Guthrie-Plotinus: power

  

Thus, in her ascension towards divinity, the soul advances until, having risen above everything that is foreign to her, she alone with Him who is alone, beholds, in all His simplicity and purity, Him from whom all depends, to whom all aspires, from whom everything draws its existence, life and thought. He who beholds him is overwhelmed with love; with ardor desiring to unite himself with Him, entranced with ecstasy. Men who have not yet seen Him desire Him as the Good; those who have, admire Him as sovereign beauty, struck simultaneously with stupor and pleasure, thrilling in a painless orgasm, loving with a genuine emotion, with an ardor without equal, scorning all other affections, and disdaining those things which formerly they characterized as beautiful. This is the experience of those to whom divinities and guardians have appeared; they reck no longer of the beauty of other bodies. Imagine, if you can, the experiences of those who behold Beauty itself, the pure Beauty, which, because of its very purity, is fleshless and bodiless, outside of earth and heaven. All these things, indeed are contingent and composite, they are not principles, they are derived from Him. What beauty could one still wish to see after having arrived at vision of Him who gives perfection to all beings, though himself remains unmoved, without receiving anything; after finding rest in this contemplation, and enjoying it by becoming assimilated to Him? Being supreme beauty, and the first beauty, He beautifies those who love Him, and thereby they become worthy of love. This is the great, the supreme goal of souls; this is the goal which arouses all their efforts, if they do not wish to be disinherited of that sublime contemplation the enjoyment of which confers blessedness, and privation of which is the greatest of earthly misfortunes. Real misfortune is not to lack beautiful colors, nor beautiful bodies, nor power, nor domination, nor royalty. It is quite sufficient to see oneself excluded from no more than possession of beauty. This possession is precious enough to render worthless domination of a kingdom, if not of the whole earth, of the sea, or even of the heavens — if indeed it were possible, while abandoning and scorning all that (natural beauty), to succeed in contemplating beauty face to face. [Ennead I,6 (1) 7]

(e.) (No body could subsist without the power of the universal soul.) Besides no body could subsist without the power of the universal Soul (from Numenius). Every body, indeed, is in a perpetual flow and movement (as thought Heraclitus  , in Plato, Cratylus  ), and the world would soon perish if it contained nothing but bodies, even if some one of them were to be called soul; for such a soul, being composed of the same matter as the other bodies, would undergo the same fate that they do; or rather, there would not even be any body, everything would remain in the condition of shapeless matter, since there would exist no principle to fashion it. Why, there would not even be any matter, and the universe would be annihilated to nothingness, if the care of keeping its parts united were entrusted to some body which would have nothing but the name of soul, as for instance, to air, or a breath without cohesion, which could not be one, by itself. As all bodies are divisible, if the universe depended on a body, it would be deprived of intelligence and given up to chance. How, indeed, could there be any order in a spirit which itself would need to receive order from a soul? How could this spirit contain reason and intelligence? On the hypothesis of the existence of the soul, all these elements serve to constitute the body of the world, and of every animal, because all different bodies together work for the end of all; but without the soul, there is no order, and even nothing exists any more. [Ennead IV,7 (2) 3]

The subject that perceives a sense-object must itself be single, and grasp this object in its totality, by one and the same power. This happens when by several organs we perceive several qualities of a single object, or when, by a single organ, we embrace a single complex object in its totality, as, for instance, a face. It is not one principle that sees the face, and another one that sees the eyes; it is the “same principle” which embraces everything at once. Doubtless we do receive a sense-impression by the eyes, and another by the ears; but both of them must end in some single principle. How, indeed, could any decision be reached about the difference of sense-impressions unless they all converged toward the same principle? The latter is like a centre, and the individual sensations are like radii which from the circumference radiate towards the centre of a circle. This central principle is essentially single. If it was divisible, and if sense-impressions were directed towards two points at a distance from each other, such as the extremities of the same line, they would either still converge towards one and the same point, as, for instance, the middle (of the line), or one part would feel one thing, and another something else. It would be absolutely as if I felt one thing, and you felt another, when placed in the presence of one and the same thing (as thought Aristotle  , de Anima). Facts, therefore, demonstrate that sensations centre in one and the same principle; as visible images are centred in the pupil of the eye; otherwise how could we, through the pupil, see the greatest objects? So much the more, therefore, must the sensations that centre in the (Stoic) “directing principle” resemble indivisible intuitions and be perceived by an indivisible principle. If the latter possessed extension, it could, like the sense-object, be divided; each of its parts would thus perceive one of the parts of the sense-object, and nothing within us would grasp the object in its totality. The subject that perceives must then be entirely one; otherwise, how could it be divided? In that case it could not be made to coincide with the sense-object, as two equal figures superimposed on each other, because the directing principle does not have an extension equal to that of the sense-object. How then will we carry out the division? Must the subject that feels contain as many parts as there are in the sense-object? Will each part of the soul, in its turn, feel by its own parts, or will (we decide that) the parts of parts will not feel? Neither is that likely. If, on the other hand, each part feels the entire object, and if each magnitude is divisible to infinity, the result is that, for a single object, there will be an infinity of sensations in each part of the soul; and, so much the more, an infinity of images in the principle that directs us. (This, however, is the opposite of the actual state of affairs.) [Ennead IV,7 (2) 6]

The proof that bodies are activated only by incorporeal faculties may be proved as follows: Quantity and quality are two different things. Every body has a quantity, but not always a quality, as in the case of matter, (according to the Stoic definition, that it was a body without quality, but possessing magnitude). Granting this, (you Stoic) will also be forced to admit that as quality is something different from quantity, it must consequently be different from the body. Since then every body has a quantity, how could quality, which is no quantity, be a body? Besides, as we said above, every body and mass is altered by division; nevertheless, when a body is cut into pieces, every part preserves the entire quality without undergoing alteration. For instance, every molecule of honey, possesses the quality of sweetness as much as all the molecules taken together; consequently that sweetness cannot be corporeal; and other qualities must be in a similar case. Moreover, if the active powers were corporeal, they would have to have a material mass proportional to their strength or weakness. Now there are great masses that have little force, and small ones that have great force; demonstrating that power does not depend on extension, and should be attributed to some (substance) without extension. Finally, you may say that matter is identical with body, and produces different beings only by receiving different qualities (the Stoics considering that even the divinity was no more than modified matter, their two principles being matter and quality; the latter, however, was also considered as body). How do you (Stoics) not see that qualities thus added to matter are reasons, that are primary and immaterial? Do not object that when the spirit (breath) and blood abandon animals, they cease to live; for if these things are necessary to life, there are for our life many other necessities, even during the presence of the soul (as thought Nemesius). Besides, neither spirit nor blood are distributed to every part of the body. [Ennead IV,7 (2) 8]

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

The soul is present in the body at some times, and at other times, is outside of it. When, indeed, following her own inclination, she descends from first-rank entities (that is, intelligible entities) to third-rank entities (that is, earthly entities), she “proceeds” by virtue of the actualization of intelligence, which, remaining within herself, embellishes everything by the ministration of the soul, and which, itself being immortal, ordains everything with immortal power; for intelligence exists continuously by a continuous actualization. [Ennead IV,7 (2) 13]

In this case, even if we possessed the power of doing something by ourselves, we would not be any the less than the remainder of the universe subjected to necessity, because Fate, containing the whole series of causes, necessarily determines each event. Now since Fate includes all causes, there is nothing which could hinder the occurrence of that event, or alter it. If then everything obeys the impulsion of a single principle, nothing is left to us but to follow it. Indeed, in this case, the fancies of our imagination would result from anterior facts, and would in turn determine our appetites; our liberty would then have become a mere word; nor would we gain any advantage from obeying our appetites, since our appetites themselves will be determined by anterior facts. We would have no more liberty than the other animals, than children, or the insane, who run hither and yon, driven by blind appetites; for they also obey their appetites, as fire would do, and as all the things which fatally follow the dispositions of their nature. These objections will be decisive for those capable of apprehending them; and in the search for other causes of our appetites they will not content themselves with the principles which we have examined. [Ennead III,1 (3) 7]

We shall have to introduce among the number of beings another principle, namely: the soul; and not only the World-soul, but even the individual soul of every person. In the universal concatenation of causes and effects, this soul is a principle of no little importance, because, instead of, like all other things, being born of a “seminal reason,” it constitutes a “primary cause.” Outside of a body, she remains absolute mistress of herself, free and independent of the cause which administers the world. As soon as she has descended into a body, she is no longer so independent, for she then forms part of the order to which all things are subjected. Now, inasmuch as the accidents of fortune, that is to say, the surrounding circumstances, determine many events, the soul alternately yields to the influence of external circumstances, and then again she dominates them, and does what she pleases. This she does more or less, according as she is good or evil. When she yields to the corporeal temperament, she is necessarily subjected to desire or anger, discouraged in poverty, or proud in prosperity, as well as tyrannical in the exercise of power. But she can resist all these evil tendencies if her disposition is good; she modifies her surroundings more than she is affected by them; some things she changes, others she tolerates without herself incurring guilt. [Ennead III,1 (3) 8]

All things therefore, which result either from a choice by the soul, or from exterior circumstances, are “necessary,” or determined by a cause. Could anything, indeed, be found outside of these causes? If we gather into one glance all the causes we admit, we find the principles that produce everything, provided we count, amidst external causes, the influence exercised by the course of the stars. When a soul makes a decision, and carries it out because she is impelled thereto by external things, and yields to a blind impulse, we should not consider her determination and action to be free. The soul is not free when, perverting herself, she does not make decisions which direct her in the straight path. On the contrary, when she follows her own guide, pure and impassible reason, her determination is really voluntary, free and independent, and the deed she performs is really her own work, and not the consequence of an exterior impulse; she derives it from her inner power, her pure being, from the primary and sovereign principle which directs her, being deceived by no ignorance, nor vanquished by the power of appetites; for when the appetites invade the soul, and subdue her, they drag her with them by their violence, and she is rather “passive” than “active” in what she does. [Ennead III,1 (3) 9]

But how does he rise up thither? How does he have the power to do so? How does he learn to love? Here it is. The beauty seen in bodies is incidental; it consists in the shapes of which the bodies are the matter. Consequently the substance changes, and it is seen changing from beauty to ugliness. The body has only a borrowed beauty. Who imparted that beauty to the body? On the one hand, the presence of beauty; on the other, the actualization of the soul which fashioned the body, and which gave it the shape it possesses. But is the soul, by herself, absolute beauty? No, since some souls are wise and beautiful, while some others are foolish and ugly. It is therefore only by wisdom that the soul is beautiful. But from what is her wisdom derived? Necessarily from intelligence; not from the intelligence that is intelligent at some time, though not at others, but from the genuine Intelligence, which is beautiful on that very account. Shall we stop at Intelligence, as a first principle? Or shall we on the contrary still rise above it? Surely so, for Intelligence presents itself to us before the first Principle only because it is, so to speak, located in the antechamber of the Good. It bears all things within itself, and manifests them, so that it displays the image of the Good in manifoldness, while the Good itself remains in an absolute simple unity. [Ennead V,9 (5) 2]

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

Which then is the principle that acts, that thinks, and what is the actualization and thought of Intelligence, necessary to justify the assertion that it is what it thinks? Evidently Intelligence, by its mere real existence, thinks beings, and makes them exist; it therefore is the beings. Indeed, the beings will either exist outside of it, or within it; and in the latter case they would have to be identical with it. That they should exist outside of Intelligence, is unthinkable; for where would they be located? They must therefore exist within it, and be identical with it. They could not be in sense-objects, as common people think, because sense-objects could not be the first in any genus. The form which inheres in their matter is only the representation of existence; now a form which exists in anything other than itself is put in it by a superior principle, and is its image. Further, if Intelligence must be the creative power of the universe, it could not, while creating the universe, think beings as existent in what does not yet exist. Intelligible entities, therefore, must exist before the world, and cannot be images of sense-objects, being on the contrary, their archetypes, and constituting the “being” of Intelligence. It might be objected that the (seminal) reasons might suffice. These reasons are, no doubt, eternal; and, if they be eternal and impassible, they must exist within the Intelligence whose characteristics we have described, the Intelligence which precedes the “habit,” nature, and the soul, because here these entities are potential. [Ennead V,9 (5) 5]

Thus Intelligence actually constitutes all beings; it contains them all, but not locally; it contains them as it possesses itself; it is identical with them. All entities are simultaneously contained within it, and in it remain distinct, as many kinds of knowledge may exist within the soul without their number causing any confusion; each of them appears when needed, without involving the others. If in the soul each thought be an actualization independent of other thoughts, so much the more must Intelligence be all things simultaneously, with this restriction, however, that each of them is a special power. Considered in its universality, Intelligence contains all entities as the genus contains all species, as the whole contains all parts. Even the seminal powers bear the impress of this universality. Each one, considered in its totality, is a centre which contains all the parts of the organism in an undivided condition; nevertheless in it the reason of the eyes differs from that of the hands, and this diversity is manifested by that of the organs begotten (therefrom). 129 Each of the powers of the seed, therefore, is the total unity of the seminal reason when this power is united to the others which are implied therein. What in the seed is corporeal contains matter, as, for instance, humidity; but the seminal reason is the entire form; it is identical with the generative power, a power which itself is the image of a superior power of the soul. This generative power contained in seeds is usually called “nature.” Proceeding from the superior powers as light radiates from the fire, it tames and fashions matter, imparting thereto the seminal reason without pushing it, or moving it as by levers. [Ennead V,9 (5) 6]

Let us therefore consider the arts and their products. Unless as represented within human reason, we cannot refer to the intelligible world arts of imitation such as painting, sculpture, dancing, or acting, because they are born here below, take sense-objects as models, representing their forms, motions, and visible proportions. If, however, we possess a faculty which, by studying the beauties offered by the symmetry of animals, considers the general characteristics of this symmetry, it must form part of the intellectual power which, on high, contemplates universal symmetry. Music, however, which studies rhythm and harmony, is, so far as it studies what is intelligible in these things, the image of the music that deals with intelligible rhythm. [Ennead V,9 (5) 11]

The arts which produce sense-objects, such as architecture and carpentry, have their principles in the intelligible world, and participate in wisdom, so far as they make use of certain proportions. But as they apply these proportions to sense-objects, they cannot wholly be referred to the intelligible world, unless in so far as they are contained within human reason. The case is similar with agriculture, which assists the growth of plants; medicine, which increases health, and (gymnastics) which supplies the body with strength as well as vigor, for on high there is another Power, another Health, from which all living organisms derive their needed vigor. [Ennead V,9 (5) 11]

In the universe there are, indeed, two kinds of providences. The first Providence regulates everything in a royal manner, without performing any actions, or observing the details. The second, operating somewhat like an artisan, adjusts its creative power to the inferior nature of creatures by getting in contact with them. Now as the divine Soul (or, the principal power, always administers the whole world in the first or regal way, dominating the world by her superiority, and by injecting into the world her lowest power (nature), we could not accuse the divinity of having given a bad place to the universal Soul. Indeed, this universal Soul was never deprived of her natural power, possessing it always, because this power is not contrary to her being, possessing it uninterruptedly from all eternity. [Ennead IV,8 (6) 2]

(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]

There are individual souls which, in their conversion towards the principle from which they proceed, aspire to the intelligible world, and which also exercise their power on inferior things, just as light, which does not disdain to throw its rays down to us though remaining suspended to the sun on high. These souls must remain sheltered from all suffering so long as in the intelligible world they remain together with the universal Soul. They must besides, in heaven, share with it the administration of the world; like kings who, being colleagues of the great King of the universe, share the government with Him, without themselves descending from their thrones, without ceasing to occupy a place as elevated as He. But when they pass from this state in which they live with the universal Soul to a particular and independent existence, when they seem weary of dwelling with another, then each of them returns to what belongs to her individually. Now when a soul has done that for a long while, when she withdraws from the universal Soul, and distinguishes herself therefrom, when she ceases to keep her glances directed towards the intelligible world; then, isolating herself in her individual existence, she weakens, and finds herself overwhelmed with a crowd of cares, because she directs her glance at something individual. Having therefore separated herself from the universal Soul as well as from the other souls that remain united thereto, and having attached herself to an individual body, and concentrating herself exclusively on this object, which is subjected to the destructive action of all other beings, she ceases to govern the whole to administer more carefully a part, the care of which forces her to busy herself, and mingle with external things, to be not only present in the body, but also to interpenetrate it. [Ennead IV,8 (6) 4]

Thus, although the soul have a divine nature (or “being”), though she originate in the intelligible world, she enters into a body. Being a lower divinity, she descends here below by a voluntary inclination, for the purpose of developing her power, and to adorn what is below her. If she flee promptly from here below, she does not need to regret having become acquainted with evil, and knowing the nature of vice, nor having had the opportunity of manifesting her faculties, and to manifest her activities and deeds. Indeed, the faculties of the soul would be useless if they slumbered continuously in incorporeal being without ever becoming actualized. The soul herself would ignore what she possesses if her faculties did not manifest by procession, for everywhere it is the actualization that manifests the potentiality. Otherwise, the latter would be completely hidden and obscured; or rather, it would not really exist, and would not possess any reality. It is the variety of sense-effects which illustrates the greatness of the intelligible principle, whose nature publishes itself by the beauty of its works. [Ennead IV,8 (6) 5]

Unity was not to exist alone; for if unity remained self-enclosed, all things would remain hidden in unity without having any form, and no beings would achieve existence. Consequently, even if constituted by beings born of unity, plurality would not exist, unless the inferior natures, by their rank destined to be souls, issued from those beings by the way of procession. Likewise, it was not sufficient for souls to exist, they also had to reveal what they were capable of begetting. It is likewise natural for each essence to produce something beneath it, to draw it out from itself by a development similar to that of a seed, a development in which an indivisible principle proceeds to the production of a sense-object, and where that which precedes remains in its own place at the same time as it begets that which follows by an inexpressible power, which is essential to intelligible natures. Now as this power was not to be stopped or circumscribed in its actions by jealousy, there was need of a continuous procession until, from degree to degree, all things had descended to the extreme limits of what was possible; for it is the characteristic of an inexhaustible power to communicate all its gifts to everything, and not to permit any of them to be disinherited, since there is nothing which hinders any of them from participating in the nature of the Good in the measure that it is capable of doing so. Since matter has existed from all eternity, it was impossible that from the time since it existed, it should not participate in that which communicates goodness to all things according to their receptivity thereof. If the generation of matter were the necessary consequence of anterior principles, still it must not be entirely deprived of the good by its primitive impotence, when the cause which gratuitously communicated “being” to it remained self-enclosed. [Ennead IV,8 (6) 6]

The excellence, power and goodness of intelligible (essences) are therefore revealed by sense-objects; and there is an eternal connection between intelligible (entities) that are self-existent, and sense-objects, which eternally derive their existence therefrom by participation, and which imitate intelligible nature to the extent of their ability. [Ennead IV,8 (6) 6]

If something after the One exist, it is no more the simple One, but the multiple One. Whence is this derived? Evidently from the First, for it could not be supposed that it came from chance; that would be to admit that the First is not the principle of everything. How then is the multiple One derived from the First? If the First be not only perfect, but the most perfect, if it be the first Power, it must surely, in respect to power, be superior to all the rest, and the other powers must merely imitate it to the limit of their ability. Now we see that all that arrives to perfection cannot unfruitfully remain in itself, but begets and produces. Not only do beings capable of choice, but even those lacking reflection or soul have a tendency to impart to other beings, what is in them; as, for instance, fire emits heat, snow emits cold; and plant-juices (dye and soak) into whatever they happen to touch. All things in nature imitate the First principle by seeking to achieve immortality by procreation, and by manifestation of their qualities. How then would He who is sovereignly perfect, who is the supreme Good, remain absorbed in Himself, as if a sentiment of jealousy hindered Him from communicating Himself, or as if He were powerless, though He is the power of everything? How then would He remain principle of everything? He must therefore beget something, just as what He begets must in turn beget. There must therefore be something beneath the First. Now this thing (which is immediately beneath the First), must be very venerable, first because it begets everything else, then because it is begotten by the First, and because it must, as being the Second, rank and surpass everything else. [Ennead V,4 (7) 1]

If the generating principle were intelligence, what it begot would have to be inferior to intelligence, and nevertheless approximate it, and resemble it more than anything else. Now as the generating principle is superior to intelligence, the first begotten thing is necessarily intelligence. Why, however, is the generating principle not intelligence? Because the act of intelligence is thought, and thought consists in seeing the intelligible; for it is only by its conversion towards it that intelligence achieves a complete and perfect existence. In itself, intelligence is only an indeterminate power to see; only by contemplation of the intelligible does it achieve the state of being determined. This is the reason of the saying, “The ideas and numbers, that is, intelligence, are born from the indefinite doubleness, and the One.” Consequently, instead of being simple, intelligence is multiple. It is composed of several elements; these are doubtless intelligible, but what intelligence sees is none the less multiple. In any case, intelligence is simultaneously the object thought, and the thinking subject; it is therefore already double. [Ennead V,4 (7) 2]

But how is an actualization begotten from that self-limited (intelligible)? We shall have to draw a distinction between an actualization of being, and an actualization out of the being of each thing (actualized being, and actualization emanating from being). Actualized being cannot differ from being, for it is being itself. But the actualization emanating from being — and everything necessarily has an actualization of this kind — differs from what produces it. It is as if with fire: there is a difference between the heat which constitutes its being, and the heat which radiates exteriorly, while the fire interiorly realizes the actualization which constitutes its being, and which makes it preserve its nature. Here also, and far more so, the First remains in His proper state, and yet simultaneously, by His inherent perfection, by the actualization which resides in Him, has been begotten the actualization which, deriving its existence from so great a power, nay, from supreme Power, has arrived at, or achieved essence and being. As to the First, He was above being; for He was the potentiality of all things, already being all things. [Ennead V,4 (7) 2]

If, however, the Soul be one, why is some one soul reasonable, another irrational, or some other one merely vegetative? The indivisible part of the soul consists in reason, which is not divided in the bodies, while the part of the divisible soul in the bodies (which, though being one in herself, nevertheless divides herself in the bodies, because she sheds sentiment everywhere), must be regarded as another power of the soul (the sensitive power); likewise, the part which fashions and produces the bodies is still another power (the vegetative power); nevertheless, this plurality of powers does not destroy the unity of the soul. For instance, in a grain of seed there are also several powers; nevertheless this grain of seed is one, and from this unity is born a multiplicity which forms a unity. [Ennead IV,9 (8) 3]

But why do not all the powers of the soul act everywhere? Now if we consider the Soul which is one everywhere, we find that sensation is not similar in all its parts (that is, in all the individual souls); that reason is not in all (but in certain souls exclusively); and that the vegetative power is granted to those beings who do not possess sensation, and that all these powers return to unity when they separate from the body. [Ennead IV,9 (8) 3]

If, however, the body derive its vegetative power from the Whole and from this (universal) Soul which is one, why should it not derive it also from our soul? Because that which is nourished by this power forms a part of the universe, which possesses sensation only at the price of “suffering.” As to the sense-power which rises as far as the judgment, and which is united to every intelligence, there was no need for it to form what had already been formed by the Whole, but it could have given its forms if these forms were not parts of the Whole which produces them. [Ennead IV,9 (8) 3]

