition to play well or badly. At her arrival she is classed with the other actors, and after having been allotted to all the various gifts of fortune without any regard for her personality or activities, she is later punished or rewarded. Such actors have something beyond usual actors; they appear on a greater scene; the creator of the universe gives them some of his power, and grants them the freedom to choose between a great number of places. The punishments and rewards are so determined that the souls themselves run to meet them, because each soul occupies a place in conformity with her character, and is thus in harmony with the Reason of the universe. [Ennead III,2 (47) 17]

Circumstances, therefore, are not decisive of human fortune; they themselves only derive naturally from superior principles, and result from the mutual concatenation of all things. This concatenation, however, derives from the (Stoic) “predominant (element in the universe”), and every being contributes to it according to its nature; just as, in an army, the general commands, and the soldiers carry out his orders cooperatively. In the universe, in fact, everything has been strategically ordered by Providence, like a general, who considers everything, both actions and experiences, victuals and drink, weapons and implements, arranging everything so that every detail finds its suitable location. Thus nothing happens which fails to enter into the general’s plan, although his opponents’ doings remain foreign to his influence, and though he cannot command their army. If indeed, Providence were “the great Chief over all,” to whom the universe is subordinated, what could have disarranged His plans, and could have failed to be intimately associated therewith? [Ennead III,3 (48) 2]

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

But why did the soul ever lose her way, or deteriorate? We have often said that not all souls belong to the first rank; some belong to a second, or even third rank, and who, consequently, are inferior to those of the first. Further, leaving the right road may be caused by a trifling divergence. Third, the approximation of two differing things produces a combination which may be considered a third somewhat, different from the other two components. (Thus even in this new element, or “habituation”) the being does not lose the qualities he received with his existence; if he be inferior, he has been created inferior from the very origin; it is what he was created, he is inferior by the very virtue of his nature; if he suffer the consequences thereof, he suffers them justly. Fourth, we must allow for our anterior existence, because everything that happens to us to-day results from our antecedents. [Ennead III,3 (48) 4]

Have we said enough, and can we stop here? Or does our soul still feel the pains of parturition? Let her, therefore, produce (activity), rushing towards the One, driven by the pains that agitate her. No, let us rather seek to calm her by some magic charm, if any remedy therefor exist. But to charm the soul, it may perhaps be sufficient to repeat what we have already said. To what other charm, indeed, would it suffice to have recourse? Rising above all the truths in which we participate, this enchantment evanesces the moment we speak, or even think. For, in order to express something, discursive reason is obliged to go from one thing to another, and successively to run through every element of its object. Now what can be successively scrutinized in that which is absolutely simple? It is, therefore, sufficient to reach Him by a sort of intellectual contact. Now at the moment of touching the One, we should neither be able to say anything about Him, nor have the leisure to speak of Him; only later is it possible to argue about Him. We should believe that we have seen Him when a sudden light has enlightened the soul; for this light comes from Him, and is Himself. We should believe that He is present when, as another (lower) divinity, He illumines the house of him who calls on this divinity, for it remains obscure without the illumination of the divinity. The soul, therefore, is without light when she is deprived of the presence of this divinity, when illumined by this divinity, she has what she sought. The true purpose of the soul is to be in contact with this light, to see this light in the radiance of this light itself, without the assistance of any foreign light, to see this principle by the help of which she sees. Indeed, it is the principle by which she is enlightened that she must contemplate as one gazes at the sun only through its own light. But how shall we succeed in this? By cutting off everything else. [Ennead V,3 (49) 17]

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

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