If your soul does not succeed in enjoying this spectacle, if she does not have the intuition of the divine light, if she remains cold and does not, within herself, feel a rapture such as that of a lover who sees the beloved object, and who rests within it, a rapture felt by him who has seen the true light, and whose soul has been overwhelmed with brilliance on approaching this light, then you have tried to rise to the divinity without having freed yourself from the hindrances which arrest your progress, and hinder your contemplation. You did not rise alone, and you retained within yourself something that separated you from Him; or rather, you were not yet unified. Though He be absent from all beings, He is absent from none, so that He is present (to all) without being present (to them). He is present only for those who are able to receive Him, and who are prepared for Him, and who are capable of harmonizing themselves with Him, to reach Him, and as it were to touch Him by virtue of the conformity they have with Him, and also by virtue of an innate power analogous to that which flows from Him, when at last their souls find themselves in the state where they were after having communicated with Him; then they can see Him so far as his nature is visible. I repeat: if you have not yet risen so far, the conclusion must be that you are still at a distance from Him, either by the obstacles of which we spoke above, or by the lack of such instruction as would have taught you the road to follow, and which would have imbued you with faith in things divine. In any case, you have no fault to find with any but yourself; for, to be alone, all you need to do is to detach yourself from everything. Lack of faith in arguments about it may be remedied by the following considerations. [Ennead VI,9 (9) 4]

The principle that is superior to what is highest among beings, to Intelligence (or intellect, or intelligible world) (may well be sought after). There must indeed be some principle above Intelligence; for intelligence does indeed aspire to become one, but it is not one, possessing only the form of unity. Considered in itself, Intelligence is not divided, but is genuinely present to itself. It does not dismember itself because it is next to the One, though it dared to withdraw therefrom. What is above Intelligence is Unity itself, an incomprehensible miracle, of which it cannot even be said that it is essence, lest we make of it the attribute of something else, and to whom no name is really suitable. If however He must be named, we may indeed call Him in general Unity, but only on the preliminary understanding that He was not first something else, and then only later became unity. That is why the One is so difficult to understand in Himself; He is rather known by His offspring; that is, by Being, because Intelligence leads up to Being. The nature of the One, indeed, is the source of excellent things, the power which begets beings, while remaining within Himself, without undergoing any diminution, without passing into the beings to which He gives birth. If we call this principle Unity, it is only for the mutual convenience of rising to some indivisible conception, and in unifying our soul. But when we say that this principle is one and indivisible, it is not in the same sense that we say it of the (geometric) point, and of the (arithmetical unity called the) monad. What is one in the sense of the unity of the point or the monad, is a principle of quantity, and would not exist unless preceded by being and the principle which precedes even that being. It is not of this kind of unity that we must think; still we believe that the point and the monad have analogy with the One by their simplicity as well as by the absence of all manifoldness and of all division. [Ennead VI,9 (9) 5]

In what sense do we use the name of unity, and how can we conceive of it? We shall have to insist that the One is a unity much more perfect than the point of the monad; for in these, abstracting (geometric) magnitude, and numerical plurality, we do indeed stop at that which is most minute, and we come to rest in something indivisible; but this existed already in a divisible being, in a subject other than itself, while the One is neither in a subject other than itself, nor in anything divisible. If it be indivisible, neither is it of the same kind as that which is most minute. On the contrary, it is that which is greatest, not by (geometric) magnitude, but by power; possessing no (geometric) magnitude, it is indivisible in its power; for the beings beneath it are indivisible in their powers, and not in their mass (since they are incorporeal). We must also insist that the One is infinite, not as would be a mass of a magnitude which could be examined serially, but by the incommensurability of its power. Even though you should conceive of it as of intelligence or divinity, it is still higher. When by thought you consider it as the most perfect unity, it is still higher. You try to form for yourself an idea of a divinity by rising to what in your intelligence is most unitary (and yet He is still simpler); for He dwells within Himself, and contains nothing that is contingent. [Ennead VI,9 (9) 6]

How does it happen that souls forget their paternal divinity? Having a divine nature, and having originated from the divinity, how could they ever misconceive the divinity or themselves? The origin of their evil is “audacity,” generation, the primary diversity, and the desire to belong to none but themselves. As soon as they have enjoyed the pleasure of an independent life, and by largely making use of their power of self-direction, they advanced on the road that led them astray from their principle, and now they have arrived at such an “apostasy” (distance) from the Divinity, that they are even ignorant that they derive their life from Him. Like children that were separated from their family since birth, and that were long educated away from home finally lose knowledge of their parents and of themselves, so our souls, no longer seeing either the divinity or themselves, have become degraded by forgetfulness of their origin, have attached themselves to other objects, have admired anything rather than themselves, have like prodigals scattered their esteem and love on exterior objects, and have, by breaking the bond that united them to the divinities, disdainfully wandered away from it. Their ignorance of the divinity is therefore caused by excessive valuation of external objects, and their scorn of themselves. The mere admiration and quest after what is foreign implies, on the soul’s part, an acknowledgment of self-depreciation. As soon as a soul thinks that she is worth less than that which is born and which perishes, and considers herself as more despicable and perishable than the object she admires, she could no longer even conceive of the nature and power of the divinity. [Ennead V,1 (10) 1]

This is the first reflection of every soul. By an influx of the spirit of life, the universal Soul produced all the animals upon earth, in the air and in the sea, as well as the divine stars, the sun, and the immense heaven. It was the universal Soul that gave form to the heavens, and which presides over their regular revolutions; and she effects all that without mingling with the being to whom she communicates form, movement and life. The universal Soul is far superior to all created things. While the latter are born or die in the measure that she imparts to them, or withdraws from them their life, she herself is “being” and eternal life, because she could not cease being herself. To understand how life can simultaneously be imparted to the universe and to each individual, we must contemplate the universal Soul. To rise to this contemplation, the soul must be worthy of it by nobility, must have liberated herself from error, and must have withdrawn from the objects that fascinate the glances of worldly souls, must have immersed herself in a profound meditation, and she must have succeeded in effecting the silence not only of the agitations of the body that enfolds her, and the tumult of sensations, but also of all that surrounds her. Therefore let silence be kept by all — namely, earth, air, sea, and even heaven. Then let the soul represent to herself the great Soul which, from all sides, overflows into this immovable mass, spreading within it, penetrating into it intimately, illuminating it as the rays of the sun light and gild a dark cloud. Thus the universal Soul, by descending into this world redeemed this great body from the inertia in which it lay, imparting to it movement, life and immortality. Eternally moved by an intelligent power, heaven became a being full of life and felicity. The presence of the Soul made an admirable whole from what before was no more than in inert corpse, water and earth, or rather, darkness of matter, which, as Homer says, was an “object of horror for the divinities.” [Ennead V,1 (10) 2]

The nature and power of the Soul reveal themselves still more gloriously in the way she embraces and governs the world at will. She is present in every point of this immense body, she animates all its parts, great and small. Though these may be located in different parts, she does not divide as they do, she does not split up to vivify each individual. She vivifies all things simultaneously, ever remaining whole and indivisible, resembling the intelligence from which she was begotten by her unity and universality. It is her power which contains this world of infinite magnitude and variety within the bonds of unity. Only because of the presence of the Soul are heaven, sun, and stars divinities; only because of her are we anything; for “a corpse is viler than the vilest dung-hill.” [Ennead V,1 (10) 2]

Since the nature of the Soul is so divine and precious, you may be assured of being able to reach the divinity through her; with her you can ascend to Him. You will not need to search for Him far from yourself; nor will there be several intermediaries between yourself and Him. To reach Him, take as guide the divinest and highest part of the Soul, the power from which she proceeds, and by which she impinges on the intelligible world. Indeed, in spite of the divinity which we have attributed to her, the Soul is no more than an image of Intelligence. As the exterior word (speech) is the image of the (interior) word (of thought?) of the soul, the Soul herself is the word and actualization of Intelligence. She is the life which escapes from Intelligence to form another hypostatic form of existence, just as the fire contains the latent heat which constitutes its essence (“being”), and also the heat that radiates from it outside. Nevertheless, the Soul does not entirely issue from within Intelligence; she does partly reside therein, but also forms (a nature) distinct therefrom. As the Soul proceeds from Intelligence, she is intelligible; and the manifestation of her intellectual power is discursive reason. From Intelligence the Soul derives her perfection, as well as her existence; only in comparison with Intelligence does the Soul seem imperfect. The Soul, therefore, is the hypostatic substance that proceeds from Intelligence, and when the Soul contemplates Intelligence the soul is reason actualized. Indeed, while the soul contemplates Intelligence, the Soul intimately possesses the things she thinks; from her own resources she draws the actualizations she produces; these intellectual and pure actualizations are indeed the Soul’s only characteristic activities. Those of an inferior nature really proceed from a foreign principle; they are passions. [Ennead V,1 (10) 3]

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]

We call Intelligence the image of the One. Let us explain this. It is His image because Intelligence is, in a certain respect, begotten by Unity, because Intelligence possesses much of the nature of its father, and because Intelligence resembles Him as light resembles the sun. But the One is not Intelligence; how then can the hypostatic (form of existence) begotten by the One be Intelligence? By its conversion towards the One, Intelligence sees Him; now it is this vision which constitutes Intelligence. Every faculty that perceives another being is sensation or intelligence; but sensation is similar to a straight line, while intelligence resembles a circle. Nevertheless, the circle is divisible, while Intelligence is indivisible; it is one, but, while being one, it also is the power of all things. Now thought considers all these things (of which Intelligence is the power), by separating itself, so to speak, from this power; otherwise, Intelligence would not exist. Indeed, Intelligence has a consciousness of the reach of its power, and this consciousness constitutes its nature. Consequently, Intelligence determines its own nature by the means of the power it derived from the One; and at the same time Intelligence sees that its nature (“being”) is a part of the entities which belong to the One, and that proceed from Him. Intelligence sees that it owes all its force to the One, and that it is due to Him that Intelligence has the privilege of being a “being” (or, essence). Intelligence sees that, as it itself is divisible, it derives from the One, which is indivisible, all the entities it possesses, life and thought; because the One is not any of these things. Everything indeed is derived from the One, because it is not contained in a determinate form; it simply is the One, while in the order of beings Intelligence is all things. Consequently the One is not any of the things that Intelligence contains; it is only the principle from which all of them are derived. That is why they are “being,” for they are already determined, and each has a kind of shape. Existence should be contemplated, not in indetermination, but on the contrary in determination and rest. Now, for Intelligible entities, rest consists in determination, and shape by which they subsist. [Ennead V,1 (10) 7]

The Intelligence that deserves to be called the purest intelligence, therefore, cannot have been born from any source, other than the first Principle. It must, from its birth, have begotten all beings, all the beauty of ideas, all the intelligible deities; for it is full of the things it has begotten; it devours them in the sense that it itself retains all of them, that it does not allow them to fall into matter, nor be born of Rhea. That is the meaning of the mysteries and myths; “Saturn, the wisest of the divinities, was born before Jupiter, and devoured his children.” Here Saturn represents intelligence, big with its conceptions, and perfectly pure. They add, “Jupiter, as soon as he was grown, in his turn begat.” As soon as Intelligence is perfect, it begets the Soul, by the mere fact of its being perfect, and because so great a power cannot remain sterile. Here again the begotten being had to be inferior to its principle, had to represent its image, had, by itself, to be indeterminate, and had later to be determined and formed by the principle that begat it. What Intelligence begets is a reason, a hypostatic form of existence whose nature it is to reason. The latter moves around Intelligence; is the light that surrounds it, the ray that springs from it. On the one hand it is bound to Intelligence, fills itself with it; enjoys it, participates in it, deriving its intellectual operations from it. On the other hand, it is in contact with inferior things, or rather, begets them. Being thus begotten by the Soul, these things are necessarily less good than the Soul, as we shall further explain. The sphere of divine things ends with the Soul. [Ennead V,1 (10) 7]

This is how Plato establishes three degrees in the hierarchy of being: “Everything is around the king of all.” He is here speaking of first rank entities. He adds, “What is of the second order is around the second principle; and what is of the third order is around the third principle.” Plato further says that “God is the father of the cause.” By cause, he means Intelligence; for, in the system of Plato, it is Intelligence which plays the part of demiurgic creator. Plato adds that it is this power that forms the Soul in the cup. As the cause is intelligence, Plato applies the name of father to the absolute Good, the principle superior to Intelligence and superior to “Being.” In several passages he calls the Idea “existence and intelligence.” He therefore really teaches that Intelligence is begotten from the Good, and the Soul from Intelligence. This teaching, indeed, is not new; it has been taught from the most ancient times, but without being brought out in technical terms. We claim to be no more than the interpreters of the earlier philosophers, and to show by the very testimony of Plato that they held the same views as we do. [Ennead V,1 (10) 8]

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]

Just like the One, it was by effusion of its power that Intelligence begat something similar to itself. Thus from Intelligence emanated an image, just as Intelligence emanated from the One. The actualization that proceeds from Essence (and Intelligence) is the universal Soul. She is born of Intelligence, and determines herself without Intelligence issuing from itself, just as Intelligence itself proceeded from the One without the One ceasing from His repose. [Ennead V,2 (11) 1]

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

Now, let us retrace our steps. When we cut the twigs or the branches of a tree, where goes the plant-soul that was in them? She returns to her principle, for no local difference separates her therefrom. If we cut or burn the root, whither goes the power of growth present therein? It returns to the plant-power of the universal Soul, which does not change place, and does not cease being where it was. It ceases to be where it was only when returning to its principle; otherwise, it passes into another plant; for it is not obliged to contract, or to retire within itself. If, on the contrary, it retire, it retires within the superior power. Where, in her turn, does the latter reside? Within Intelligence, and without changing, location; for the Soul is not within any location, and Intelligence still less. Thus the Soul is nowhere; she is in a principle which, being nowhere, is everywhere. [Ennead V,2 (11) 2]

The infinite seems born of the infinity of the One, either of its power, or eternity; there is no infinity in the One, but the One is creator of the infinite. How can there be infinity simultaneously above and below (in the One and in matter)? Because there are two infinities (the infinite and the indefinite; the infinite in the One, the indefinite in matter). Between them obtains the same difference as the archetype and its image. Is the infinite here below less infinite? On the contrary, it is more so. By the mere fact that the image is far from veritable “being,” it is more infinite. Infinity is greater in that which is less determinate (as thought Aristotle). Now that which is more distant from good is further in evil. Therefore the infinite on high, possessing the more essence, is the ideal infinite; here below, as the infinite possesses less essence, because it is far from essence and truth, it degenerates into the image of essence, and is the truer (indefinite) infinite. [Ennead II,4 (12) 15]

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

We might further say that, if the fire tended to move in a straight line, it must effect a return upon itself in the only place where it is possible (in the heavens), inasmuch as there is no place outside of the world where it could go. In fact there is no further place, beyond the celestial fire, for itself constitutes the last place in the universe; it therefore moves in a circle in the place at its disposal; it is its own place, but not to remain immovable, but to move. In a circle, the centre is naturally immovable; and were the circumference the same, it would be only an immense centre. It is therefore better that the fire should turn around the centre in this living and naturally organized body. Thus the fire will tend towards the centre, not in stopping, for it would lose its circular form, but in moving itself around it; thus only will it be able to satisfy its tendency (towards the universal Soul). However, if this power effect the movement of the body of the universe, it does not drag it like a burden, nor give it an impulsion contrary to its nature. For nature is constituted by nothing else than the order established by the universal Soul. Besides, as the whole Soul is everywhere, and is not divided into parts, it endows the sky with all the ubiquity it can assimilate, which can occur only by traversing all of it. If the Soul remained immovable in one place, she would remain immovable as soon as the heavens reached this place; but as the Soul is everywhere, they would seek to reach her everywhere. Can the heavens never reach the Soul? On the contrary, they reach her ceaselessly; for the Soul, in ceaselessly attracting them to herself, endues them with a continual motion by which she carries them, not towards some other place, but towards herself, and in the same place, not in a straight line, but in a circle, and thus permits them to possess her in all the places which she traverses. [Ennead II,2 (14) 1]

Now, if the heavens possess the Soul, wherever they are, what urges them to move in a circle? Surely because the Soul is not exclusively in a determinate place (and the world does not exclusively in one place desire to possess her). Besides, if the power of the Soul revolve around the centre, it is once more evident that the heavens would move in a circle. [Ennead II,2 (14) 2]

One more subject remains to be considered. The lowest power of the universal Soul (the inferior soul), rests on the earth, and thence radiates abroad throughout the universe. The (higher, or celestial) power (of the world-Soul) which, by nature, possesses sensation, opinion, and reasoning, resides in the celestial spheres, whence it dominates the inferior power, and communicates life to it. It thereby moves the inferior power, embracing it in a circle; and it presides over the universe as it returns (from the earth) to the celestial spheres. The inferior power, being circularly embraced by the superior power, reflects upon itself, and thus operates on itself a conversion by which it imparts a movement of rotation to the body within which it reacts. (This is how motion starts) in a sphere that is at rest: as soon as a part moves, the movement spreads to the rest of it, and the sphere begins to revolve. Not otherwise is our body; when our soul begins to move, as in joy, or in the expectation of welfare, although this movement be of a kind very different from that natural to a body, this soul-movement produces local motion in the body. Likewise the universal Soul, on high, while approaching the Good, and becoming more sensitive (to its proximity), thereby impresses the body with the motion proper to it, namely, the local movement. (Our own human) sense-(faculty), while receiving its good from above, and while enjoying the pleasures proper to its nature, pursues the Good, and, inasmuch as the Good is everywhere present, it is borne everywhere. The intelligence is moved likewise; it is simultaneously at rest and in motion, reflecting upon itself. Similarly the universe moves in a circle, though simultaneously standing still. [Ennead II,2 (14) 3]

Other principles remain unmoved while producing and exhibiting their (“hypostases,” substantial acts, or) forms of existence. The (universal) Soul, however, is in motion while producing and exhibiting her (“substantial act,” or) forms of existence, namely, the functions of sensation and growth, reaching down as far as (the sphere of the) plants. In us also does the Soul function, but she does not dominate us, constituting only a part of our nature. She does, however, dominate in plants, having as it were remained alone there. Beyond that sphere, however, nature begets nothing; for beyond it exists no life, begotten (matter) being lifeless. All that was begotten prior to this was shapeless, and achieved form only by trending towards its begetting principle, as to its source of life. Consequently, that which is begotten cannot be a form of the Soul, being lifeless, but must be absolute in determination. The things anterior (to matter, namely, the sense-power and nature), are doubtless indeterminate, but only so within their form; the are not absolutely indeterminate; they are indeterminate only in respect of their perfection. On the contrary, that which exists at present, namely, (matter), is absolutely indeterminate. When it achieves perfection, it becomes body, on receiving the form suited to its power. This (form) is the receptacle of the principle which has begotten it, and which nourishes it. It is the only trace of the higher things in the body, which occupies the last rank amidst the things below. [Ennead III,4 (15) 3]

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

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

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

Is the power which is the act of the soul always united to a body? No; for when the soul turns towards the superior regions, she raises this power with her. Does the universal (Soul) also raise with herself to the intelligible world the inferior power which is her actualization (nature)? No: for she does not incline towards her low inferior portion, because she neither came nor descended into the world; but, while she remains in herself, the body of the world comes to unite with her, and to offer itself to receive her light’s radiation; besides, her body does not cause her any anxiety, because it is not exposed to any peril. Does not the world, then, possess any senses? “It has no sight” (says Plato) “for it has no eyes. Neither has it ears, nostrils, nor tongue.” Does it, then, as we, possess the consciousness of what is going on within it? As, within the world, all things go on uniformly according to nature, it is, in this respect, in a kind of repose; consequently, it does not feel any pleasure. The power of growth exists within it without being present therein; and so also with the sense-power. Besides, we shall return to a study of the question. For the present, we have said all that relates to the question in hand. [Ennead III,4 (15) 4]

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

What is the condition of the souls that have raised themselves on high? Some are in the sensible world, others are outside of it. The souls that are in the sense-world dwell in the sun, or in some other planet, or in the firmament, according as they have more or less developed their reason. We must, indeed, remember that our soul contains in herself not only the intelligible world, but also a disposition conformable to the Soul of the world. Now as the latter is spread out in the movable spheres and in the immovable sphere by her various powers, our soul must possess powers conformable to these, each of which exercise their proper function. The souls which rise from here below into the heavens go to inhabit the star which harmonizes with their moral life, and with the power which they have developed; with their divinity, or their guardian. Then they will have either the same guardian, or the guardian which is superior to the power which they exert. This matter will have to be considered more minutely. [Ennead III,4 (15) 6]

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]

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

How will the body naturally detach itself from the soul? By the complete rupture of the bonds which keep the soul attached to the body, by the body’s impotence to fetter the soul, on account of the complete destruction of the harmony which conferred this power on it. [Ennead I,9 (16) 1]

We will now, following (Plato), speak of another kind of assimilation as the privilege of a higher virtue. We will thus better understand the nature of homely virtues, and the higher virtues, and the difference between them. Plato is evidently distinguishing two kinds of virtues when he says that assimilation to the divinity consists in fleeing from (the world) here below; when he adds the qualification “homely” to the virtues relating to social life; and when in another place he asserts that all virtues are processes of purification; and it is not to the homely virtues that he attributes the power of assimilating us to the divinity. [Ennead I,2 (19) 3]

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

In no way does the unity of this essence resemble that of the body; for the unity of the body consists in the unity of parts, of which each is different from the others, and occupies a different place. Nor does the unity of the soul bear any closer resemblance to the unity of the qualities. Thus this nature that is simultaneously divisible and indivisible, and that we call soul is not one in the sense of being continuous (of which each part is external to every other); it is divisible, because it animates all the parts of the body it occupies, but is indivisible because it entirely inheres in the whole body, and in each of its parts. When we thus consider the nature of the soul, we see her magnitude and power, and we understand how admirable and divine are these and superior natures. Without any extension, the soul is present throughout the whole of extension; she is present in a location, though she be not present therein. She is simultaneously divided and undivided, or rather, she is never really divided, and she never really divides; for she remains entire within herself. If she seem to divide, it is not in relation with the bodies, which, by virtue of their own divisibility, cannot receive her in an indivisible manner. Thus division is the property of the body, but not the characteristic of the soul. [Ennead IV,2 (21) 1]

Is the universal (Being) by itself present everywhere? Or does it remain within itself, while from its innermost its powers descend on all things, and is it in this sense that it is regarded as everywhere present? Yes, doubtless. That is why it is said that souls are the rays of this universal (Being), that it is built on itself, and that from it, souls descend into various animals. The things which participate in its unity, incapable as they are of possessing a complete nature conformed to its nature, enjoy the presence of the universal (Being) in this sense that they enjoy the presence of some of its powers. They are not, however, entirely separated from it, because it is not separated from the power which it communicates to each of them. If they do not have more, it is only because they are not capable of receiving more from the presence of the entire whole (Being). Evidently it is always entirely present there where its powers are present. It however remains separated, for if it became the form of any one particular being, it would cease to be universal, to subsist everywhere in itself, and it would be the accident of some other “being.” Therefore, since it belongs to none of these things, even of those that aspire to unite themselves with it, it makes them enjoy its presence when they desire it, and in the measure in which they are capable thereof; but it does not belong to any of them in particular. It is not surprising, therefore, that it should be present in all things, since it is not present in any in a manner such as to belong to it alone. It is also reasonable to assert that, if the soul share the passions of the bodies, it is only by accident, that she dwells in herself, and belongs neither to matter nor to body, that the whole of her illuminates the whole world-body. It is not a contradiction to say that the (Being) which is not present in any place is present to all things each of which is in a place. What, indeed, would be surprising and impossible would be that the universal (Being) could, while occupying a determinate place, be present to things which are in a place, and could at all be present in the sense in which we have explained it. Reason forces us, therefore, to admit that the universal (Being) must, precisely because it does not occupy any place, be entirely present to the things to which it is present; and, since it is present to the universe, be entirely present to each thing; otherwise, one part of it would be here, and another there; consequently, it would be divisible, it would be body. How otherwise could one divide the (“Being”)? Is it its life that shall within it be divided? If it be the totality of the (being) that is life, no part of it would be that. Or will somebody try to divide the Intelligence, so that one of its parts be here, and the other there? In this case, neither of the two parts would be intelligence. Or will the (Being) itself be divided? But if the totality be the (Being), no one part of it would be that. It might be objected that the parts of the bodies are still bodies themselves. But that which is divided is not the body (as such), but a certain body of a certain extent; now each of its parts possesses the form that causes it to be named body; while the form not only does not have some particular extension, but even any kind of extension at all. [Ennead VI,4 (22) 3]

It would seem as if there were a contradiction between the present assertions and other statements of ours; and perhaps our demonstration imposes rather than convinces. It is impossible to believe that the essence which is one be also everywhere identical; it would seem preferable to admit that essence, considered in its totality, is susceptible of division, so long as this division does not diminish it; or, to use more careful terms, that it begets all things while remaining with itself; and that the souls that are born of it, and are its parts, fill up everything. But if it be admitted that the One essence remains in Himself because it seems incredible that a principle could everywhere be present entire, the same difficulty would hinder us in regard to souls; for it will result that each of them will no longer be entire in the whole body, but will be divided therein, or, if each individual soul remain entire, that it is by remaining in one part of the body, that the soul will communicate her power to it. These same questions about the soul could be raised about the powers of the soul, and we might ask if they be all entire everywhere. Last, one could be led to believe that the soul was in one member, while her power was in another. [Ennead VI,4 (22) 4]

Let us first explain how there can be a plurality of intelligences, souls, and essences. If we consider the things that proceed from the first principles, as they are numbers and not magnitudes, we shall also have to ask ourselves how they fill the universe. This plurality which thus arises from the first principles does not in any way help us to solve our question, since we have granted that essence is multiple because of the difference (of the beings that proceed from it), and not by place; for though it be multiple, it is simultaneously entire; “essence everywhere touches essence,” and it is everywhere entirely present. Intelligence likewise is manifold by the difference (of the intelligences that proceed therefrom), and not by space; it is entire everywhere. It is so also with souls; even their part which is divisible in the bodies is indivisible by its nature. But the bodies possess extension because the soul is present with them; or rather, it is because there are bodies in the sense-world; it is because the power of the Soul (that is universal) which is in them manifests itself in all their parts, that the Soul herself seems to have parts. What proves that she is not divided as they are, and with them, that she is entirely present everywhere, is that by nature she is essentially one and indivisible. Thus, the unity of the Soul does not exclude the plurality of souls, any more than the unity of essence excludes the plurality of (beings), or that the plurality of intelligibles does not disagree with the existence of the One. It is not necessary to admit that the Soul imparts life to the bodies by the plurality of souls, nor that that plurality derives from the extension of the body (of the world). Before there ever were any bodies, there was already one (universal) Soul and several (individual) souls. The individual souls existed already in the universal Soul, not potentially, but each in actuality. The unity of the universal Soul does not hinder the multitude of the individual souls contained within her; the multitude of the individual souls does not hinder the unity of the universal Soul. They are distinct without being separated by any interval; they are present to each other instead of being foreign to each other; for they are not separated from each other by any limits, any more than different sciences are within a single soul. The Soul is such that in her unity she contains all the souls. Such a nature is, therefore, infinite. [Ennead VI,4 (22) 4]

Let us return to this question: How can the same principle exist in all things? This question amounts to asking how each of the sense-objects which form a plurality and which occupy different places, can, nevertheless, participate in the same principle; for it is not allowable to divide unity into a multitude of parts; it would be more fitting to reduce the multitude of parts to unity, which could not approach them. But when these parts occupy different places, they have led us to believe that unity likewise is split up, as if the power which dominates and which contains were divided into as many parts as that which is contained. The hand itself (though corporeal), may hold an entire body, such as a piece of wood several feet in length, and other objects. In this case, the force that holds makes itself felt in the whole object that is felt, and does not distribute itself in as many parts as it may contain, though it be circumscribed by the limit of the reach of the hand. Nevertheless, the hand is limited by its own extension, and not by that of the body which is held or suspended. Add to the suspended body some other length, and admitting that the hand can carry it, its force will hold the entire body without dividing into as many parts as it may contain. Now suppose that the corporeal mass of the hand be annihilated, and, nevertheless, allow the force which, before, existed in the hand and held the weight, to persist; will not this same force, indivisible in the totality, be equally indivisible in each of its parts? [Ennead VI,4 (22) 6]

Imagine a luminous point which serves as centre, and imagine around it a transparent sphere, so that the clearness of the luminous point shines in the whole body that surrounds it without the exterior receiving any light from elsewhere; you will surely have to acknowledge that this interior light, by remaining impassible, penetrates the whole surrounding mass, and that it embraces the whole sphere from the central point in which it is seen to shine. The truth is that the light did not emanate from the little body placed in the centre; for this little body did not glow inasmuch as it was a body, but inasmuch as it was a luminous body; that means, by virtue of an incorporeal power. Now in thought annihilate the mass of the little luminous body, and preserve its luminous power; could you still say that light is somewhere? Will it not be equally in the interior, and in the whole exterior sphere? You will no longer perceive where it was fixed before, and you will no longer say whence it comes, nor where it is; in this respect you will remain uncertain and astonished; you will see the light shine simultaneously in the interior and in the exterior sphere. An example of this is the solar light that shines in the air when you look at the body of the sun, at the same time that you perceive everywhere the same light without any division; that is demonstrated by objects that intercept the light; they reflect it nowhere else than in the direction from which it came; they do not shatter it into fragments. But if the sun were an incorporeal power, you could not, when it would radiate light, tell where the light began, nor from where it was sent; there would be but a single light, the same everywhere, having neither point of beginning, nor principle from which it proceeds. [Ennead VI,4 (22) 7]

When light emanates from a body it is easy to tell when it shines, because the location of that body is known. But if a being be immaterial, if it have no need of a body, if it be anterior to all bodies, and be founded on itself, or rather if it have no need, as has a body, or resting on any foundation — then, a being endowed with such a nature has no origin from which it is derived, resides in no place, and depends on no body. How could you then say that one of its parts is here, and another is there? For thus it would have an origin from which it had issued, and it would depend from something. We must, therefore, say that if something participate in this being by the power of the universe, it participates in this being entirely, without thereby being changed or divided; for it is a being united to a body that suffers (although often that happens to it only accidentally), and in this respect it may be said that it is passive and divisible, since it is some part of the body, either its passion, or form. As to the (being) which is united to any body, and to which the body aspires to be united, it must in no manner share the passions of the body, as such; for the essential passion of the body, as such, is to divide itself. If, therefore, the body be by nature inclined to divide itself, then is the incorporeal, by nature, indivisible. How, in fact, could one divide that which has no extension? If, therefore, the extended (being) participate in the (being) which has no extension, it participates in this (being) without dividing it; otherwise, this (being) would have extension. Consequently, when you say that the unity (of the universal essence) is in the manifold, you do not say that unity has become manifoldness, but you refer to this unity the manner of existence of the multitude, seeing it in this whole multitude simultaneously. As to this Unity, it will have to be understood that it belongs to no individual, nor to the whole multitude, but that it belongs to itself alone, that it is itself, and that, being itself, it does not fail to support itself. Nor does it possess a magnitude such as of our universe, nor, let alone, such as that of one of the parts of the universe; for it has absolutely no magnitude. How could it have any magnitude? It is the body that should have such magnitude. As to the (being) whose nature is entirely different from that of the body, no magnitude should be ascribed to it. If it have no magnitude, it is nowhere; it is neither here nor there; for if so, it would be in several places. If then the local division suits only the (being) of which one part is here, and the other there, how could the (being) that is neither here nor there be divided? Consequently, the incorporeal (being) must remain indivisible in itself, although the multitude of things aspire to unite itself to it, and succeeds therein. If they aspire to possess it, they aspire to possess it entire, so that if they succeed in participating in that (being), they will participate in that entire (being) so far as their capacity reaches. Nevertheless, the things that participate in this (being) must participate in it as if they did not participate in it, in this sense that it does not belong exclusively to any of them. It is thus that this (being) dwells entirely in itself, and in the things in which it manifests; if it did not remain entire, it would no more be itself, and things would no longer participate in the (being) to which they aspire, but in some other (being) to which they did not aspire. [Ennead VI,4 (22) 8]

But if (the intelligible Being) be present everywhere, why do not all (beings) participate in the intelligible (Being) entire? Why are there several degrees amidst these (beings), one being the first, the other the second, and so on? Because the (beings) which are capable of absorbing (intelligible Being) are counted as present thereto. Essence exists everywhere in that which is essence, thus never failing itself. Everything that can be present to it is present in reality, in the measure of its capacity, not in a local manner, as light is modified by transparence; for participation takes place differently in an opaque body. If we distinguish several degrees among beings, we shall surely have to conceive that the first is separated from the second, and the second from the third, only by its order, its power, its (individual) differences, but not by its location. In the intelligible world nothing hinders different things from subsisting together, such as soul and intelligence, and all the sciences, superior or inferior. Thus also in a single apple the eye sees color, the nostril smells perfume, and each other sense-organ perceives its individual quality. All these things subsist together and are not separated from each other. [Ennead VI,4 (22) 11]

When a sound resounds in the air, and when it constitutes a word, the ear that is present hears and perceives this sound and this word, especially if the place be quiet. If another ear should come to be in this place, the sound and the word approach it likewise, or rather, this ear will approach the word. Suppose also that several eyes consider the same object; all are filled with its sight, although this object occupy a determinate place. Thus the same object will impress different organs with different perceptions, because the one is an eye, and the other is an ear. Likewise, all the things that can participate in the soul do participate therein, but each receives a different power from one and the same principle. The sound is everywhere present in the air; it is not a divided unity, but a unity present everywhere, entirely. Likewise, if the air receive the form of the visible object, it possesses it without division, for, in whatever place the eye should place itself, it perceives the form of the visible object; at, least, according to our opinion, for not all philosophers agree herewith. We give these examples to explain how several things may participate in one and the same principle. Besides, the example of the sound suffices to demonstrate what we here wish to explain; namely, that the entire form is present in the entire air; for all men would not hear the same thing, if the word uttered by the sound were everywhere entire, and if each ear did not likewise hear it entire. Now if in this case the entire word spread in the entire air, without some definite part of the word being united to a certain part of the air, and some other part of the word being united with another part of the air, how could we refuse to admit that a single Soul penetrates everywhere without dividing herself with the things, that she is entirely present everywhere where she is, that she is everywhere in the world without dividing into parts that correspond to those of the world? When she has united with the bodies, in whatever kind of union, she bears an analogy to the word which has been pronounced in the air, while before uniting with the bodies, she resembles him who pronounces, or is about to pronounce some word. Nevertheless, even when she has united to the bodies, she does not really in certain respects cease resembling him who pronounces a word, and who, while pronouncing it, possesses it, and gives it at the same time. Doubtless the word does not have a nature identical with those things that we proposed to illustrate by this example; nevertheless, there is much analogy between them. [Ennead VI,4 (22) 12]

This is how this participation takes place for the parts of this universe (that is, the bodies). Being situated as it were on the confines of the intelligible world, the soul often gives the body something of herself; for, by her power (or potentiality), she is the neighbor of the body; and finding herself close to it, she enters into dealings therewith by virtue of a law of her nature; but this intercourse is of evil, and to enfranchise herself from the body is good. Why? Because if the soul be not the (property or slave) of the body in this intercourse, she, nevertheless, unites herself to it, and though she were universal, she becomes individual; for her activity no longer is exclusively confined to the intelligible world, although (she still, by nature) belong thereto. It is as if someone, who was an expert in a whole science, confined himself to a single proposition thereof; whereas a person who possesses a whole science should naturally consider its entirety, and not a mere part of it. Likewise the soul, which belonged entirely to the intelligible world, and which partially blended her particular essence with the total Essence, withdrew out of the universal Essence, and became individual essence, because the body to which she confines her activities is only a part of this universe. It is as if the fire, endowed with the ability of burning everything, was reduced to burn out some small object, although it possessed power of universal scope. Indeed, when the particular soul is separated from the body, she is no longer particular (in actualization); on the contrary, when she has separated herself from the universal Soul, not by passing from one locality to another, but by applying her activity (to a part of this universe, to a body), she becomes particular (in actualization), though she remain universal in another manner (in potentiality); for when the soul presides over no body she is truly universal, and is particular only in potentiality. [Ennead VI,4 (22) 16]

How can the intelligible, which has no extension, penetrate into the whole body of the universe, which has no such extension? How does it remain single and identical, and how does it not split up? This question has been raised several times, and we sought to answer it, so as to leave no uncertainty. We have often demonstrated that the things are thus; nevertheless, it will be well to give some further convincing proofs, although we have already given the strongest demonstration, and the most evident one, by teaching the quality of the nature of the intelligible, explaining that it is not a vast mass, some enormous stone which, located in space, might be said to occupy an extension determined by its own magnitude, and would be incapable of going beyond its limits; for its mass and its power would be measured by its own nature, which is that of a stone. (The intelligible Essence, on the contrary,) being the primary nature, has no extension that is limited or measured, because it itself is the measure of the sense-nature; and because it is the universal power without any determinate magnitude. Nor is it within time, because the time is continually divided into intervals, while eternity dwells in its own identity, dominating and surpassing time by its perpetual power, though this seemed to have an unlimited course. Time may be compared to a line which, while extending indefinitely, ever depends from a point, and turns around it; so, that, into whatever place it advances, it always reveals the immovable point around which it moves in a circle. If, by nature, time be in the same relation (as is this line with its centre), and if the identical Essence be infinite by its power as well as by its eternity, by virtue of its infinite power it will have to produce a nature which would in some way be parallel to this infinite power, which rises with it, and depends from it, and which finally, by the movable course of time, tries to equal this power which remains movable in itself. But then even this power of the intelligible Essence remains superior to the universe, because the former determines the extension of the latter. [Ennead VI,5 (23) 11]

But how can it be everywhere? Remember, the power of life is not a determinate quantity; if, by thought, it be infinitely divided, still it never alters its fundamental characteristic of infinity. This Life does not contain any matter; consequently, it cannot be split up like a mass, and end in being reduced to nothing. When you have succeeded in gaining a conception of the inexhaustible and infinite power of the intelligent Essence; of its nature that is unceasing, indefatigable; that suffices itself completely, to the point that its life, so to speak, overflows, whatever be the place on which you fix your gaze, or direct your attention; where will you find absence of that intelligible Essence? On the contrary, you can neither surpass its greatness, nor arrive at anything infinitely small, as if the intelligible Essence had nothing further to give, and as if it were gradually becoming exhausted. [Ennead VI,5 (23) 12]

Since we have distinguished two principles, the one which is the first thinking principle (the Intelligence), and the other which is the second (the Soul), the Principle superior to the first thinking principle must itself not think. In order to think, it would have to be Intelligence; to be Intelligence, it would have to think an object; to be the first thinking principle, it would have to contain this object. Now it is not necessary that every intelligible entity should possess intelligence, and should think; otherwise it would not only be intelligible, but even Intelligence; being thus dual, it would not be the first. On the other hand, intelligence cannot subsist, if there be not a purely intelligible nature (“being”), which is intelligible for Intelligence, but which in itself should be neither intelligence nor intelligible. Indeed, that which is intelligible must be intelligible for something else. As to Intelligence, its power is quite vain, if it does not perceive and does not grasp the intelligible that it thinks; for it cannot think, if it have no object to think; and it is perfect only when it possesses this. Now, before thinking, it must by itself be perfect by nature (“being”). Therefore, the principle through which intelligence is perfect must itself be what it is before it thinks; consequently, it has no need to think, since, before thinking, it suffices to itself. It will, therefore, not think. [Ennead V,6 (24) 2]

As the Good must be simple, and self-sufficient, it has no need to think. Now that which it does not need could not be within it, since nothing (that is different from it) exists in it; consequently, thought does not exist in it (because it is essentially simple). Besides, the Good is one thing, and Intelligence another; by thinking, Intelligence takes on the form of Good. Besides, when in two objects unity is joined to something other than itself, it is not possible that this unity, which is joined to something else, should be Unity itself. Unity in itself should exist in itself before this unity was joined to anything else. For the same reason, unity joined to something else presupposes absolutely simple Unity, which subsists in itself, and has nothing of what is found in unity joined to other things. How could one thing subsist in another if the principle, from which this other thing is derived, did not have an existence that was independent, and prior to the rest? What is simple cannot derive anything from any other source; but what is manifold, or at least indicates plurality, is of derivative (nature). The Good may be compared to light, Intelligence to the sun, and the Soul to the moon that derives her light from the sun. The Soul’s intelligence is only borrowed, which intellectualizes her by coloring her with its light. On the contrary, Intelligence, in itself, possesses its own light; it is not only light, but it is essentially luminous. The Principle that illuminates Intelligence and which is nothing but light, is absolutely simple light, and supplies Intelligence with the power to be what it is. How could it need anything else? It is not similar to what exists in anything else; for what subsists in itself is very different from what subsists in something else. [Ennead V,6 (24) 4]

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

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

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]

Thus matter is a shapeless image, into which enter, and out of which issue the images of beings. These appear in it precisely because matter has no shape, though they seem to produce something in it, they really produce nothing in it. They have no consistence, strength, nor solidity; as matter has none either, they enter into it without dividing it, as if they would penetrate water, or as shapes might move in emptiness. If the images that appear in matter had the same nature as the objects they represent and from which they emanate, then, if we attribute to the images a little of the power of the objects that project them, we might be right in considering them able to affect matter. But as the things that we see in matter do not have the same nature as the objects of which they are the images, it is not true that matter suffers when receiving them; they are no more than false appearances without any resemblance to what produces them. Feeble and false by themselves, they enter into a thing that is equally false. They must therefore leave it as impassible as a mirror, or water; producing on it no more effect than does a dream on the soul. These comparisons, however, are yet imperfect, because in these cases there is still some resemblance between the images and the objects. [Ennead III,6 (26) 7]

Neither is matter magnitude itself; for magnitude is a form, and not a residence; it exists by itself (for matter cannot even appropriate the images of beings). Not even in this respect, therefore, is matter magnitude. But as that which exists in intelligence or in the soul desired to acquire magnitude, it imparted to the things that desired to imitate magnitude by their aspiration or movement, the power to impress on some other object a modification analogous to their own. Thus magnitude, by developing in the procession of imagination, dragged along with itself the smallness of matter, made it seem large by extending it along with itself, without becoming filled by that extension. The magnitude of matter is a false magnitude, since matter does not by itself possess magnitude, and by extending itself along with magnitude, has shared the extension of the latter. Indeed as all intelligible beings are reflected, either in other things in general, or in one of them in particular, as each of them was large, the totality also is, in this manner, great (?). Thus the magnitude of each reason constituted a particular magnitude, as, for instance, a horse, or some other being. The image formed by the universal reflection of intelligible beings became a magnitude, because it was illuminated by magnitude itself. Every part of it became a special magnitude; and all things together seemed great by virtue of the universal form to which magnitude belongs. Thus occurred the extension of each thing towards each of the others, and towards their totality. The amount of this extension in form and in mass necessarily depended on the power, that transformed what in reality was nothing to an appearance of being all things. In the same manner color, that arose out of what is not color, and quality, that arose out of what is not quality, here below were referred to by the same name as the intelligible entities (of which they are the images). The case is similar for magnitude, which arose out of that which has none, or at least out of that magnitude that bears the same name (as intelligible magnitude). [Ennead III,6 (26) 17]

Sense-objects, therefore, occupy a rank intermediary between matter and form itself. They no doubt appear, because they are derived from intelligible entities; but they are deceptive, because the matter in which they appear does not really exist. Each of them becomes a magnitude, because it is extended through the power of the entities that appear here below, and which locate themselves here. Thus we have, in every direction, the production of an extension; and that without matter undergoing any violence, because (potentially) it is all things. Everything produces its own extension by the power it derives from the intelligible entities. What imparts magnitude to matter is the appearance of magnitude, and it is this appearance that forms our earthly magnitude. Matter yields itself everywhere entirely to the extension it thus, by the universal appearance of magnitude, is forced to take on. Indeed, by its nature, matter is the matter of everything, and consequently is nothing determinate. Now that which is nothing determinate by itself could become its opposite (of what it is), and even after thus having become its own opposite, it is not yet really this opposite; otherwise this opposite would be its nature. [Ennead III,6 (26) 17]

Let us now suppose that a conception of magnitude were possessed by some being which would have the power not only to be in itself, but also to produce itself externally; and that it should meet a nature (such as matter) that was incapable of existing within intelligence, of having a form, of revealing any trace of real magnitude, or any quality. What would such a being do with such a power? It would create neither a horse nor an ox; for other causes (the “seminal) reasons” would produce them. Indeed, that which proceeds from magnitude itself cannot be real magnitude; it must therefore be apparent magnitude. Thus, since matter has not received real magnitude, all it can do is to be as great as its nature will permit; that is, to seem great. To accomplish that, it must not fail anywhere; and, if it be extended, it cannot be a discrete quantity, but all its parts must be united, and absent in no place. Indeed, it was impossible for a small mass to contain an image of magnitude that would equal the real magnitude, since it is only an image of magnitude; but, carried away with the hope of achieving the magnitude to which it aspired, this image extended to its limit, along with matter, which shared its extension because matter could not follow it. That is how this image of magnitude magnified what was not great, without however making it seem really great, and produced the magnitude that appears in its mass. None the less does matter preserve its nature, though it be veiled by this apparent magnitude, as if by a garment with which it covered itself when it followed the magnitude that involved it in its extension. If matter ever happened to be stripped of this garment, it would nevertheless remain what itself was before; for it possesses magnitude only in so far as form by its presence makes it great. [Ennead III,6 (26) 18]

As the soul possesses the forms of beings, and as she herself is a form, she possesses all things simultaneously. Containing all the forms, and besides seeing the forms of sense-objects turning towards her, and approaching her, she is not willing to accept them, along with their manifoldness. She considers them only after making abstractions of their mass; for the soul could not become other than she is. But as matter does not have the strength to resist, possessing as it does no special characteristic activity, and being no more than an adumbration, matter yields to everything that active power proposes to inflict on it. Besides, that which proceeds from intelligible (nature) possesses already a trace of what is to be produced in matter. That is how discursive reason which moves within the sphere of representative imagination, or the movement produced by reason, implies division; for if reason remained within unity and identity, it would not move, but remain at rest. Besides, not as the soul does, can matter receive all forms simultaneously; otherwise it would be a form. As it must contain all things, without however containing them in an indivisible manner, it is necessary that, serving as it does as location for all things, it should extend towards all of them, everywhere offering itself to all of them, avoiding no part of space, because it is not restricted within any boundary of space, and because it is always ready to receive what is to be. How then does it happen that one thing, on entering into matter, does not hinder the entrance of other things, which, however, cannot co-exist with the former thing? The reason is that matter is not a first principle. Otherwise, it would be the very form of the universe. Such a form, indeed, would be both all things simultaneously, and each thing in particular. Indeed the matter of the living being is divided as are the very parts of the living being; otherwise nothing but reason would exist. [Ennead III,6 (26) 18]

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

If the universal Soul communicate herself to all individual animals, and if it be in this sense that each soul is a part of the universal Soul — for as soon as she would be divided, the universal Soul could not communicate herself to every part — the universal must be entire everywhere, and she must simultaneously be one and the same in different beings. Now this hypothesis no longer permits us to distinguish on one hand the universal Soul, and on the other the parts of this soul, so much the more as these parts have the same power (as the universal Soul); for even for organs whose functions are different, as the eyes and ears, it will not be claimed that there is one part of the soul in the eyes, and another in the ears — such a division would suit only things that have no relation with the soul. We should insist that it is the same part of the soul which animates these two different organs, exercising in each of them a different faculty. Indeed, all the powers of the soul are present in these two senses (of sight and hearing), and the only cause of the difference of their perceptions is the differences of the organs. Nevertheless all perceptions belong to forms (that is, to faculties of the soul), and reduce to a form (the soul) which can become all things (?). This is further proved by the fact that the impressions are forced to come and centre in an only centre. Doubtless the organs by means of which we perceive cannot make us perceive all things, and consequently the impressions differ with the organs. Nevertheless the judgment of these impressions belongs to one and the same principle, which resembles a judge attentive to the words and acts submitted to his consideration. We have, however, said above that it is one and the same principle which produces acts belonging to different functions (as are sight and hearing). If these functions be like the senses, it is not possible that each of them should think; for the universal alone would be capable of this. If thought be a special independent function, every intelligence subsists by itself. Further, when the soul is reasonable, and when she is so in a way such as to be called reasonable in her entirety, that which is called a part conforms to the whole, and consequently is not a part of the whole. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 3]

If there be similarity between the universal Soul and the individual souls, how does it happen that the former created the world, while the others did not do so, though each of them also contain all things within herself, and since we have already shown that the productive power can exist simultaneously in several beings? By explaining its “reason” we can thus examine and discover how the same nature (“being”) can act or experience, or act and experience, in a different manner in different beings. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 6]

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]

That is what seems true to us. As to the Philebus   passage (quoted in the first section), it might mean that all souls were parts of the universal Soul. That, however, is not its true meaning, as held by some. It only means what Plato desired to assert in this place, namely, that heaven is animate. Plato proves this by saying that it would be absurd to insist that heaven has no soul, when our body, which is only a part of the body of the universe, nevertheless has a soul; but how could a part be animate, unless the whole was so also? It is especially in the Timaeus   that Plato clearly expresses his thought. After having described the birth of the universal Soul, he shows the other souls born later from the mixture made in the same vase from which the universal Soul was drawn. He asserts that they are similar to the universal Soul, and that their difference consists in that they occupy the second or third rank. That is further confirmed by this passage of the Phaedrus  : “The universal Soul cares for what is inanimate.” Outside of the Soul, indeed, what power would manage, fashion, ordain and produce the body? It would be nonsense to attribute this power to one soul, and not to another. (Plato) adds (in substance): “The Perfect Soul, the Soul of the universe, hovering in the ethereal region, acts on the earth without entering into it, being borne above him as in a chariot. The other souls that are perfect share with it the administration of the world.” When Plato speaks of the soul as having lost her wings, he is evidently distinguishing individual souls from the universal Soul. One might also conclude that our souls are part of the universal Soul from his statement that the souls follow the circular movement of the universe, that from it they derive their characteristics, and that they undergo its influence. Indeed, they might very easily undergo the influence exercised by the nature of the special localities, of the waters and the air of the towns they inhabit, and the temperament of the bodies to which they are joined. We have indeed acknowledged that, being contained in the universe, we possess something of the life-characteristic of the universal Soul, and that we undergo the influence of the circular movement of the heavens. But we have also shown that there is within us another (rational) soul, which is capable of resistance to these influences, and which manifests its different character precisely by the resistance she offers them. The objection that we are begotten within the universe may be answered by the fact that the child is likewise begotten within its mother’s womb, and that nevertheless the soul that enters into its body is distinct from that of its mother. Such is our solution of the problem. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 7]

(It might still be asked) whether what is stable can be called infinite? That which is stable is potentially infinite, because its power is infinite without being also infinitely divided; for the divinity too is infinite. Thus each soul is what the divinity’s nature is, without receiving from any other either limit or determinate quantity. The soul extends as far as she wishes. She is never forced to go further, but everywhere she descends towards bodies and penetrates into them, according to her nature. Besides, she never separates from herself, though present in finger or in foot. Not otherwise is it with the universe: wherever the Soul penetrates, she ever remains indivisible, as when she penetrates into the different parts of a plant. Then, if you cut a certain part, the principle which communicates life to it remains present both in the plant and in the part detached therefrom. The body of the universe is single, and the Soul is everywhere in her unity. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 8]

If there were no body, the soul could not have any procession, since the body is the natural locality of her development. As the soul must extend, she will beget a receiving locality, and will, consequently, produce the body. The soul’s rest is based, and depends for growth on (the intellectual category of) rest itself. The soul thus resembles an immense light which weakens as it becomes more distant from its source, so that at the extremity of its radiation, it has become no more than an adumbration. However, the soul evidently gave a form to this adumbration from the very beginning of things. It was, indeed, by no means suitable that what approached the soul should in no way participate in reason; consequently there came to be an adumbration of reason in (matter), this adumbration being the soul. The universe thus became a beautiful and varied dwelling, which was not deprived of the presence of the universal Soul by her not totally incorporating within it. She judged that the whole universe was worthy of her care, and she thus gave it as much “being” and beauty as it was able to receive, without herself losing any of it, because she manages the world while herself remaining above it in the intelligible sphere. By so animating it, she thus grants it her presence, without becoming its property; she dominates it, and possesses it, without being, thereby, dominated or possessed. The universe, indeed, is in the containing Soul, and participates therein entirely. (The universe is in the Soul as is) a net in the sea, on all sides penetrated and enveloped by life, without ever being able to appropriate it. So far as it can, this net extends along with the sea, for none of its parts could be elsewhere than it is. By nature the universal Soul is immense, because her magnitude is not definite; so that by one and the same power she embraces the entire body of the world, and is present throughout the whole extension. Without it, the world-Soul would make no effort to proceed into extension, for by herself she is all that it is her nature to be. The magnitude of the universe therefore is determined by that of the location of the Soul; and the limits of its extent are those of the space within which it is animated by her. The extension of the adumbration of the Soul is therefore determined by that of the “reason” which radiates from this focus of light; and on the other hand, this “reason” was to produce such an extension as its nature urged it to produce. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 9]

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]

The ancient sages, who wished to materialize the divinities by making statues of them, seem to me to have well judged the nature of the universe. They understood that the being of the universal Soul was easy to attract anywhere, that her presence can easily be summoned in everything suited to receive her action, and thus to participate somewhat in her power. Now anything is suited to undergo the action of the soul when it lends itself like a mirror to the reflection of any kind of an image. In the universe nature most artistically forms all beings in the image of the reasons it contains. In each of (nature’s) works the (“seminal) reason” that is united to matter, being the image of the reason superior to the matter (of the idea), reattaches itself to divinity (to Intelligence), according to which it was begotten, and which the universal Soul contemplated while creating. It was therefore equally impossible that there should be here below anything which did not participate in the divinity, and which the latter brought down here below; for (the divinity) is Intelligence, the sun that shines there on high. Let us consider (the universal Soul) as the model of reason. Below the Intelligence is the Soul, which depends on it, which subsists by and with it. The Soul holds to this sun (of Intelligence); the Soul is the intermediary by which the beings here below are reattached to intelligible beings; she is the interpreter of things which descend from the intelligible world into the sense-world, and of the things of the sense-world which return into the intelligible world. Indeed, intelligible things are not separated from each other; they are distinguished only by their difference and their constitution. Each of them remains within itself, without any relation to locality; they are simultaneously united and separate. The beings that we call divinities deserve to be considered such because they never swerve from intelligible entities, because they depend on the universal Soul considered in her principle, at the very moment of the Soul’s issuing from Intelligence. Thus these beings are divinities by virtue of the very principle to which they owe their existence, and because they devote themselves to the contemplation of Intelligence, from which the universal Soul herself does not distract her gaze. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 11]

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

(Following both Hesiod and the Gnostics, Plotinos   relates that) a woman was formed by Prometheus, and adorned by the other divinities. This piece of clay, after having been kneaded with water, was endowed with a human voice, and received a form similar to the deities. Then Venus, the Graces and the other deities each gave her a gift. That is why this woman was called Pandora, because (as her name implies, in Greek) she had received gifts, which had been given by all the divinities. All, in fact, made some present to this piece of clay already fashioned by some kind of providence (“Prometheia,” or “Prometheus”). When Epimetheus rejects the gift of Prometheus, it only indicates that it is better to live in the intelligible world. The creator of Pandora, however, is bound because he seems attached to his work. But this bond is entirely exterior, and it is broken by Hercules, because the latter possesses a liberating power. Whatever other interpretation the myth of Pandora may receive, it must still signify gifts received by the world, and its import must agree with our teaching. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 14]

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

(It might be objected) that if the souls on high do not reason, they will no longer be reasonable. They remain reasonable, however, because they are well able to penetrate into the essence of something, whenever the occasion demands it. Ratiocination should be considered as follows. If it consist in a disposition that is always derived from Intelligence, in an immanent act, a reflection of this power in souls, these must also reason in the intelligible world; but then they have no further need of language. Likewise, when they inhabit heaven, neither do they need to take recourse to speech, as do the souls here below, as a result of their needs and uncertainties. They act in an orderly manner, and in conformity with nature, without premeditation or deliberation. They know each other by a simple intuition, as even here below we know our like without their talking to us, by a mere glance. On high every body is pure and transparent. Each person there, is, as it were, an eye. Nothing is hidden or simulated. Before you have spoken, your thought is already known. It is probable that speech is used by the guardians and other living inhabitants of the air, for they are living beings. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 18]

By the mere fact that it feels by means of the entire body, every sense-power undergoes division. Since it is present everywhere, it may be said to be divided. But as, on the other hand, it manifests itself everywhere as a whole, it cannot really be considered as divided. We cannot go further than the statement that it becomes divisible in bodies. Some might object that it was divided only in the sense of touch. It is however also divided in the other senses, since it is always the same body that receives it, but only less so. The case is the same with the power of growth and nutrition; and if appetite have its seat in the liver, and anger in the heart, these appetites must be subject to the same conditions. Besides, it is possible that the body does not receive those appetites in a mixture, or that it receives them in some other manner, so that they result from some of the things that the body derives from the soul by participations. Reason and intelligence, however, are not communicated to the body because they stand in no need of any organs to fulfil their functions. On the contrary, they find in them only an obstacle to their operations. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 19]

Thus the indivisible and the divisible are in the soul two distinct parts, and not two things mingled together so as to constitute but a single one. They form a single whole composed of two parts, each of which is pure and separable from the other by its characteristic power. If then the part which in the body becomes divisible receives from the superior part the power of being indivisible, this same part might simultaneously be divisible and indivisible, as a mixture of divisible nature and of the (indivisible) power received by it from the higher part. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 19]

Since none of the comparisons that we have formerly examined seems to express the relation of the soul to the body, properly we might say that the soul is in the body as the pilot is in the ship. This illustration is satisfactory in that it emphasizes the soul’s being separable from the body; but it does not properly indicate the presence of the soul in the body. If the soul be present in the body as a passenger in a ship, it would be there only by accident, and the illustration is not yet satisfactory if changed to the pilot’s presence in the ship he is steering; for the pilot is not present to the whole of the ship as the whole soul is in the body. One might illustrate the soul’s presence in the body as an art inheres in its instruments; as, for instance, in the helm, which might be supposed to be alive, containing the power of steering the ship skilfully. This is still unsatisfactory, because such an art comes from without. The soul might indeed be compared to a pilot who should be incarnated in his helm; and the soul might be in the body as in some natural instrument, so that the soul would move it at pleasure. This however might still fail to explain the manner in which the soul would exist in her instrument. Therefore, though the latter illustration is an improvement on the former, we must still seek one which closer approaches reality. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 21]

Since, for the body, being animated amounts to being penetrated by the light shed by the soul, every part of the body participates therein in some particular manner. Each organ, according to its fitness, receives the power suitable to the function it fulfils. Thus we may say that the power of sight resides in the eyes; that of hearing in the ears; that of taste in the tongue; that of smell in the nose; that of touch in the whole body, since, for the latter sense, the whole body is the organ of the soul. Now as the instruments for touch are the first nerves, which also possess the power of moving the organism, as they are the seat of this power; as, besides, the nerves originate in the brain, in the brain has been localized the principle of sensation and appetite — in short, the principle of the whole organism; no doubt because it was thought that the power which uses the organs is present in that part of the body where are the origins of these organs. It would have been better to say that it is the action of the power that makes use of the organs that originates in the brain; for that part of the body from which starts the movement impressed on the organ had to serve somewhat as a foundation for the power of the workman, a power whose nature is in harmony with that of the organ (it sets in motion); or rather, this part of the body does not serve as foundation for this power, for this power is everywhere, but the principle of the action is in that part of the body in which is the very principle of that organ. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 23]

On the other hand, as the power of sensation and the power of appetite, which belong to the sensible and imaginative soul, are beneath reason, because they are related to what is inferior, while reason is above, the result was that the ancients localized reason in the highest part of the animal, in the head; not that reason is in the brain, but because reason is seated in the sense-power, by the intermediation of which, only, reason may be said to reside in the brain. The sense-power, surely, had to be attributed to the body, and, within the body, to the organs most capable of lending themselves to its action. Reason, which has no (direct) dealing with the body, had however to be in relation with the sense-power, which is a form of the soul, and can participate in reason. The sense-power, does, to a certain extent, judge; and the power of imagination has something intellectual. Last, the appetite, and the desire somehow connect with imagination and reason. Reason, therefore, is in the head, not as in a locality, but because it is in relation with the sense-power which resides in that organ, as has been shown above. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 23]

As the power of growth, nutrition, and generation operates all through the entire body; and as it is by the blood that the body is nourished; as the blood is contained in the veins; and as the veins, as well as the blood, originate in the liver; this organ has been assigned as the seat of that part of the soul called appetite; for appetite is involved in the power of begetting, of feeding and increasing the body. Further as the blood (purified by respiration) is subtle, light, mobile and pure, the heart becomes a suitable instrument for the power of anger, for the blood that possesses these qualities starts from the heart. Therefore, with good reason, the heart is assigned as the seat of the turbulent convulsions of the power of anger. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 23]

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

But perhaps our solution seems superficial, and appears to rest on an insufficient analysis. It might indeed be asked whether memory and reminiscence, instead of belonging to the rational soul, might not characterize the lower soul, or the composite of soul and body that we call the organism? If indeed they belong to the lower soul, from where does the latter derive them, and how does she possess them? The same question may further be asked in the case of the organism. To answer all this, we shall, as said above, have to study our own interior principle to which memory belongs. If it be the soul that possesses memory, we shall have to ask what faculty or part thereof is constituted by memory. If, as has been urged by some, it be the organism to which memory belongs, and considering the organism as the sentient principle, how could this faculty operate within it? Besides, what is it that we should call the organism? Further, is it the same power that perceives sense-objects, and intelligible entities, or are there two distinct powers? [Ennead IV,3 (27) 25]

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

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]

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

Is the power of perception common to the reasonable soul and to the irrational soul, and will we grant that it possesses the memory of sense-objects and of intelligible things? To recognize that it is one and the same power which equally perceives both kinds of things, is already to take one step towards the solution of the problem. But if we divide this power into two, there will nevertheless still be two kinds of memory; further, if we allow two kinds of memory to each of the two souls (the rational and the irrational), there will be four kinds of memory. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 29]

Are we compelled to remember sensations by sensibility, whether it be the same power which feels sensation, and which remembers sensation, or is it also discursive reason which conceives and remembers conceptions. But the men who reason the best are not those who also remember the best; and those who have equally delicate senses, do not all, on that account, have an equally good memory. On the contrary, some have delicate senses, while others have a good memory, without however being capable of perceiving equally well. On the other hand, if feeling and remembering be mutually independent, there will be (outside of sensibility) another power which will remember things formerly perceived by sensation, and this power will have to feel what it is to remember. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 29]

(To solve all these difficulties) it may be stated that nothing hinders the admission that the actualization of the sensation produces in memory an image, and that the imagination, which differs (from sensation), possesses the power of preserving and recalling these images. It is indeed imagination in which sensation culminates; and when sensation ceases, imagination preserves its representation. If then this power preserve the image of the absent object, it constitutes memory. According as the image remains for a longer or shorter time, memory is or is not faithful; and our memories last, or are effaced. Memory of sense-objects therefore belongs to the imagination. If this faculty of memory be possessed by different persons in unequal degrees, this difference depends either on the difference of forces, or on practice (or exercise), or on the absence or presence of certain bodily dispositions which may or may not influence memory, or disturb it. But elsewhere we shall study the question further. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 29]

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

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

Jupiter, who governs the world, and endues it with order and beauty, possesses from all eternity a royal soul and intelligence; he produces things by his providence, and regulates them by his power; in an orderly manner he disposes everything in the development and achievement of the numerous periods of the stars. Do not such acts on Jupiter’s part imply use of memory by which he may know what periods have already been accomplished, and busy himself with the preparation of others by his combinations, his calculations, and reasonings? His being the most skilful administrator in the world would seem to imply that he uses memory. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 9]

The world is administered like a living being, namely, partly from the outside, and from the resulting members, and partly from within, and from the principle. The art of the physician works from outside in, deciding which organ is at fault, operating only with hesitation and after groping around experimentally. Nature, however, starting within from the principle, has no need to deliberate. The power which administers the universe proceeds not like the physician, but like nature. It preserves its simplicity so much the better as it comprises everything in its breast, inasmuch as all things are parts of the living being which is one. Indeed, nature, which is unitary, dominates all individual natures; these proceed from it, but remain attached thereto, like branches of an immense tree, which is the universe. What would be the utility of reasoning, calculation, and memory in a principle that possesses an ever present and active wisdom, and which, by this wisdom, dominates the world and administers it in an immutable manner? That its works are varied and changeful, does not imply that this principle must itself participate in their mutability. It remains immutable even while producing different things. Are not several stages produced successively in each animal, according to its various ages? Are not certain parts born and increased at determinate periods, such as the horns, the beard, and the breasts? Does one not see each being begetting others? Thus, without the degeneration of the earlier (“seminal) reasons,” others develop in their turn. This is proved by the (“seminal) reason” subsisting identical and entire within the same living being. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 11]

Therefore, if the governing Power of the world seems to resemble those who learn, it will be necessary to attribute to it reasoning, reflection, and memory, so that it may compare the past with the present or the future. But if, on the contrary, its knowledge be such as to have nothing more to learn, and to remain in a perfectly stable condition, it evidently possesses wisdom by itself. If it know future things — a privilege that could not be denied it under penalty of absurdity — why would it not also know how they are to occur? Knowing all this, it would have no further need of comparing the past with the present. Besides, this knowledge of its future will not resemble the prevision of the foretellers, but to the certitude entertained by makers about their handiwork. This certitude admits no hesitation, no ambiguity; it is absolute; as soon as it has obtained assent, it remains immutable. Consequently, the wisdom about the future is the same as about the present, because it is immutable; that is, without ratiocination. If, however, it did not know the future things it was to produce, it would not know how to produce them, and it would produce them without rule, accidentally, by chance. In its production, it remains immutable; consequently, it produces without changing, at least as far as permitted by the model borne within it. Its action is therefore uniform, ever the same; otherwise, the soul might err. If its work was to contain differences, it does not derive these from itself, but from the (“seminal) reasons” which themselves proceed from the creating principle. Thus the created things depend from the series of reasons, and the creating principle has no need to hesitate, to deliberate, neither to support a painful work, as was thought by some philosophers who considered the task of regulating the universe wearisome. It would indeed be a tiresome task to handle a strange matter, that is, one which is unmanageable. But when a power by itself dominates (what it forms), it cannot have need of anything but itself and its counsel; that is, its wisdom, for in such a power the counsel is identical with wisdom. It therefore needs nothing for creation, since the wisdom it possesses is not a borrowed wisdom. It needs nothing (extraneous or) adventitious; consequently, neither reasoning nor memory, which faculties yield us nothing but what is adventitious. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 12]

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

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]

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]

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]

We must however not insist on her organs being the same as ours. Not even in all animals are the senses similar. Thus, for instance, not all have similar ears, and even those who have no ears at all nevertheless will perceive sounds. How could the earth see, if light be necessary for her vision? Nor must we claim for her the necessity of having eyes. We have already above granted that she possesses the vegetative power; we should therefore thence draw the deduction that this power is primitively by its essence a sort of spirit. What objection then could there be to assume that this spirit might be resplendent and transparent? Arguing merely from its nature of being a spirit, we should (potentially at least) conclude that it is transparent; and that it is actually transparent because it is illuminated by the celestial sphere. It is therefore neither impossible nor incredible that the soul of the earth should possess sight. Besides, we must remember that this soul is not that of a vile body, and that consequently, she must be a goddess. In any case, this soul must be eternally good. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 26]

If the earth communicate to plant-life the power of begetting and growing, it possesses this power within itself, and gives only a trace of it to the plants which derive from it all their fruitfulness, and as it were are the living flesh of its body. It gives to them what is best in them; this can be seen in the difference between a plant growing in the soil, and of a branch cut from it; the former is a real plant, the latter is only a piece of wood. What is communicated to the body of the earth by the Soul which presides over it? To see this it is sufficient to notice the difference between some earth resting within the soil, and a piece that is detached therefrom. It is likewise easy to recognize that stones increase in size as long as they are in the bosom of the earth, while they remain in the same state when they have been plucked out therefrom. Everything therefore bears within itself a trace of the universal vegetative (power) shed abroad over the whole earth, and belonging particularly to no one of its parts. As to the earth’s power of sensation, it is not (like its vegetative power) mingled with the body of the earth; it only hovers above and guides it. Moreover, the earth possesses also, higher than the above powers, a soul and an intelligence. They bear respectively the names of Ceres and Vesta, according to the revelations of men of prophetic nature, who allow themselves to be inspired by the divine. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 27]

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]

The vegetative power present in the whole body communicates to every part thereof a trace of the soul. It is therefore to the entire body that we must refer suffering, pleasure, and the desire of food. Though nothing definite is ascertained about the seat of sexual desire, let us grant that their seat is in the organs destined to its satisfaction. Further, be it granted that the liver is the seat of the soul’s faculty of desire, because that organ is particularly the theatre of the activities of the vegetative power which impresses a trace of the soul on the body; and further, because it is from the liver that the action it exercises starts. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 28]

As to anger, we shall have to examine its nature, what power of the soul it constitutes, whether it be anger that imparts to the heart a trace of its own power; if there exist another force capable of producing the movement revealed in the animal; and finally, if it be not a trace of anger, but anger itself which resides in the heart. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 28]

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

We have shown that memory is useless to the stars; we have agreed that they have senses, namely, sight and hearing, and the power to hear the prayers addressed to the sun, and also those by many people addressed to the other stars, because these people are persuaded that they receive from them many benefits; they think even that they will obtain them so easily that these men ask the stars to co-operate in actions not only such as are just, but even such as are unjust. Questions raised by the latter point must still be considered. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 30]

Architecture and the fine arts, fulfil themselves in such an object. Medicine, agriculture and similar professions, however, are auxiliary arts, and obey the laws of nature, assisting their efficient production so as to make them as natural as possible. As to rhetoric, music, and other arts of refinement, which serve the education of souls in improving or degrading men, it remains an open question how many there are of them, and what power they possess. In all these things, we will have to examine what may be of use to us for the questions we are treating, and we will have to discover the cause of the facts, as far as possible. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 31]

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

As to the difference found in the figures formed by the stars, it could not be other than it is, because the stars do not advance in their course with equal swiftness. As they move according to the laws of reason, and as their relative positions constitute the different attitudes of this great organism (which is the world), and as all the things that occur here below are, by the laws of sympathy related to those that occur on high, it would be proper to inquire whether terrestrial things are the consequences of the celestial things to which they are similar, or whether the figures possess an efficacious power; and in the latter case, whether all figures possess this power, or if figures are formed by stars only; for the same figure does not bear the same significance, and does not exert the same action in different things, because each being seems to have its own proper nature. It may be said that the configuration of certain things amounts to no more than the mere disposition of things; and that the configuration of other things is the same disposition with another figure. If so, influence should be attributed not to the figures, but to the prefigured realities; or rather, to things identical by their essence, and different by their figures; a different influence will also have to be attributed to the object which differs from the others only by the place it occupies. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 34]

But of what does this influence consist? In significance, or in (genuine effective) action? In many cases, the combination, or thing figured, may be said to have both an action, and a significance; in other cases, however, a significance merely. In second place, both the figures and the things figured should be credited with the powers suitable to each; as with dancers, the hand exerts an influence similar to that of the other members; and, returning to figures, these would exert an influence far greater than a hand in dancing. Last, the third (or lowest) degree of power pertains to those things which follow the lead of the figures, carrying out (their significance); just as, returning to the dance-illustrations, the dancer’s limbs, and the parts of those limbs, ultimately do follow the dance-figures; or (taking a more physiological example), as when the nerves and veins of the hand are contracted by the hand’s motions, and participate therein. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 34]

We shall limit ourselves to the above illustration, which may easily be applied to the rest. The sun does not limit itself to warming terrestrial beings. It makes them also participate in its soul, as far as possible; for it possesses a powerful physical soul. Likewise, the other stars, involuntarily, by a kind of irradiation, transmit to inferior beings somewhat of the (natural) power they possess. Although therefore all things (in the universe) form but a single thing of a particular figure, they offer manifold different dispositions; which different figures themselves each have a characteristic power; for each disposition results in appropriate action. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 35]

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

The universe is full of variety; it contains all the “reasons,” and an infinite number of different powers. So, in the human body, the eye, the bones, and the other organs each have their characteristic power; as, the bone in the hand does not have the same strength as the bone in the foot; and in general, each part has a power different from that possessed by every other part. But unless we observe very carefully, this diversity escapes us in the case of (natural) objects. Much more would it escape us in the world; for the forces that we see in it are (but) the traces of those that exist in the superior region. There must then be in the world an inconceivable and admirable variety of powers, especially in the stars that wander through the heavens. The universe is not a great and vast edifice, inanimate, and composed of things of which it would be easy to catalogue the different kinds, such as stones, lumber, and ornamental structures; it is a wakeful being, living in all its parts, though differently so in each; in short, it includes all that can ever be. This solves the problem, how inanimate matter can exist within an animated living being. Our discussions have therefore taught us that in the universe (nothing is inanimate; that, on the contrary) everything it contains is alive; but each in a different manner. We deny that there is life in objects that we do not see moving; but nevertheless they do live, though only with a latent life. Those whose life is visible are composed of those whose life is invisible, but which nevertheless contribute to the life of this animal by furnishing it with admirable powers. It would therefore be equally impossible that the universe should be alive unless each of the things it contained lived with its own life. Nevertheless the acts of the universe do not depend on choice; it acts without needing to choose, because it precedes any choice. Thus many things obey its forces. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 36]

The universe therefore (contains all that it needs), and rejects (or wastes) nothing. Study, therefore, the fire, and all the other things considered capable of action. Satisfactory investigation of their action would demand recognition that these things derive their power from the universe, and a similar admission for all that belongs to the domain of experience. But we do not usually examine the objects to which we are accustomed, nor raise questions about them. We investigate the nature of a power only when it seems unusual, when its novelty excites our astonishment. Nevertheless we would not be any less astonished at the objects that we see so often if their power were explained to us at a time when we were not yet so thoroughly accustomed to it. Our conclusion therefore is that every thing has a secret (sub-conscious) power inasmuch as it is moulded by, and receives a shape in the universe; participating in the Soul of the universe, being embraced by her, as being a part of this animated All; for there is nothing in this All which is not a part thereof. It is true that there are parts, both on the earth and in the heavens, that act more efficiently than do others; the heavenly things are more potent because they enjoy a better developed nature. These powers produce many things devoid of choice, even in beings that seem to act (purposively); though they are also active in beings that lack that ability to choose. (Even these powers themselves act unconsciously): they do not even turn (towards themselves) while communicating power, when some part of their own soul is emanating (to that which they are begetting). Similarly animals beget other animals without implying an act of choice, without any weakening on the part of the generator, and even without self-consciousness. Otherwise, if this act was voluntary, it would consist of a choice, or the choice would not be effective. If then an animal lack the faculty of choice, much less will it have self-consciousness. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 37]

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

There are many forces that are exercised involuntarily, either automatically, without any invitation, or with the assistance of skill. Thus, in an animal, one part is naturally favorable or harmful to another; that is why both physician and magician, each by his characteristic arts, force one thing to communicate its power to another. Likewise, the universe communicates to its parts something of its own power, either automatically, or as a result of the attraction exercised by the individual. This is a natural process, since he who asks is not foreign to it. Neither should we be astonished if even an evil individual obtains his requests; for do not the evil drink from the same streams as do the good? In this case, the granting is done unconsciously; it grants simply, and what is granted harmonizes with the order of the universe. Consequently, if an evil individual asks and obtains what is within reach of all, there is no reason why he should be punished. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 42]

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

Every being that has some relation with another can be bewitched by him; he is bewitched and attracted by the being with whom he is in relations. Only the being concentrated in himself (by the contemplation of the intelligible world) cannot be bewitched. Magic exercises its influence on every action, and on every active life; for active life trends towards the things which charm it. Hence the (Platonic) expression, “The subjects of the magnanimous Erechtheus are remarkable by the beauty of their countenances.” What indeed does one being feel in his relations with another? He is drawn towards him, not by the art of magic, but by the seduction exerted by nature, which harmonizes and unites two beings joining them one to the other, not by locality, but by the power of the philtres employed. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 43]

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

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

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

It might indeed be objected that without medium, vision ceases. This occurs not because of the lack of medium, but because the sympathy of the (universal) organism is in such a case destroyed since a medium presupposes that all the parts of this organism together form but a single being. It would indeed seem to be a general condition necessary for sensation that the universal organism be sympathetic with itself; otherwise, no one thing could participate in the power of any other thing that might happen to be very distant. [Ennead IV,5 (29) 3]

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

It might be asked whether the withdrawal of the object from which light emanates abandons the light to destruction, or does the light follow the source into withdrawal? This question is related to the former one; (and it may be said that) if the light inhere in the illuminated body in a manner such as to have become characteristic of it, the light perishes with it. The light is an immanent actualization, for otherwise it would surround the object from which it emanates, and remain within it, accumulating there. If this were so, the light could not vanish so long as the object from which it emanates itself continues to subsist. If this object pass from one place to another, light would pass thither also, not because it turns back on itself or changes locality, but because the actualization of the luminous object exists and is present as soon as nothing opposes it. If the distance from the sun to the earth were much more considerable than it really is, the light of the sun would nevertheless reach us, providing no obstacle were interposed. On the one hand, there is in the luminous body an actualization, a kind of superabundant life, a principle and source of activity; on the other hand, beyond the limits of the luminous body, exists a second actualization which is the image of the actualization characteristic of this body, and which never separates itself from the body. Every being has an actualization which is its image; so that, as soon as the being exists, its actualization exists also; and so long as the being subsists, its actualization radiates nearer or further. Actualizations (differ indeed); some are feeble and obscure, others are secret or hidden, others are powerful and radiate afar. When an actualization radiates at a distance it must be admitted to exist there where it acts, where it exercises and manifests its power. Consequently one can see light shine from the eyes of animals whose eyes are naturally brilliant; likewise when the animals that exert a concentrated interior fire happen to open their eyelids, they radiate rays of light into the darkness; while, when they close their eyes, no more light exists outside them. The light therefore does not perish; only, it is no longer produced exteriorly. It does not re-enter into the animal but merely ceases to exist exteriorly, for the visual fire does not pass outside, remaining inside. Is light itself then within? At least this light remains within; but (when the eye is closed) the eyelid forms an obstacle to its diffusion. [Ennead IV,5 (29) 7]

Evidently nature possesses neither hands, nor feet, nor any natural or artificial instrument. For production its only need is a matter on which to work, and which it forms. The works of nature exclude all ideas of mechanical operation; not by any impelling force, nor by using levers nor machines does it produce varied colors, nor draw the outlines of objects. Even the workmen who form wax figures, to whose work the operations of nature are often compared, cannot endue objects with colors without borrowing them from elsewhere. Besides, we must observe that these workmen contain a power which remains immutable, and by the sole means of which they produce their works with their hands. Likewise, nature contains a power which remains immovable as a whole; it has no need of some parts that would remain immovable, and others that move. It is matter alone that undergoes movement, for the forming power is in no way moved. Were the forming power moved, it would no longer be the first motor; the first motor would no longer be nature, but whatever might, in its totality, be immovable. [Ennead III,8 (30) 2]

It may be objected that the (“seminal) reason” may remain immutable, but that nature is distinct from reason, and is mutable. Considering the totality of nature, we include reason. Considering only one of its parts as immutable, this part still will be reason. Nature must be a form, and not a composite of matter and form. What need would it have of a matter that might be either cold or hot, since matter, when subjected to form, either possesses these qualities, or receives them, or rather undergoes the action of reason before having any qualities. Indeed, it is not by fire that matter becomes fire, but by reason. Consequently, in animals and plants, it is the “reasons” that produce; and nature is a reason that produces other reasons, imparting some of herself to the substance subjected to her influence, while remaining within herself. The reason that consists in a visible shape occupies the last rank; it is dead, and produces nothing. The living “reason” (which administers the body of the living being), being sister to the “reason” that produced the visible form (in begetting the body of the living being), and possessing the same power as this reason, alone produces within the begotten being. [Ennead III,8 (30) 2]

Does reason, considered as nature, also derive from contemplation? Yes, but on condition that it has contemplated itself somewhat; for it is produced by a contemplation and a principle which was contemplated. How does it contemplate itself? It does not possess this mode of contemplation which proceeds from (discursive) reason; that is to say, which consists in discursively considering what one has in himself. Being a living “reason” and a productive power, how could it fail discursively to consider what it contains? Because one considers discursively only what he does not yet possess. Now as nature possesses, she produces by the mere fact that she possesses. To be what she is and to produce what she produces are identical. Because she is “reason,” she simultaneously is contemplation and contemplated object. As she is all three: contemplation, contemplated object, and “reason,” nature produces by the mere fact that it is in her essence to be these things. As we have shown, evidently action is a sort of contemplation; for it is the result of the contemplation that remains immutable, which does nothing but contemplate, and which produces by its mere contemplation. [Ennead III,8 (30) 3]

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

(4). After having spoken of nature, and having explained how generation is a sort of contemplation, let us pass to the Soul that occupies a rank superior to nature. This is what we have to say about her. By her contemplative action, by her ardent desire to learn and to discover, by the fruitfulness of her knowledge, and her resulting need to produce, the Soul, her totality having become an object of contemplation, gave birth to some other object; just as science, on fructifying, by instruction begets a lesser science in the soul of the young disciple who possesses the images of all things, but only in the state of obscure theories, of feeble speculations, which are incapable of self-sufficiency. The higher and rational part of the Soul ever dwells in the higher region of the intelligible world, and is, by this intelligible world, ever illuminated and fructified; while the lower (“natural and generative power”) participates in what the superior part has received, by immediately participating in the intelligible; for life ever proceeds from life, and its actualization extends to everything, and is present everywhere. In her procession, the universal Soul allows her superior part to remain in the intelligible world; for, if she detached herself from this superior part, she would no longer be present everywhere; she would subsist only in her lower extremities. Besides, the part of the Soul that thus proceeds out of the intelligible world is inferior to what remains within it. Therefore, if the Soul must be present and must assert her sphere of activity everywhere, and if that which occupies the superior rank differs from that which occupies the inferior; if, besides, her activity proceeds either from contemplation or action, though indeed originally from contemplation — because contemplation precedes the action which could not exist without contemplation; in this state of affairs, though one actualization would be weaker than another, yet it would ever remain a contemplation, so that the action derived from contemplation seems to be no more than a weakened contemplation; for that which is begotten must always remain consubstantial with its generating principle, though weaker, since of lower rank. All things therefore silently proceed from the Soul, because they stand in no need of either contemplation or exterior visible action. Thus the Soul contemplates, and the contemplating part of the Soul, being somehow located outside of the superior part, and being different therefrom, produces what is below it; thus it is that contemplation begets contemplation. No more than its object is contemplation limited below; that is why it extends to everything. Where is it not? Every soul contains the same object of contemplation. This object, without being circumscribed as a magnitude, does not equally inhere in all beings; consequently, it is not present in the same way to all parts of the Soul. That is why Plato says that the charioteer of the soul communicates to his horses what he has seen. The latter receive something from him only because they desire to possess what he has seen; for they have not received the entire intelligible (world). Though they act because of a desire, they act only in view of what they desire; that is, in view of contemplation, and of its object. [Ennead III,8 (30) 5]

Consequently, there is everywhere a return to unity — for there is for everything a unity to which it may be reduced. Consequently, the universe must be derived from the unity that is superior to it; and as this unity is not absolutely simple, it must itself be derived from a still superior unity, and so on until we arrive at the absolutely simple Unity, which cannot be reduced to any other. Therefore, considering what is in a tree — that is, its permanent principle — or what is unitary in an animal, in a soul, or in the universe, you will everywhere have that which is most powerful and precious. If, at last, you consider that unity of the things that really exist, that is, their principle, their source, their (productive) power, can you doubt its reality, and believe that this principle amounts to nothing? Certainly this principle is none of the things of which it is the principle; it is such that nothing could be predicated of it, neither essence, nor being, nor life, because it is superior to all of it. If you grasp it, by abstracting from it even being, you will be in ecstasy. By directing your glance towards it, by reaching it, and resting in it, you will get a unitary and simple intuition thereof; you will conceive of its greatness by both itself and its derivatives. [Ennead III,8 (30) 10]

In order to conceive this better, we should imagine that this visible sky is a pure light which begets all the stars. Here below, doubtless, no one part could be begotten by any other, for each part has its own individual existence. On the contrary, in the intelligible world every part is born from the whole, and is simultaneously the whole and a part; wherever is a part, the whole reveals itself. The fabled Lynceus, whose glance penetrated the very bowels of the earth, is only the symbol of the celestial life. There the eye contemplates without fatigue, and the desire of contemplating is insatiable, because it does not imply a void that needs filling, or a need whose satisfaction might bring on disgust. In the intelligible world, the beings do not, among each other, differ so as that what is proper to the one would not be proper to the other. Besides, they are all indestructible. Their insatiability (in contemplation) is to be understood in the sense that satiety does not make them scorn what satiates them. The more that each sees, the better he sees; each one follows its nature in seeing as infinite both itself and the objects that present themselves to its view. On high, life, being pure, is not laborious. How indeed could the best life imply fatigue? This life is wisdom which, being perfectly complete, demands no research. It is primary wisdom, which is not derived from any other, which is being, and which is not an adventitious quality of intelligence; consequently there is none superior to it. In the intelligible world absolute knowledge accompanies intelligence, because the former accompanies the latter, as Justice is enthroned by the side of Jupiter. All the essences (or, beings) in the intelligible Being resemble so many statues which are visible by themselves, and the vision of which imparts an unspeakable happiness to the spectators. The greatness and power of wisdom is revealed in its containing all beings, and in its having produced them. It is their origin; it is identical with them; it fuses with them; for wisdom is very being. This we do not easily understand because by sciences we mean groups of demonstrations and propositions, which is not true even of our sciences. However, if this point be contested, let us drop this comparison with our sciences, and return to knowledge itself, of which Plato says that “it does not show itself different in different objects.” How can that be? Plato left that to be explained by us, that we might show if we deserve to be called his interpreters. We shall undertake this interpretation by the following observation. [Ennead V,8 (31) 4]

Indeed, this only Divinity loses none of His power by the birth of all the divinities contained within Him. All co-exist, and their individual distinctions obtain without their occupying separate localities or affecting a sense-form. Otherwise the one would be here, and the other there; each one would be individual, without simultaneously being universal in itself. Neither have they any parts that differ in each of them, or from each other; neither is the whole formed by each of them a power divided in a multiplicity of parts, a power whose magnitude would be measured by the number of its parts. Taken in its universality the intelligible world possesses a universal Power, which penetrates everything in its infinite development without exhausting its infinite force. He is so great that even His parts are infinite. There is no locality that He does not interpenetrate. Even our world is great; it likewise contains all the powers; but it would be much better, and its magnitude would be inconceivable if it did not also contain physical powers, which are essentially small (because limited). Fire and the other bodies cannot be called great powers because they consist only of an image of the infinity of the genuine Power by burning, crushing, destroying, and contributing to the generation of animals. They destroy only because they themselves are destroyed; they contribute to generation only because they themselves are generated. [Ennead V,8 (31) 9]

The Power which resides in the intelligible world is pure “being,” but perfectly beautiful “being.” Without beauty, what would become of “being”? Without “being,” what would become of beauty? “Being” itself would be annihilated by the beauty of “being.” “Being” is therefore desirable, it is identical with beauty, and beauty is amiable because it is “being.” Seeing that both are of the same nature, it would be useless to inquire which is the principle of the other. The deceptive “being” (of bodies) needs to receive the image borrowed from beauty to appear beautiful; and in general, to exist; it exists only in so far as it participates in the beauty found in “being”; the greater its participation, the more perfect is it, because it appropriates this beautiful being all the more. [Ennead V,8 (31) 9]

On the other hand, the intelligible entities are either deprived of feeling, life and intelligence, or they are intelligent. If they be intelligent, they, like truth, fuse with intelligence into the primary Intelligence. In this case we shall have to inquire into the mutual relations of intelligence, intelligible entity, and truth. Do these constitute but one single entity, or two? What in the world could intelligible entities be, if they be without life or intelligence? They are surely neither propositions, axioms, nor words, because in this case they would be enunciating things different from themselves, and would not be things themselves; thus, when you say that the good is beautiful, it would be understood that these two notions are foreign to each other. Nor can we think that the intelligibles — for instance, beauty and justice — are entities that are simple, but completely separate from each other; because the intelligible entity would have lost its unity, and would no longer dwell within a unitary subject. It would be dispersed into a crowd of particular entities, and we would be forced to consider into what localities these divers elements of the intelligible were scattered. Besides, how could intelligence embrace these elements and follow them in their vicissitudes? How could intelligence remain permanent? How could it fix itself on identical objects? What will be the forms or figures of the intelligibles? Will they be like statues of gold, or like images and effigies made of some other material? In this case, the intelligence that would contemplate them would not differ from sensation. What would be the differentiating cause that would make of one justice, and of the other something else? Last, and most important, an assertion that the intelligible entities are external to Intelligence would imply that in thus contemplating objects exterior to itself Intelligence will not gain a genuine knowledge of them, having only a false intuition of them. Since, under this hypothesis, true realities will remain exterior to Intelligence, the latter, while contemplating them, will not possess them; and in knowing them will grasp only their images. Thus reduced to perceiving only images of truth, instead of possessing truth itself, it will grasp only deceptions, and will not reach realities. In this case (intelligence will be in the dilemma) of either acknowledging that it grasps only deceptions, and thus does not possess truth; or intelligence will be ignorant of this, being persuaded it possesses truth, when it really lacks it. By thus doubly deceiving itself, intelligence will by that very fact be still further from the truth. That is, in my opinion, the reason why sensation cannot attain the truth. Sensation is reduced to opinion because it is a receptive power — as indeed is expressed by the word “opinion”; — and because sensation receives something foreign, since the object, from which sensation receives what it possesses remains external to sensation. Therefore, to seek truth outside of intelligence is to deprive intelligence of truth or verity of intelligence. It would amount to annihilating Intelligence, and the truth (which was to dwell within it) will no longer subsist anywhere. [Ennead V,5 (32) 1]

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

Do not seek to see this Principle by the aid of other things; otherwise, instead of seeing Him himself, you will see no more than His image. Try rather to conceive the nature of the Principle that must be grasped in Himself, that is, pure and without any admixture, because all beings participate in Him, without any of them possessing Him. No other thing indeed could be such as He; but nevertheless such a Being must exist. Who indeed could all at once embrace the totality of the power of this Principle? If a being did so, how could this being differ from Him? Would the being limit itself to embracing only a part of Him? You might grasp this Principle by an intuitive, simple intellection, but you will not be able to represent Him to yourself in His totality. Otherwise it is you who would be the thinking intelligence, if indeed you have reached that principle; but He is more likely to flee you, or more likely still, you will flee from Him. When you consider the divinity, consider Him in His totality. When you think Him, know that what you remember of Him is the Good; for He is the cause of the wise intellectual life, because He is the power from which life and intelligence proceed. He is the cause of “being” and essence, because He is one; He is simple and first, because He is principle. It is from Him that everything proceeds. It is from Him that the first movement proceeds, without being in Him; it is from Him also that proceeds the first rest, because He himself has no need of it; He himself is neither in movement nor rest; for He has nothing in which He could rest or move. By His relation to what, towards what, or in what could He move or rest? Neither is He limited, for by what could He be limited? Neither is He infinite in the manner suggested by an enormous mass; for whither would He have any need of extending Himself? Would He do so to get something? But He has need of nothing! It is His power that is infinite. He could neither change nor lack anything; for the beings which lack nothing owe this to Him only. [Ennead V,5 (32) 10]

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]

Last, if we suppose that Reason is derived from Intelligence, and then from reason in the soul derive another reason which would be derived from Reason in itself, so as to constitute a principle intermediary between Intelligence and Soul, the Soul would be deprived of the power of thought. For thus the Soul, instead of receiving reason from Intelligence, would receive reason from an intermediary principle. Instead of possessing Reason itself, the Soul would possess only an adumbration of Reason; the Soul would not know Intelligence, and would not be able to think. [Ennead II,9 (33) 1]

In the intelligible world, therefore, we shall not recognize more than three principles (Unity, Intelligence, and Soul), without those superfluous and incongruous fictions. We shall insist that there is a single Intelligence that is identical, and immutable, which imitates its Father so far as it can. Then there is our soul, of which one part ever remains among the intelligibles, while one part descends to sense-objects, and another abides in an intermediary region. As our soul is one nature in several powers, she may at times entirely rise to the intelligible world, with the best part of herself and of essence; at other times the soul’s lower part allows itself to be dragged down to the earth, carrying with it the intermediate portion; for the soul cannot be entirely dragged down. This being dragged down occurs only because the soul does not abide in the better region. While dwelling in it, the Soul, which is not a part (of it) and of which we are not a part, has given to the body of the universe all the perfections of which she was capable. The Soul governs it by remaining quiet, without reasoning, without having to correct anything. With wonderful power she beautifies the universe by the contemplation of the intelligible world. The more the Soul attaches herself to contemplation, the more powerful and beautiful she is; what she receives from above, she communicates to the sense-world, and illuminates because she herself is always illuminated (by Intelligence). [Ennead II,9 (33) 2]

Thus the Soul, ever being illuminated, in turn herself illuminates lower things that subsist only through her, like plants that feed on dew, and which participate in life, each according to its capacity. Likewise a fire heats the objects that surround it, each in proportion to its nature. Now if such is the effect of fire whose power is limited, while intelligible beings exert unlimited powers, how would it be possible for these beings to exist without causing anything to participate in their nature? Each of them must therefore communicate some degree of its perfection to other beings. The Good would no longer be the good, Intelligence would no longer be intelligence, the Soul would no longer be soul, if, beneath that which possesses the first degree of life, there was not some other thing which possessed the second degree of life, and which subsisted only so long as subsists He who occupies the first rank. It is therefore unavoidable that all things (inferior to the First) must always exist in mutual dependence, and that they be begotten, because they derive their existence from some other source. They were not begotten at a definite moment. When we affirm that they are begotten, we should say, they were begotten, or, they shall be begotten. Nor will they be destroyed, unless they are composed of elements in which they could be dissolved. Those that are indissoluble will not perish. It may be objected that they could be resolved into matter. But why should matter also not be liable to be destroyed? If it were granted that matter was liable to destruction, there was no necessity for its existence. It may be further objected that the existence of matter necessarily results from the existence of other principles. In this case, this necessity still subsists. If matter is to be considered as isolated (from the intelligible world), then the divine principles also, instead of being present everywhere, will, as it were, be walled up in a limited place. But if the latter be impossible, then must matter be illuminated (by the intelligible world). [Ennead II,9 (33) 3]

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]

Is it not absurd to see those (Gnostics) who, like everybody else, possess a body, passions, fears, and excitements, holding an idea of their own powers high enough to make them believe themselves capable of attaining the intelligible, while to the sun, though it be immutable and perfect, and though it be impassible power, refusing a wisdom superior to ours, we who were born only yesterday, and who find so many obstacles in our search after truth? We certainly are surprised to see these (Gnostics) considering the souls of both themselves and of the vilest men immortal and divine, while refusing immortality to the entire heaven, to all the stars it contains, though they be composed of elements more beautiful and purer (than we), though they manifest a marvellous beauty and order, while (these Gnostics) themselves acknowledge that disorder is observed here below? According to their theories, however, the immortal Soul would have picked out the worst part of the world, while giving up the best to mortal souls. [Ennead II,9 (33) 5]

Intelligence, indeed, could not be (the last degree of existence). It was necessarily actualization of a double nature, both within itself, and for other beings. It was inevitable that it should be followed by other beings, for only the most impotent being would fail to produce something that should proceed from it, while (it is granted that) the intelligible possesses a wonderful power; wherefore, it could not help creating. [Ennead II,9 (33) 8]

It is not by reducing all things to unity, but by setting forth the greatness developed by the divinity itself, that one manifests his knowledge of divine power. The Divinity (manifests His power) when, though remaining what He is, He produces many divinities which depend on Him, which proceed from Him, and exist by Him. In this way this world holds existence from Him, and contemplates Him along with all the divinities which announce to men the divine decrees, and who reveal to them whatever pleases them. These stars must not be blamed for not being what the divinity is, for they only represent their nature. [Ennead II,9 (33) 9]

Neither will we controvert an assertion which overtops all their others in absurdity — we use this term for lack of a stronger. Here it is: “The Soul and another Wisdom inclined downwards towards things here below, either because the Soul first inclined downwards spontaneously, or because she was misled by Wisdom; or because (in Gnostic view), Soul and Wisdom were identical. The other souls descended here below together (with the Soul), as well as the “members of Wisdom,” and entered into bodies, probably human. Nevertheless the Soul, on account of which the other soul descended here below, did not herself descend. She did not incline, so to speak, but only illuminated the darkness. From this illumination was born in matter an image (Wisdom, the image of the Soul). Later was formed (the demiurgic creator, called) an image of the image, by means of matter or materiality, or of a principle by (Gnostics) designated by another name (the “Fruit of the fall”) — for they make use of many other names, for the purpose of increasing obscurity. This is how they derive their demiurgic creator. They also suppose that this demiurgic creator separated himself from his mother, Wisdom, and from him they deduce the whole world even to the extremity of the images.” The perpetration of such assertions amounts to a bitter sarcasm of the power that created the world. [Ennead II,9 (33) 10]

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]

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

Another error of the (Gnostics) is their teaching that intelligible beings are not beyond the reach of being affected by human beings. When the (Gnostics) utter magic incantations, addressing them to (intelligible beings), not only to the Soul, but to the Principles superior thereto, what are they really trying to do? To bewitch them? To charm them? Or, to influence them? They therefore believe that divine beings listen to us, and that they obey him who skilfully pronounces these songs, cries, aspirations and whistlings, to all of which they ascribe magic power. If they do not really mean this, if they by sounds only claim to express things which do not fall under the senses, then, through their effort to make their art more worthy of respect, they unconsciously rob it of all claim to respect, in our estimation. [Ennead II,9 (33) 14]

Some (Gnostics) object that they hate the body because Plato complains much of it, as an obstacle to the soul, and as something far inferior to her. In this case, they should, making abstraction of the body of the world by thought, consider the rest; that is, the intelligible sphere which contains within it the form of the world, and then the incorporeal souls which, in perfect order, communicate greatness to matter by modeling it in space according to an intelligible model, so that what is begotten might, so far as possible, by its greatness, equal the indivisible nature of its model; for the greatness of sense-mass here below corresponds to the greatness of intelligible power. Let the (Gnostics) therefore consider the celestial sphere, whether they conceive of it as set in motion by the divine power that contains its principle, middle and end, or whether they imagine it as immovable, and not yet exerting its action on any of the things it governs by its revolution. In both ways they will attain a proper idea of the Soul that presides over this universe. Let them then conceive of this soul as united to a body, though remaining impassible, and still communicating to this body so far as the latter is capable of participating therein, some of its perfections, for the divinity is incapable of jealousy. Then they will form a proper idea of the world. They will understand how great is the power of the Soul, since she makes the body participate in her beauty to the limit of her receptivity. This body has no beauty by nature, but when (it is beautified by the Soul) it entrances divine souls. [Ennead II,9 (33) 17]

(Gnostics) however might object that their doctrine inspired revulsion from, and hate for the body, while (that of Plotinos) really attached the soul to the body (by recognition of its beauty). Hardly. We may illustrate by two guests who dwelt together in a beautiful house. The first guest blamed the disposition of the plan, and the architect who constructed it, but nevertheless remained within it. The other guest, instead of blaming the architect, praised his skill, and awaited the time when he might leave this house, when he should no longer need it. The first guest would think himself wiser and better prepared to leave because he had learned to repeat that walls are composed of lifeless stones and beams, and that this house was far from truly representing the intelligible house. He would however not know that the only difference obtaining between him and his companion, is that he did not know how to support necessary things, while his companion (who did not blame the house) will be able to leave it without regret because he loved stone-buildings only very moderately. So long as we have a body we have to abide in these houses constructed by the (world) Soul, who is our beneficent sister, and who had the power to do such great things without any effort. [Ennead II,9 (33) 18]

The Gnostics do not hesitate to call the most abandoned men their “brothers,” but refuse this name to the sun, and the other deities of heaven, and to the very Soul of the world, fools that they are! Doubtless, to unite ourselves thus to the stars by the bonds of kindred, we must no longer be perverse, we must have become good, and instead of being bodies, we must be souls in these bodies; and, so far as possible, we must dwell within our bodies in the same manner as the universal Soul dwells within the body of the universe. To do this, one has to be firm, not allow oneself to be charmed by the pleasures of sight or hearing, and to remain untroubled by any reverse. The Soul of the world is not troubled by anything, because she is outside of the reach of all. We, however, who here below are exposed to the blows of fortune, must repel them by our virtue, weakening some, and foiling others by our constancy and greatness of soul. When we shall thus have approached this power which is out of the reach (of all exigencies), having approached the Soul of the universe and of the stars, we shall try to become her image, and even to increase this resemblance to the assimilation of fusion. Then, having been well disposed by nature and exercised, we also will contemplate what these souls have been contemplating since the beginning. We must also remember that the boast of some men that they alone have the privilege of contemplating the intelligible world does not mean that they really contemplate this world any more than any other men. [Ennead II,9 (33) 18]

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]

We must, in fact, conceive intelligible essences as subsisting in one nature, and one single nature as possessing and embracing all (things). There no one thing is separated from the others, as in the sense-world, where the sun, moon, and other objects each occupy a different locality; but all things exist together in one unity; such is the nature of intelligence. The (universal) Soul imitates it, in this respect, as does also the power called Nature, conformably to which, and by virtue of which individuals are begotten each in a different place, while she remains in herself. But, although all things exist together (in the unity of Intelligence), each of them is none the less different from the others. Now, these things which subsist in Intelligence and “being,” are seen by the Intelligence that possesses them, not because it observes them, but because it possesses them without feeling the need of distinguishing them from each other; because from all eternity they have dwelt within it distinct from each other. We believe in the existence of these things on the faith of those who admire them, because they have participated therein. As to the magnitude and beauty of the intelligible world, we can judge of it by the love which the Soul feels for it, and if other things feel love for the Soul, it is because she herself possesses an intellectual nature, and that by her the other things can, to some extent, become assimilated to Intelligence. How indeed could we admit that here below was some organism gifted with beauty, without recognizing that the Organism itself (the intelligible world) possesses an admirable and really unspeakable beauty? Further, the perfect Organism is composed of all the organisms; or rather it embraces all the organisms; just as our Universe is one, yet simultaneously is visible, because it contains all the things which are in the visible universe. [Ennead VI,6 (34) 7]

(To solve this problem) let us begin by setting aside sensation, and let us contemplate Intelligence by our intelligence exclusively. Above all, let us clearly understand that, as in us life and intelligence do not consist of a corporeal mass, but in a power without mass, likewise veritable “Being” is deprived of all corporeal extension, and constitutes a power founded on itself. It does not indeed consist in something without force, but in a power sovereignly vital and intellectual, which possesses life in the highest degree, intelligence, and being. Consequently, whatever touches this power participates in the same characteristics according to the manner of its touch; in a higher degree, if the touch be close; in a lower degree, if the touch be distant. If existence be desirable, the completest existence (or, essence) is more desirable still. Likewise, if intelligence deserve to be desired, perfect Intelligence deserves to be desired above everything; and the same state of affairs prevails in respect to life. If then we must grant that the Essence is the first, and if we must assign the first rank to Essence, the second to Intelligence, and the third to the Organism, as the latter seems already to contain all things, and Intelligence justly occupies the second rank, because it is the actualization of “Being” — then number could not enter into the Organism, for before the organism already existed one and two (“Being” and Intelligence). Nor could number exist in Intelligence, for before Intelligence was “Being,” which is both one and manifold. (Number therefore must exist, or originate, in the primary Being.) [Ennead VI,6 (34) 8]

The universal Number therefore existed before the essences (were created); consequently, Number was not the essences. Doubtless, Number was in Essence; but it was not yet the number of Essence; for Essence still was one. But the power of Number, hypostatically existing within it, divided it, and made it beget the manifold. Number is either the being or actualization (of Essence); the very Organism and Intelligence are number. Essence is therefore the unified number, while the essences are developed number; Intelligence is the number which moves itself, and the Organism is the number that contains. Since therefore Essence was born from Unity, Essence, as it existed within Unity, must be Number. That is why (the Pythagoreans) called the ideas unities and numbers. [Ennead VI,6 (34) 9]

Subsisting therefore in the manifold, Essence therefore became Number when it was aroused to multiplicity, because it already contained within itself a sort of preformation or representation of the essences which it was ready to produce, offering the essences, as it were, a locality for the things whose foundation they were to be. When we say, “so much gold,” or, “so many other objects,” gold is one, and one does not thereby intend to make gold out of the number, but to make a number out of the gold; it is because one already possesses the number that one seeks to apply it to gold, so as to determine its quality. If essences were anterior to Number, and if Number were contemplated in them when the enumerating power enumerates the objects, the number of the (beings), whatever it is, would be accidental, instead of being determined in advance. If this be not the case, then must number, preceding (the beings) determine how many of them must exist; which means that, by the mere fact of the primitive existence of the Number, the (beings) which are produced undergo the condition of being so many, and each of them participates in unity whenever they are one. Now every essence comes from Essence because essence, by itself, is Essence; likewise, the One is one by itself. If every (being) be one, and if the multitude of (beings) taken together form the unity that is in them, they are one as the triad is one, and all beings also are one; not as is the Monad (or Unity), but as is a thousand, or any other number. He who, while enumerating, produced things, proclaims that there are a thousand of them, claims to do no more than to tell out what he learns from the things, as if he was indicating their colors, while really he is only expressing a condition of his reason; without which, he would not know how much of a multitude was present there. Why then does he speak so? Because he knows how to enumerate; which indeed he knows if he know the number, and this he can know only if the number exist. But not to know what is the number, at least under the respect of quantity, would be ridiculous, and even impossible. [Ennead VI,6 (34) 10]

Such are the power and beauty of Essence that it (charms and) attracts all things, holding them as it were suspended, so that these are delighted to possess even a trace of its perfection, and seek nothing beyond, except the Good. For Essence is anterior to the Good in respect to us (when we climb up from here below to the intelligible world). The entire intelligible world aspires to the Life and Wisdom so as to possess existence; all the souls, all the intelligences likewise aspire to possess it; Essence alone is fully self-sufficient. [Ennead VI,6 (34) 18]

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]

It may however be objected that if the soul produce the nature of a brute only when she is depraved and degraded, she was not originally destined to produce an ox or a horse; then the (“seminal) reason” of the horse, as well as the horse itself, will be contrary to the nature (of the soul). No: they are inferior to her nature, but they are not contrary to her. From her very origin, the soul was (potentially) the (“seminal) reason” of a horse or a dog. When permitted, the soul which was to beget an animal, produces something better; when hindered, she (only) produces what accords with the circumstances. She resembles the artists who, knowing how to produce several figures, create either the one they have received the order to create, or the one that is most suited to the material at hand. What hinders the (natural and generative) power of the universal Soul, in her quality of universal (“seminal) Reason,” from sketching out the outlines of the body, before the soul powers (or, individual souls) should descend from her into matter? What hinders this sketch from being a kind of preliminary illumination of matter? What would hinder the individual soul from finishing (fashioning the body sketched by the universal Soul), following the lines already traced, and organizing the members pictured by them, and becoming that which she approached by giving herself some particular figure, just as, in a choric ballet, the dancer confines himself to the part assigned to him? [Ennead VI,7 (38) 7]

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

(Now let us pass to the other question we asked). How does it happen that all the Animals who, like the Horse itself, are contained in divine Intelligence, do not incline towards the things here below (by generating them)? Doubtless, to beget a horse, or any other animal here below, divine Intelligence must hold its conception; nevertheless it must not be believed that it first had the volition of producing the horse, and only later its conception. Evidently, it could not have wished to produce the horse, but because it already had the conception thereof; and it could not have had the conception thereof but because it had to produce the horse. Consequently, the Horse who was not begotten preceded the horse who later was to be begotten. Since the first Horse has been anterior to all generation, and was not conceived to be begotten, it is not because the divine Intelligence inclines towards the things here below, nor because it produces them, that it contains the intelligible Horse and the other beings. The intelligible entities existed already in Intelligence (before it begat) and the sense-things were later begotten by necessary consequence; for it was impossible that the procession should cease with the intelligibles. Who indeed could have stopped this power of the (Intelligence) which is capable of simultaneous procession, and of remaining within itself? [Ennead VI,7 (38) 8]

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]

If fire also be a reason engaged in matter, and in this respect resemble the earth, it was not born by chance. Whence would it come? Lucretius thought it came from rubbing (sticks or stones). But fire existed in the universe before one body rubbed another; bodies already possess fire when they rub up against one another; for it must not be believed that matter possesses fire potentially, so that it is capable of producing it spontaneously. But what is fire, since the principle which produces the fire, giving it a form, must be a “reason”? It is a soul capable of producing the fire, that is, a “reason” and a life, which (fuse) into one thing. That is why Plato says that in every object there is a soul; that is, a power capable of producing the sense-fire. Thus the principle which produces the fire in our world is a “fiery life,” a fire that is more real than ours. Since then the intelligible Fire is a fire more real than ours, it also possesses a moral life. The Fire-in-itself therefore possesses life. There is a similar “reason” in the other elements, air and water. Why should not these things be as animated as earth is? They are evidently contained in the universal living Organism, and they constitute parts thereof. Doubtless life is not manifest in them, any more than in the earth; but it can be recognized in them, as it is recognized in the earth, by its productions; for living beings are born in the fire, and still more in the water, as is better known; others also are formed in the air. The flames that we daily see lit and extinguished do not manifest in the universal Soul (because of the shortness of their duration); her presence is not revealed in the fire, because she does not here below succeed in reaching a mass of sufficient permanency. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 11]

It is not otherwise with water and air. If by their nature these elements were more consistent, they would reveal the universal Soul; but as their essence is dispersed, they do not reveal the power that animates them. In a similar case are the fluids occurring in our body, as, for instance, the blood; the flesh, which seems animated, is formed at the expense of the blood. The latter must therefore enjoy the presence of the soul, though it seem deprived of the (soul) because (the blood) manifests no sensibility, opposes no resistance, and by its fluidity easily separates itself from the soul that vivifies it, as happens to the three elements already mentioned. Likewise the animals which Nature forms out of condensed air feel without suffering. As fixed and permanent light penetrates the air so long as the air itself is permanent, the soul also penetrates the atmosphere surrounding her without being absorbed by it. Other elements are in the same case. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 11]

Who then will be able to contemplate this multiple and universal Life, primary and one, without being charmed therewith, and without scorning every other kind of life? For our lives here below, that are so weak, impotent, incomplete, whose impurity soils other lives, can be considered as nothing but tenebrous. As soon as you consider these lives, you no longer see the others, you no longer live with these other lives in which everything is living; which are relieved of all impurity, and of all contact with evil. Indeed, evil reigns here below only; here where we have but a trace of Intelligence and of the intelligible life. On the contrary, in the intelligible world exists “that archetype which is beneficent (which possesses the form of Good”), as says Plato, because it possesses good by the forms (that is, by the ideas). Indeed, the absolute Good is something different from the Intelligence which is good only because its life is passed in contemplating the Good. The objects contemplated by Intelligence are the essences which have the form of Good, and which it possesses from the moment it contemplates the Good. Intelligence receives the Good, not such as the Good is in itself, but such as Intelligence is capable of receiving it. The Good is indeed the supreme principle. From the Good therefore, Intelligence derives its perfection; to the Good Intelligence owes its begetting of all the intelligible entities; on the one hand, Intelligence could not consider the Good without thinking it; on the other, it must not have seen in the Good the intelligible entities, otherwise, Intelligence itself could not have begotten them. Thus Intelligence has, from the Good, received the power to beget, and to fill itself with that which it has begotten. The Good does not Himself possess the things which He thus donates; for He is absolutely one, and that which has been given to Intelligence is manifold. Incapable in its plenitude to embrace, and in its unity to possess the power it was receiving, Intelligence split it up, thus rendering it manifold, so as to possess it at least in fragments. Thus everything begotten by Intelligence proceeds from the power derived from the Good, and bears its form; as intelligence itself is good, and as it is composed of things that bear the form of Good, it is a varied good. The reader may be assisted in forming a conception of it by imagining a variegated living sphere, or a composite of animated and brilliant faces. Or again, imagine pure souls, pure and complete (in their essence), all united by their highest (faculties), and then universal Intelligence seated on this summit, and illuminating the whole intelligible region. In this simile, the reader who imagines it considers it as something outside of himself; but (to contemplate Intelligence) one has to become Intelligence, and then give oneself a panorama of oneself. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 15]

If universal Intelligence comprises all the individual intelligences, might not the latter all be identical? No, for then there would be but one of them. The multiplicity of the intelligences implies therefore a difference between them. But how does each differ from the others? Its difference resides in its being one; for there is no identity between the universal Intelligence, and any particular intelligence. Thus, in Intelligence, life is universal power; the vision which emanates from it is the power of all things; and then Intelligence itself, when it is formed, manifests all these things to us. He who is seated above all of them is their principle, though they do not serve Him as foundation; for, on the contrary, He is the foundation of the form of the first forms, without Himself having any forms. In respect to the Soul, Intelligence plays the part that the First plays in respect to Intelligence; Intelligence sheds its light on the Soul, and, to determine her, rationalizes her by communicating that of which itself is the trace. The Intellect, therefore, is the trace of the First; and while it is a form which develops in plurality, the First has no shape nor form, so as to give form to all the rest. If itself were a form, Intelligence would be nothing more than the “reason” (the soul). That is why the First could not have contained any multiplicity; otherwise, its multiplicity itself would have had to be traced to some superior principle. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 17]

Since it is this Principle which the soul pursues, which illuminates Intelligence, and whose least trace arouses in us so great an emotion, there is no ground for astonishment if it possess the power of exerting its fascination on all beings, and if all rest in Him without seeking anything beyond. If indeed everything proceeds from this principle, then there is nothing better, and everything else is below Him. Now, how could the best of beings fail to be the Good? If the Good be entirely self-sufficient, and have need of nothing else, what could it be except the One who was what He is before all other things, when evil did not yet exist? If all evils be posterior to Him, if they exist only in the objects that in no way participate in the Good, and which occupy the last rank, if no evil exist among the intelligibles, and if there be nothing worse than evil (just as there is nothing better than the Good), then evils are in complete opposition to this principle, and it could be nothing else. To deny the existence of the Good, we would also have to deny the existence of evil; and the result would be a complete indifference of choice between any two particular things; which is absurd. All other things called good refer to Him, while He refers to nothing else. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 23]

Since all things have been embellished by Him who is above them, and have received their light from Him; since Intelligence derives from Him the splendor of its intellectual actualization; by which splendor it illuminates nature; since from Him also the soul derives her vital power, because she finds in Him an abundant source of life; consequently, Intelligence has risen to Him, and has remained attached to Him, satisfied in the bliss of His presence; consequently also the soul, to the utmost of her ability, turned towards Him, for, as soon as she has known Him and seen Him, she was, by her contemplation, filled with bliss; and, so far as she could see Him, she was overwhelmed with reverence. She could not see Him without being impressed with the feeling that she had within herself something of Him; it was this disposition of hers that led her to desire to see Him, as the image of some lovable object makes one wish to be able to contemplate it oneself. Here below, lovers   try to resemble the beloved object, to render their body more gracious, to conform their soul to their model, by temperance and the other virtues to remain as little inferior as possible to Him whom they love, for fear of being scorned by Him; and thus they succeed in enjoying intimacy with Him. Likewise, the soul loves the Good, because, from the very beginning she is provoked to love Him. When she is ready to love, she does not wait for the beauties here below to give her the reminiscence of the Good; full of love, even when she does not know what she possesses, she is ever seeking; and inflamed with the desire to rise to the Good, she scorns the things here below. Considering the beauties presented by our universe, she suspects that they are deceptive, because she sees them clothed upon with flesh, and united to our bodies, soiled by the matter where they reside, divided by extension, and she does not recognize them as real beauties, for she cannot believe that the latter could plunge into the mire of these bodies, soiling and obscuring themselves. Last, when the soul observes that the beauties here below are in a perpetual flux, she clearly recognizes that they derive this splendor with which they shine, from elsewhere. Then she rises to the intelligible world; being capable of discovering what she loves, she does not stop before having found it, unless she be made to lose her love. Having arrived there, she contemplates all the true beauties, the true realities; she refreshes herself by filling herself up with the life proper to essence. She herself becomes genuine essence. She fuses with the Intelligible which she really possesses, and in its presence she has the feeling (of having found) what she was seeking so long. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 31]

Where then is He who has created this venerable beauty, and this perfect life? Where is He who has begotten “being”? Do you see the beauty that shines in all these forms so various? It is well to dwell there; but when one has thus arrived at beauty, one is forced to seek the source of these essences and of their beauty. Their author Himself cannot be any of them; for then He would be no more than some among them, and a part of the whole. He is therefore none of the particular forms, nor a particular power, nor all of the forms, nor all the powers that are, or are becoming, in the universe; He must be superior to all the forms and all the powers. The supreme Principle therefore has no form; not indeed that He lacks any; but because He is the principle from which all intellectual shapes are derived. Whatever is born — that is, if there be anything such as birth — must, at birth, have been some particular being, and have had its particular shape; but who could have made that which was not made by anybody? He therefore is all beings, without being any of them; He is none of the other beings because He is anterior to all of them; He is all other beings because He is their author. What greatness shall be attributed to the Principle who can do all things? Will He be considered infinite? Even if He be infinite, He will have no greatness, for magnitude occurs only among beings of the lowest rank. The creator of magnitude could not himself have any magnitude; and even what is called magnitude in “being” is not a quantity. Magnitude can be found only in something posterior to being. The magnitude of the Good is that there be nothing more powerful than He, nothing that even equals Him. How indeed could any of the beings dependent on Him ever equal Him, not having a nature identical with His? Even the statement that God is always and everywhere does not attribute to Him any measure, nor even, a lack of measure — otherwise, He might be considered as measuring the rest; nor does it attribute to Him any figure (or, outward appearance). [Ennead VI,7 (38) 32]

Thus the Divinity, being the object of desire, must be the most desired and the most loved, precisely because He has no figure nor shape. The love He inspires is immense; this love is limitless, because of the limitlessness of its object. He is infinite, because the beauty of its object surpasses all beauty. Not being any essence, how indeed could the (divinity) have any determinate beauty? As supreme object of love, He is the creator of beauty. Being the generating power of all that is beautiful, He is at the same time the flower in which beauty blooms: for He produces it, and makes it more beautiful still by the superabundance of beauty which He sheds on her. He is therefore simultaneously the principle and goal of beauty. As principle of beauty, He beautifies all that of which He is the principle. It is not however by shape that He beautifies; what He produces has no shape, or, to speak more accurately, He has a shape in a sense different from the habitual meaning of this term. The shape which is no more than a shape is a simple attribute of some substance, while the Shape that subsists in itself is superior to shape. Thus, that which participates in beauty was a shape; but beauty itself has none. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 32]

We shall not be surprised that the soul’s liveliest transports of love are aroused by Him, who has no form, not even an intelligible one, when we observe that the soul herself, as soon as she burns with love for Him, lays aside all forms soever, even if intelligible; for it is impossible to approach Him so long as one considers anything else. The soul must therefore put aside all evil, and even all good; in a word, everything, of whatever nature, to receive the divinity, alone with the alone. When the soul obtains this happiness, and when (the divinity) comes to her, or rather, when He manifests His presence, because the soul has detached herself from other present things, when she has embellished herself as far as possible, when she has become assimilated to Him by means known only to the initiated, she suddenly sees Him appear in her. No more interval between them, no more doubleness; the two fuse in one. It is impossible to distinguish the soul from the divinity, so much does she enjoy His presence; and it is the intimacy of this union that is here below imitated by those who love and are loved, when they consummate union. In this condition the soul no longer feels (her body); she no more feels whether she be alive, human, essence, universality, or anything else. Consideration of objects would be a degradation, and the soul then has neither the leisure nor the desire to busy herself with them. When, after having sought the divinity, she finds herself in His presence, she rushes towards Him, and contemplates Him instead of herself. What is her condition at the time? She has not the leisure to consider it; but she would not exchange it for anything whatever, not even for the whole heaven; for there is nothing superior or better; she could not rise any higher. As to other things, however elevated they be, she cannot at that time stoop to consider them. It is at this moment that the soul starts to move, and recognizes that she really possesses what she desired; she at last affirms that there is nothing better than Him. No illusion could occur there; for where could she find anything truer than truth itself? The soul then is what she affirms; (or rather), she asserts it (only), later, and then she asserts it by keeping silence. While tasting this beatitude she could not err in the assertion that she tastes it. If she assert that she tastes it, it is not that her body experiences an agreeable titillation, for she has only become again what she formerly used to be when she became happy. All the things that formerly charmed her, such as commanding others, power, wealth, beauty, science, now seem to her despicable; she could not scorn them earlier, for she had not met anything better. Now she fears nothing, so long as she is with Him, and contemplates Him. Even with pleasure would she witness the destruction of everything, for she would remain alone with Him; so great is her felicity. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 34]

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]

Since therefore thought does not exist in the Good, and since, on the contrary, it is inferior to the Good, and since it must thus worship its majesty, (thought) must constitute a different principle, and leaves the Good pure and disengaged from it, as well as from other things. Independent of thought, the Good is what it is without admixture. The presence of the Good does not hinder it from being pure and single. If we were to suppose that Good is both thinking subject and thought object (thinker and thought) or “being,” and thought connected with “being,” if thus we make it think itself, it will need something else, and thus things will be above it. As actualization and thought are the complement or the consubstantial hypostasis (or, form of existence) of another subject, thought implies above it another nature to which it owes the power of thinking; for thought cannot think anything without something above it. When thought knows itself, it knows what it received by the contemplation of this other nature. As to Him who has nothing above Him, who derives nothing from any other principle, what could He think, and how could He think himself? What would He seek, and what would He desire? Would He desire to know the greatness of His power? But by the mere fact of His thinking it, it would have become external to Him; I call it exterior, if the cognizing power within Him differed from that which would be known; if on the contrary they fuse, what would He seek? [Ennead VI,7 (38) 40]

Intelligence must therefore fuse with thought, and must always be conscious of itself, knowing that each of the two elements that constitute it is identical with the other, and that both form but a single one. If it were only unity, it would be self-sufficient, and would have no further need of receiving anything. The precept “know thyself” applies only to natures which, because of their multiplicity, need to give an account of themselves, to know the number and the quality of their component elements, because they either do not know them entirely, or even not at all; not knowing what power in them occupies the first rank, and constitutes their being. But if there be a Principle which is one by itself, it is too great to know itself, to think itself, to be self-conscious, because it is nothing determinate for itself. It receives nothing within itself, sufficing itself. It is therefore the Good not for itself, but for other natures; these indeed need the Good, but the Good has no need of itself; it would be ridiculous, and would fail to stand up to itself. Nor does it view itself; for, from this look something would arise, or exist for Him. All such things He left to the inferior natures, and nothing that exists in them is found in Him; thus (the Good) is not even “being.” Nor does (the Good) possess thought, since thought is united to being, and as primary and supreme thought coexisted with essence. Therefore, one can not (as says Plato), express (the divinity) by speech, nor have perception nor science of Him, since no attribute can be predicated of Him. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 41]

What are our thoughts when we inquire whether something depends on us? Under what circumstances do we question this responsibility? We ask ourselves whether we are anything, and whether really anything depends on us when undergoing the buffets of fortune, of necessity, of violent passions that dominate our souls, till we consider ourselves mastered, enslaved, and carried away by them? Therefore we consider as dependent on ourselves what we do without the constraint of circumstances, necessity, or violence of passions — that is, voluntarily, and without an obstacle to our will. Hence the following definition: We are responsible for that which depends on our will, which happens or which is omitted according to our volition. We indeed call voluntary what we unconstrainedly do and consciously. On us depends only that of which we are the masters to do or not to do. These two notions are usually connected, though they differ theoretically. There are cases when one of them is lacking; one might, for instance, have the power to commit a murder; and nevertheless if it were one’s own father that he had ignorantly killed, it would not be a voluntary act. In this case, the action was free, but not voluntary. The voluntariness of an action depends on the knowledge, not only of the details, but also of the total relations of the act. Otherwise, why should killing a friend, without knowing it, be called a voluntary action? Would not the murder be equally involuntary if one did not know that he was to commit it? On the contrary hypothesis, it may be answered that one had been responsible for providing oneself with the necessary information; but nevertheless it is not voluntarily that one is ignorant, or that one was prevented from informing oneself about it. [Ennead VI,8 (39) 1]

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 answer), how can one say of this being that it obeys, if it be not constrained to follow something external? How would the being that directs itself towards the Good be constrained, if its desire be voluntary, if it direct itself towards the Good, knowing that it is such? Only involuntarily does a being depart from the Good, only by constraint does it direct itself towards that which is not its good; that is the very nature of servitude, not to be able to reach one’s own good, and to be thwarted by a superior power to which obedience is compulsory. Servitude displeases us, not because it deprives us of the liberty to do evil, but because it hinders us going towards our own, from ensuing our own good, forced as we are to work at the good of someone else. When we speak of “obeying our nature,” we distinguish (in the being that obeys its nature) two principles, the one which commands, and the other which obeys. [Ennead VI,8 (39) 4]

The nature of the Good is that which is desirable for its own sake. It is by the Good that the Soul and Intelligence exercise liberty when the Soul can attain the Good without obstacle, and when Intelligence can enjoy its possession. Now since the Good’s empire extends over all lower treasures; since He occupies the front rank; since He is the Principle to which all beings wish to rise, on whom they all depend, and from whom all derive their power and liberty; it would be difficult to attribute to Him a liberty similar to our human freedom of will, when we can hardly, with propriety, predicate such a human liberty of Intelligence. [Ennead VI,8 (39) 8]

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

If however anybody applied the term “contingency” to the Divinity, we should not dispute about the word, but go back of it to its underlying meaning. Do you, by it, mean that the First is a principle of particular nature and power; and that if He had had a different nature, He would still, as principle, have conformed to the nature He would have had? Also, that if He had been less perfect, He would still have actualized in conformity with His being? We should answer such an assertion thus: it was impossible for the higher Principle of all things to be contingent; or to be less perfect accidentally, or good in some other manner, as some higher thing that was less complete. As the principle of all things must be better than they, He must be determinate; and by this is here meant that He exists in an unique manner. This, however, not by necessity; for necessity did not exist before Him. Necessity exists only in the beings that follow the first Principle, though the latter impose no constraint upon them. It is by Himself that the First exists uniquely. He could not be anything but what He is; He is what He ought to have been; and not by accident. He is that; He had to be what He was. So “He who is what He ought to have been” is the principle of the things that ought to exist. Not by accident, nor contingently, therefore, is He what He is; He is what He had to be; though here the term “had to be” is improper. (If we be permitted to explain what we mean by an illustration, we may say that) the other beings have to await the appearance of their king — which means, that He shall posit Himself as what He really is, the true King, the true Principle, the true Good. Of Him it must not even be said that He actualizes in conformity with the Good, for then He would seem subordinate to some other principle; we must say only that He is what He is. He is not conformed to the Good, because He is the Good itself. [Ennead VI,8 (39) 9]

What now could be said (to look down) from some (peak) overhanging (Essence and Intelligence), upon (their principle)? Could you describe what you saw from there as being what it is fortuitously? Certainly not! Neither His nature nor His manner would be contingent. He is merely (an absolute, unexplainable) existence (a “thus”). Even this term “thus,” however, would be improper, for, on applying it to the First, it would become determinate, and become “such a thing.” Whoever has seen the First would not say He was, or was not that; otherwise, you would be reducing Him to the class of things which may be designated as this or that; but the First is above all these things. When you shall have seen Him who is infinite (“indefinite”), you will be able to name all the things that are after Him (you will be able to name Him whom all things follow); but you must not classify Him among these. Consider Him as the universal Power essentially master (of himself), which is what He wishes; or rather, who has imposed His will upon (all) beings, but who Himself is greater than all volition, and who classifies volition as below Himself. (To speak strictly therefore) He did not even will to be what He is (he did not even say, I shall be that); and no other principle made Him be what He is. [Ennead VI,8 (39) 9]

Since He was not produced, we must suppose that He is the master of His own being. Even if He were not master of His own being, and if, being what He is, He did not endow Himself with “hypostatic” form of existence, and limited Himself to utilizing His resources, the consequence is that He is what He is necessarily, and that He could not have been different from what He is. He is what He is, not because He could have been otherwise, but because His nature is excellent. Indeed, even if one be sometimes hindered from becoming better, no one is ever hindered by any other person from becoming worse. Therefore, if He did not issue from Himself, He owes it to Himself, and not to any outside hindrance; He must essentially be that which has not issued from itself. The impossibility of becoming worse is not a mark of impotence, because, if (the Divinity) do not degenerate, He owes it to Himself, (and derives it) from Himself. His not aspiring to anything other than Himself constitutes the highest degree of power, since He is not subjected to necessity, but constitutes the law and necessity of other beings. Has necessity then caused its own (hypostatic) existence? No, it has not even reached there, inasmuch as all that is after the First achieved (hypostatic) existence on His account. How then could He who is before (hypostatic) existence (or, which has achieved a form of existence), have derived His existence from any other principle, or even from Himself? [Ennead VI,8 (39) 10]

Since Intelligence is thus anterior to all things, and since all things are (rooted) in such an Intelligence as principle, Intelligence cannot be what it is as a matter of chance. For, if on one hand, Intelligence be multiple, on the other hand it is in perfect agreement with itself, so that, by co-ordination of the elements it contains, it forms a unity. Once more, such a principle that is both multiple and co-ordinated manifoldness, which contains all (“seminal) reasons” by embracing them within its own universality, could not be what it is as a result of fortune or chance. This principle must have an entirely opposite nature, as much differing from contingency, as reason from chance, which consists in the lack of reason. If the above Intelligence be the (supreme) Principle, then Intelligence, such as it has been here described, is similar to this Principle, conforms to it, participates in it, and is such as is wished by it and its power. (The Divinity) being indivisible, is therefore a (single) Reason that embraces everything, a single (unitary) Number, and a single (Divinity) that is greater and more powerful than the generated (universe); than He, none is greater or better. From none other, therefore, can He have derived His essence or qualities. What He is for and in Himself, is therefore derived from Himself; without any relation with the outside, nor with any other being, but entirely turned towards Himself. [Ennead VI,8 (39) 17]

If then you seek this (Principle), do not expect to find anything on the outside of Him; in Him seek all that is after Him, but do not seek to penetrate within Him; for He is what is outside (of everything), the comprehension of all things, and their measure. Simultaneously, He is the internal, being the most intimate depth of all things; (in which case) the external would be (represented by) Reason and Intelligence, which like a circumference fit around Him and depend from Him. Indeed, Intelligence is such only because it touches Him, and so far as it touches Him, and depends from Him; for it is its dependence from Him that constitutes its intelligence. It resembles a circle which is in contact with its centre. It would be universally acknowledged that such a circle would derive all its power from the centre, and would, in a higher sense, be centriform. Thus the radii of such a circle unite in a single centre by extremities similar to the distal and originating (extremities). These (distal) extremities, though they be similar to the centric ones, are nevertheless but faint traces thereof; for the latter’s potentiality includes both the radii and their (distal) extremities; it is everywhere present in the radii, manifests its nature therein, as an immature development. This is an illustration how Intelligence and Essence were born from (the divinity) as by effusion or development; and by remaining dependent from the intellectual nature of the Unity, it thereby manifests an inherent higher Intelligence, which (speaking strictly), is not intelligence, since it is the absolute Unity. A centre, even without radii or circumference, is nevertheless the “father” of the circumference and the radii, for it reveals traces of its nature, and by virtue of an immanent potency, and individual force, it begets the circumference and the radii which never separate from it. Similarly, the One is the higher archetype of the intellectual power which moves around Him, being His image. For in the Unity there is a higher Intelligence which, so to speak, moving in all directions and manners, thereby becomes Intelligence; while the Unity, dwelling above Intelligence, begets it by its power. How then could fortune, contingency and chance approach this intelligence-begetting Power, a power that is genuinely and essentially creative? Such then is what is in Intelligence, and such is what is in Unity, though that which is in Him is far superior. [Ennead VI,8 (39) 18]

Likewise, the statement that the (divinity) commands Himself may be taken strictly, if in Him be two entities (the commander and the commanded); but if (we may not distinguish such a pair of entities) there is only one entity within Him, and He is only the commander, containing nothing that obeys. How then, if He contain nothing that was commanded, could He command Himself? The statement that He commands Himself means that, in this sense, there is nothing above Him; in which case He is the First, not on account of the numerical order, but by His authority and perfectly free power. If He be perfectly free, He cannot contain anything that is not free; He must therefore be entirely free within Himself. Does He contain anything that is not Himself, that He does not do, that is not His work? If indeed He contained anything that was not His work, He would be neither perfectly free nor omnipotent; He would not be free, because He would not dominate this thing; nor would He be omnipotent, because the thing whose making would not be in His power would even thereby evade His dominion. [Ennead VI,8 (39) 20]

Could (the divinity) have made Himself different from what He made Himself? (If he could not, He would not have been omnipotent). If you remove from Him the power of doing evil, you thereby also remove the power of doing good. (In the divinity), power does not consist in the ability to make contraries; it is a constant and immutable power whose perfection consisted precisely in not departing from unity; for the power to make contraries is a characteristic of a being incapable of continuously persisting in the best. Self-creation (the actualization by which the divinity created Himself) exists once for all, for it is perfect. Who indeed could change an actualization produced by the will of the Divinity, an actualization that constitutes His very will? But how then was this actualization produced by the volition (of the divinity) which did not yet exist? [Ennead VI,8 (39) 21]

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

The reason why celestial things endure beyond terrestrial animals and elements has been thus stated by Plato: “Divine animals were formed by the divinity Himself, while the animals here below were formed by the divinities, His offspring.” What the divinity (Himself) does could not possibly perish. This implies the existence, below the demiurge (Intelligence), of the celestial Soul, with our souls. From the celestial Soul derives and flows an apparent-form-of-an-image, which forms terrestrial animals. This inferior soul imitates her intelligible principle (the celestial Soul), without, however, being able to resemble her completely — because she employs elements which are less good (than the celestial elements); because the place where she operates with them is less good (than heaven) — and because the materials that she organizes could not remain united. Consequently, terrestrial animals could not last for ever. For the same reason this soul does not dominate terrestrial bodies with as much power (as the celestial Soul dominates celestial things), because each of them is governed by another (human) soul. [Ennead II,1 (40) 5]

As to the other elements, could not water exist without participating in the earth? Air could certainly not be said to participate in earth, because of its penetrability. It is very doubtful that the fire contains any earth, because it does not seem continuous, and does not, by itself, seem to be tri-dimensional. True, fire does seem to contain solidity, but not of a tri-dimensional kind; it seems rather to be a sort of resistance corporeal nature). Only of earth may hardness be predicated; indeed, gold, in liquid state, is dense; not because it is earth, but because it possesses density, and is solidified. It would therefore not be unreasonable that fire, apart by itself, could subsist by the power of the Soul which sustains it by her presence. The bodies of (certain among) the guardian spirits consist of fire. [Ennead II,1 (40) 6]

After denying that sensation consists of such an operation, it is our duty to point out the true state of affairs. Though it be objected that thus the soul would be considered as judging of things she does not possess, it is nevertheless plain that it is the characteristic of a power, not to experience or suffer, but to develop its force, to carry out the function to which it is destined. If the soul is to discern a visible or audible object the latter must consist of neither images nor experiences, but actualizations relative to the objects which naturally belong to the domain of these actualizations of the soul. Those who deny that any faculty can know its object without receiving some impulsion from it imply that the faculty suffers, without really cognizing the object before it; for this soul-faculty should dominate the object instead of being thereby dominated. [Ennead IV,6 (41) 2]

The case of hearing is similar to that of sight. The impression is in the air; the sounds consist in a series of distinct vibrations, similar to letters traced by some person who is speaking. By virtue of her power and her being, the soul reads the characters traced in the air, when they present themselves to the faculty which is suitable to reception of them. As to taste and smell also, we must distinguish between the experience and the cognition of it; this latter cognition constitutes sensation, or a judgment of the experience, and differs therefrom entirely. [Ennead IV,6 (41) 2]

Treating of memory, we must begin by attributing to the soul a power which, though surprising, is perhaps really neither strange nor incredible. The soul, without receiving anything, nevertheless perceives the things she does not have. The (secret of this) is that by nature the soul is the reason of all things, the last reason of intelligible entities, and the first reason of sense-objects. Consequently the soul is in relation with both (spheres); by the intelligible things the soul is improved and vivified; but she is deceived by the resemblance which sense-objects bear to intelligible entities, and the soul descends here below as if drawn by her alluring charm. Because she occupies a position intermediary between intelligible entities and sense-objects, the soul occupies a position intermediary between them. She is said to think intelligible entities when, by applying herself to them, she recalls them. She cognizes them because, in a certain manner, she actually constitutes these entities; she cognizes them, not because she posits them within herself, but because she somehow possesses them, and has an intuition of them; because, obscurely constituting these things, she awakes, passing from obscurity to clearness, and from potentiality to actualization. For sense-objects she acts in the same way. By relating them to what she possesses within herself, she makes them luminous, and has an intuition of them, possessing as she does a potentiality suitable to (a perception of) them; and, so to speak, to begetting them. When the soul has applied the whole force of her attention to one of the objects that offer themselves to her, she, for a long while, thereby remains affected as if this object were present; and the more attentively she considers it, the longer she sees it. That is why children have a stronger memory; they do not quickly abandon an object, but lingeringly fix their gaze upon it; instead of allowing themselves to be distracted by a crowd of objects, they direct their attention exclusively to some one of them. On the contrary, those whose thought and faculties are absorbed by a variety of objects, do not rest with any one, and do no more than look them over. [Ennead IV,6 (41) 3]

We are now to consider quality, on account of which a being is said to be “such.” What can be the nature of this quality that it exerts the power of deciding of the phenomena of objects? Is there a same, single quality which is something common to all qualities, and which, by its differences, forms classifications? Or are the qualities so different that they could not constitute one and the same classification? What is there in common between capacity and disposition (that is, the physical power), the affective quality, the figure, and the exterior form? [Ennead VI,1 (42) 10]

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]

A quality is therefore a power which adds (essential) characteristics to already existing beings. These characteristics which differentiate beings can therefore be called qualities only figuratively. Qualities are, rather, actualizations and reasons, or parts of reasons, which proclaim the “whatness,” though the latter seem to qualify being. As to the qualities which really deserve this name, which “qualify” things, which we generally call “potentialities,” they are the reasons and shapes, either of the soul or the body, such as beauty or ugliness. [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]

How can physical powers form a secondary kind of qualities? If they be qualities only so far as they are powers, this definition would not suit all qualities, as has been said above. If boxing ability be a quality as far as it is a disposition, it is useless to attribute to it a power, since power is implied in habituation. Further, how should we distinguish the natural boxing ability from that which is scientifically acquired? If both be qualities, they do not imply any difference so far as one is natural, and the other acquired; that is merely an accident, since the capacity of boxing is the same form in both cases. [Ennead VI,1 (42) 11]

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

Will we therefore have to admit that activity, which is activity only because it is a quality, is something substantially different from quality? In animated beings, especially in those capable of choice because they incline towards this or that thing, activity has a really substantial nature. What is the nature of the action exercised by the inanimate powers that we call qualities? Is it participation in their qualities by whatever approaches them? Further, if the power which acts on something else simultaneously experiences (or “suffers”), how can it still remain active? For the greater thing, which by itself is three feet in size, is great or small only by the relation established between it, and something else (smaller). It might indeed be objected that the greater thing and the smaller thing become such only by participation in greatness or smallness. Likewise, what is both “active” and “passive” becomes such in participating in “activity” and “passivity.” [Ennead VI,1 (42) 12]

It may be objected that actualization and movement do not, by themselves, form a genus, but belong to the genus of relation, because actualization exists through the power of something active, and movement exists by the power of some motor, as such. We might answer that relative conceptions are produced by habituation (the manner of being) even of things, and not only through the relation established between them by the mind. As the habituation is a mode of “hypostatic” existence, although it be the “thing of something else,” or although it refer to something else, it nevertheless possesses its nature before being a relation. Now this actualization, this movement, this habituation, which is the “thing of some other thing” nevertheless possesses the property of existing and of being conceived by itself before being a relation; otherwise, all things would be relative conceptions; for there is nothing, not excluding the soul herself, which does not bear some relation to something else. Moreover, why are “action” and “acting” not relatives? For they necessarily are either a movement or an actualization. If the Aristotelians consider “action” a relative, and make a genus of “acting,” why then do they not also place “movement” among the relatives, and make a genus of “moving?” They might, indeed, have subsumed under the genus “movement” the two species “action” and “reaction” (or, “suffering”); but they have no right to make two distinct genera of “acting” and “reacting,” as they generally do. [Ennead VI,1 (42) 17]

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

Perhaps, instead of saying that the one is the cause of the other things, we would have to admit that these things are as parts and elements of the one; and that all things form a single nature in which only our thought establishes divisions; so that, by virtue of its admirable power, this nature be unity distributed in all things, appearing and becoming manifold, as if it were in movement, and that the one should cease being unity as a result of the fruitfulness of its nature. If we were to enumerate successively the parts of such a nature, we would grant to each of them a separate existence, ignoring that we had not seen the whole together. But after thus having separated the parts, we would soon reapproximate them, not for long being able to keep apart the isolated elements which tend to reunite. That is why we could not help making a whole out of them, letting them once more become unity, or rather, be unity. Besides, this will be easier to understand when we shall know what these essences are, and how many are the genera of essences; for we shall then be able to conceive their mode of existence. And as, in these matters, it is not well to limit oneself to negations, but to aim at positive knowledge, and at the full intelligence of the subject here treated, we shall have to make this inquiry. [Ennead VI,2 (43) 3]

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]

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

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]

For sense-objects, which receive their impulse from without, movement is a stimulus which agitates them, excites them, presses them, prevents them from slumbering in inertia, from remaining the same, and makes them present an image of life by their agitation and continual mutations. Besides, one must not confuse the things that move with movement; walking is not the feet, but an actualization of the power connected with the feet. Now as this power is invisible, we perceive only the agitation of the feet; we see that their present state is quite different from that in which they would have been, had they remained in place, and that they have some addition, which however, is invisible. Thus, being united to objects other than itself, the power is perceived only accidentally, because one notices that the feet change place, and do not rest. Likewise, alteration in the altered object, is recognized only by failure to discover in it the same quality as before. [Ennead VI,3 (44) 23]

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]

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

What then is that thing by virtue of which the intelligible world is eternal and perpetual? Of what does perpetuity consist? Either perpetuity and eternity are identical, or eternity is related to perpetuity. Evidently, however, eternity consists in an unity, but in an unity formed by multiple elements, in a conception of nature derived from intelligible entities, or which is united to them, or is perceived in them, so that all these intelligible entities form an unity, though this unity be at the same time manifold in nature and powers. Thus contemplating the manifold power of the intelligible world, we call “being” its substrate; movement its life; rest its permanence; difference the manifoldness of its principles; and identity, their unity. Synthesizing these principles, they fuse into one single life, suppressing their difference, considering the inexhaustible duration, the identity and immutability of their action, of their life and thought, for which there is neither change nor interval. The contemplation of all these entities constitutes the contemplation of eternity; and we see a life that is permanent in its identity, which ever possesses all present things, which does not contain them successively, but simultaneously; whose manner of existence is not different at various times, but whose perfection is consummate and indivisible. It therefore contains all things at the same time, as in a single point, without any of them draining off; it resides in identity, that is, within itself, undergoing no change. Ever being in the present, because it never lost anything, and will never acquire anything, it is always what it is. Eternity is not intelligible existence; it is the (light) that radiates from this existence, whose identity completely excludes the future and admits nothing but present existence, which remains what it is, and does not change. [Ennead III,7 (45) 3]

That this is the state of affairs appears when, on applying one’s intelligence to the contemplation of some of the intelligible Entities, it becomes possible to assert, or rather, to see that it is absolutely incapable of ever having undergone any change; otherwise, it would not always exist; or rather, it would not always exist entirely. Is it thus perpetual? Doubtless; its nature is such that one may recognize that it is always such as it is, and that it could never be different in the future; so that, should one later on again contemplate it, it will be found similar to itself (unchanged). Therefore, if we should never cease from contemplation, if we should ever remain united thereto while admiring its nature, and if in that actualization we should show ourselves indefatigable, we would succeed in raising ourselves to eternity; but, to be as eternal as existence, we must not allow ourselves to be in anyway distracted from contemplating eternity, and eternal nature in the eternal itself. If that which exists thus be eternal, and exists ever, evidently that which never lowers itself to an inferior nature; which possesses life in its fulness, without ever having received, receiving, or being about to receive anything; this nature would be “aidion,” or perpetual. Perpetuity is the property constitutive of such a substrate; being of it, and in it. Eternity is the substrate in which this property manifests. Consequently reason dictates that eternity is something venerable, identical with the divinity. We might even assert that the age (“aion,” or eternity) is a divinity that manifests within itself, and outside of itself in its immutable and identical existence, in the permanence of its life. Besides, there is nothing to surprise any one if in spite of that we assert a manifoldness in the divinity. Every intelligible entity is manifoldness because infinite in power, infinite in the sense that it lacks nothing; it exercises this privilege peculiarly because it is not subject to losing anything. [Ennead III,7 (45) 5]

“Always” must therefore be applied to the power which contains no interval in its existence, which has need of nothing outside of what it possesses, because it possesses everything, because it is every being, and thus lacks nothing. Such a nature could not be complete in one respect, but incomplete in another. Even if what is in time should appear complete, as a body that suffices the soul appears complete, though it be complete only for the soul; that which is in time needs the future, and consequently is incomplete in respect to the time it stands in need of; when it succeeds in enjoying the time to which it aspires, and succeeds in becoming united thereto, even though it still remain imperfect it still is called perfect by verbal similarity. But the existence whose characteristic it is not to need the future, not to be related to any other time — whether capable of being measured, or indefinite, and still to be indefinite — the existence that already possesses all it should possess is the very existence that our intelligence seeks out; it does not derive its existence from any particular quality, but exists before any quantity. As it is not any kind of quantity, it could not admit within itself any kind of quantity. Otherwise, as its life would be divided, it would itself cease to be absolutely indivisible; but existence must be as indivisible in its life as in its nature (“being”). (Plato’s expression,) “the Creator was good” does indeed refer to the notion of the universe, and indicates that, in the Principle superior to the universe, nothing began to exist at any particular time. Never, therefore, did the universe begin to exist within time, because though its Author existed “before” it, it was only in the sense that its author was the cause of its existence. But, after having used the word “was,” to express this thought, Plato immediately corrects himself, and he demonstrates that this word does not apply to the Things that possess eternity. [Ennead III,7 (45) 6]

As the universal Soul contained an activity that agitated her, and impelled her to transport into another world what she still saw on high, she was willing to retain all things that were present at the same time. (Time arose not by a single fiat, but as the result of a process. This occurred within the universal Soul, but may well be first illustrated by the more familiar process within) Reason, which distributes unity, not indeed That which remains within itself, but that which is exterior to itself. Though this process seem to be a strengthening one, reason developing out of the seed in which it brooded unto manifoldness, it is really a weakening (or destructive one), inasmuch as it weakened manifoldness by division, and weakened reason by causing it to extend. The case was similar with the universal Soul. When she produced the sense-world, the latter was animated by a movement which was only an image of intelligible movement. (While trying to strengthen) this image-movement to the extent of the intelligible movement, she herself (weakened), instead of remaining exclusively eternal, became temporal and (involuntarily) subjected what she had produced to the conditions of time, transferring entirely into time not only the universe, but also all its revolutions. Indeed, as the world moves within the universal Soul, which is its location, it also moves within the time that this Soul bears within herself. Manifesting her power in a varied and successive manner, by her mode of action, the universal Soul begat succession. Indeed, she passes from one conception to another, and consequently to what did not exist before, since this conception was not effective, and since the present life of the soul does not resemble her former life. Her life is varied, and from the variety of her life results the variety of time. [Ennead III,7 (45) 11]

We have already decided that eternity is life characterized by rest, identity, immutability and infinity (in intelligence). It is, further, (admitted that) this our world is the image of the superior World (of intelligence). We have also come to the conclusion that time is the image of eternity. Consequently, corresponding to the Life characteristic of Intelligence, this world must contain another life which bears the same name, and which belongs to that power of the universal Soul. Instead of the movement of Intelligence, we will have the movement characteristic of a part of the soul (as the universal Soul ceaselessly passes from one thought to another). Corresponding to the permanence, identity, and immutability (of Intelligence), we will have the mobility of a principle which ceaselessly passes from one actualization to another. Corresponding to the unity and the absence of all extension, we will have a mere image of unity, an image which exists only by virtue of continuity. Corresponding to an infinity already entirely present, we will have a progression towards infinity which perpetually tends towards what follows. Corresponding to what exists entirely at the same time, we will have what exists by parts, and what will never exist entire at the same time. The soul’s existence will have to be ceaseless acquiring of existence; if it is to reveal an image of the complete, universal and infinite existence of the soul; that is the reason its existence is able to represent the intelligible existence. [Ennead III,7 (45) 11]

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

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

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

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

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

The sense-world draws its existence from that intelligible World. The sense-world, however, is not really unitary; it is indeed multiple, and divided into a plurality of parts which are separated from each other, and are mutually foreign. Not love reigns there, but hate, produced by the separation of things which their state of imperfection renders mutually inimical. None of its parts suffices to itself. Preserved by something else, it is none the less an enemy of the preserving Power. The sense-world has been created, not because the divinity reflected on the necessity of creating, but because (in the nature of things) it was unavoidable that there be a nature inferior to the intelligible World, which, being perfect, could not have been the last degree of existence. It occupied the first rank, it had great power, that was universal and capable of creating without deliberation. If it had had to deliberate, it would not, by itself, have expressed the power of creation. It would not have possessed it essentially. It would have resembled an artisan, who, himself, does not have the power of creating, but who acquires it by learning how to work. By giving something of itself to matter, Intelligence produced everything without issuing from its rest or quietness. That which it gives is Reason, because reason is the emanation of Intelligence, an emanation that is as durable as the very existence of Intelligence. In a seminal reason all the parts exist in an united condition, without any of them struggling with another, without disagreement or hindrance. This Reason then causes something of itself to pass into the corporeal mass, where the parts are separated from each other, and hinder each other, and destroy each other. Likewise, from this unitary Intelligence, and from the Reason that proceeds thence, issues this universe whose parts are separate and distinct from each other, some of the parts being friendly and allied, while some are separate and inimical. They, therefore, destroy each other, either voluntarily or involuntarily, and through this destruction their generation is mutually operated. In such a way did the divinity arrange their actions and experiences that all concur in the formation of a single harmony, in which each utters its individual note because, in the whole, the Reason that dominates them produces order and harmony. The sense-world does not enjoy the perfection of Intelligence and Reason: it only participates therein. Consequently, the sense-world needed harmony, because it was formed by the concurrence of Intelligence and necessity. Necessity drives the sense-world to evil, and to what is irrational, because necessity itself is irrational; but Intelligence dominates necessity. The intelligible World is pure reason; none other could be such. The world, which is born of it, had to be inferior to it, and be neither pure reason, nor mere matter; for order would have been impossible in unmingled matter. The sense-world, therefore, is a mixture of matter and Reason; those are the elements of which it is composed. The principle from which this mixture proceeds, and which presides over the mixture, is the Soul. Neither must we imagine that this presiding over the mixture constitutes an effort for the Soul; for she easily administers the universe, by her presence. [Ennead III,2 (47) 2]

Since the work under consideration is the entire world, we would, were our intelligence attentively to listen to its voice, hear it exclaim as follows: “It is a divinity who has made Me, and from the divinity’s hands I issued complete, including all animated beings, entire and self-sufficient, standing in need of nothing, since everything is contained within Me; plants, animals, the whole of Nature, the multitude of the divinities, the troupe of guardians, excellent souls, and the men who are happy because of virtue. This refers not only to the earth, which is rich in plants and animals of all kinds; the power of the Soul extends also to the sea. Nor are the air and entire heaven inanimate. They are the seat of all the excellent Souls, which communicate life to the stars, and which preside over the circular revolution of the heaven, a revolution that is eternal and full of harmony, which imitates the movement of Intelligence by the eternal and regular movement of the stars around one and the same centre, because heaven has no need to seek anything outside of itself. All the beings I contain aspire to the Good; all achieve Him, each according to its potentiality. Indeed, from the Good depends the entire heaven, my whole Soul, the divinities that inhabit my various parts, all the animals, all the plants, and all my apparently inanimate beings. In this aggregation of beings some seem to participate only in existence, others in life, others in sensation, others in intelligence, while still others seem to participate in all the powers of life at one time; for we must not expect equal faculties for unequal things, as for instance sight for the fingers, as it is suitable to the eye; while the finger needs something else; it needs its own form, and has to fulfil its function.” [Ennead III,2 (47) 3]

If then, even here below, souls enjoy the faculty of arriving at happiness, we should not accuse the constitution of the universe because some souls are not happy; the fault rather lies with their weakness, which hinders them from struggling courageously enough in the career where prizes are offered to virtue. Why indeed should we be astonished that the spirits which have not made themselves divine should not enjoy divine life? Poverty and diseases are of no importance to the good, and they are useful to the evil (as thought Theognis). Besides, we are necessarily subject to diseases, because we have a body. Then all these accidents are not useless for the order and existence of the universe. Indeed, when a being is dissolved into its elements, the Reason of the universe uses it to beget other beings, for the universal Reason embraces everything within its sphere of activity. Thus when the body is disorganized, and the soul is softened by her passions, then the body, overcome by sickness, and the soul, overcome by vice, are introduced into another series and order. There are things, like poverty and sickness, which benefit the persons who undergo them. Even vice contributes to the perfection of the universe, because it furnishes opportunity for the exercise of the divine justice. It serves other purposes also; for instance, it increases the vigilance of souls, and excites the mind and intelligence to avoid the paths of perdition; it also emphasizes the value of virtue by contrast with the evils that overtake the wicked. Of course, such utilities are not the cause of the existence of evils; we only mean that, since evils exist, the divinity made use of them to accomplish His purposes. It would be the characteristic of a great power to make even evils promote the fulfilment of its purposes, to cause formless things to assist in the production of forms. In short, we assert that evil is only an omission or failure of good. Now a coming short of good must necessarily exist in the beings here below, because in them good is mingled with other things; for this thing to which the good is allied differs from the good, and thus produces the lack of good. That is why “it is impossible for evil to be destroyed”: because things are successively inferior, relatively to the nature of the absolute Good; and because, being different from the Good from which they derive their existence, they have become what they are by growing more distant from their principle. [Ennead III,2 (47) 5]

Further objections assert that propriety, order and justice demand the contrary of the existing state of affairs in the world, and that we could expect no less from a Providence that was wise. Even if it were a matter of moment to virtue or vice, it is unsuitable that the wicked should be the masters, and chiefs of state, and that the good should be slaves; for a bad prince commits the worst crimes. Moreover, the wicked conquer in battles, and force their prisoners to undergo the extremities of torments. How could such facts occur if indeed a divine Providence be in control? Although indeed in the production of some work (of art), it be especially the totality that claims attention, nevertheless, the parts must also obtain their due, especially when they are animated, living and reasonable; it is just that divine Providence should extend to everything, especially inasmuch as its duty is precisely to neglect nothing. In view of these objections we shall be forced to demonstrate that really everything here below is good, if we continue to insist that the sense-world depends on supreme Intelligence, and that its power penetrates everywhere. [Ennead III,2 (47) 6]

Granting these premises, we may start out on an explanation of the above mentioned difficulties. For in the world we will find remarkable traces of the Providence and divine Power from which it proceeds. Let us take first, the actions of souls who do evil voluntarily; the actions of the wicked who, for instance, harm virtuous men, or other men equally evil. Providence need not be held responsible for the wickedness of these souls. The cause should be sought in the voluntary determinations of those souls themselves. For we have proved that the souls have characteristic motions, and that while here below they are not pure, but rather are animals (as would naturally be the case with souls united to bodies). Now, it is not surprising that, finding themselves in such a condition, they would live conformably to that condition. Indeed, it is not the formation of the world that made them descend here below. Even before the world existed, they were already disposed to form part of it, to busy themselves with it, to infuse it with life, to administer it, and in it to exert their power in a characteristic manner, either by presiding over its (issues), and by communicating to it something of their power, or by descending into it, or by acting in respect to the world each in its individual manner. The latter question, however, does not refer to the subject we are now considering; here it will be sufficient to show that, however these circumstances occur, Providence is not to be blamed. [Ennead III,2 (47) 7]

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

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]

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

The difference that exists between souls in respect to vice and virtue has several causes; among others, the inequality that exists between souls from the very beginning. This inequality conforms to the essence of universal Reason, of which they are unequal parts, because they differ from each other. We must indeed remember that souls have three ranks (the intellectual, rational, and sense lives), and that the same soul does not always exercise the same faculties. But, to explain our meaning, let us return to our former illustration. Let us imagine actors who utter words not written by the poet; as if the drama were incomplete, they themselves supply what is lacking, and fill omissions made by the poet. They seem less like actors than like parts of the poet, who foresaw what they were to say, so as to reattach the remainder so far as it was in his power. In the universe, indeed, all things that are the consequences and results of bad deeds are produced by reasons, and conform to the universal Reason. Thus, from an illicit union, or from a rape, may be born natural children that may become very distinguished men; likewise, from cities destroyed by perverse individuals, may rise other flourishing cities. [Ennead III,2 (47) 18]

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

The Reason of the Universe, indeed, proceeds from the universal Soul; and the latter, in turn, proceeds from Intelligence. Intelligence, however, is not a particular being; it consists of all (intelligible beings), and all the beings form a plurality. Now, a plurality of being implies mutual differences between them, consisting of first, second and third ranks. Consequently, the souls of engendered animals are rather degradations of souls, seeming to have grown weaker by their procession. The (generating) reason of the animal, indeed, although it be animated, is a soul other than that from which proceeds universal Reason. This Reason itself loses excellence in the degree that it hastens down to enter into matter, and what it produces is less perfect. Nevertheless, we may well consider how admirable a work is the creature, although it be so far distant from the creator. We should, therefore, not attribute to the creator the (imperfections of the) creature; for any principle is superior to its product. So we may assert that (the principle even of imperfect things) is perfect; and, (instead of complaining), we should rather admire His communication of some traits of His power to beings dependent from Him. We have even reason to be more than grateful for His having given gifts greater than they can receive or assimilate; and as the gifts of Providence are superabundant, we can find the cause (of imperfection) only in the creatures themselves. [Ennead III,3 (48) 3]

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

Besides the above, the soul possesses the discursive reason, which judges of sense-representations, combining and dividing them. Under the form of images, she also considers the conceptions received from intelligence, and operates on these images as on images furnished by sensation. Finally, she still is the power of understanding, since she distinguishes the new images from the old, and harmonizes them by comparing them; whence, indeed, our reminiscences are derived. [Ennead V,3 (49) 2]

That is the limit of the intellectual power of the soul. Is it, besides, capable of turning upon itself, and cognizing itself, or must this knowledge be sought for only within intelligence? If we assign this knowledge to the intellectual part of the soul; we will be making an intelligence out of it; and we will then have to study in what it differs from the superior Intelligence. If again, we refuse this knowledge to this part of the soul, we will, by reason, rise to Intelligence, and we will have to examine the nature of self-consciousness. Further, if we attribute this knowledge both to the inferior and to the superior intelligences, we shall have to distinguish self-consciousness according as it belongs to the one or to the other; for if there were no difference between these two kinds of intelligence, discursive reason would be identical with pure Intelligence. Does discursive reason, therefore, turn upon itself? Or does it limit itself to the comprehension of the types received from both (sense and intelligence); and, in the latter case, how does it achieve such comprehension? This latter question is the one to be examined here. [Ennead V,3 (49) 2]

But why should this whole (soul-) part that is superior to sensation be assigned to the soul rather than to intelligence? Because the power of the soul consists in reasoning, and because all these operations belong to the discursive reason. But why can we not simply assign to it, in addition, self-consciousness, which would immediately clear up this inquiry? Because the nature of discursive reason consists in considering exterior things, and in scrutinizing their diversity, while to intelligence we attribute the privilege of contemplating itself, and of contemplating its own contents. But what hinders discursive reason, by some other faculty of the soul, from considering what belongs to it? Because, in this case, instead of discursive reason and reasoning, we would have pure Intelligence. But what then hinders the presence of pure Intelligence within the soul? Nothing, indeed. Shall we then have a right to say that pure Intelligence is a part of the soul? No indeed; but still we would have the right to call it “ours.” It is different from, and higher than discursive reason; and still it is “ours,” although we cannot count it among the parts of the soul. In one respect it is “ours,” and in another, is not “ours;” for at times we make use of it, and at other times we make use of discursive reason; consequently, intelligence is “ours” when we make use of it; and it is not “ours” when we do not make use of it. But what is the meaning of “making use of intelligence”? Does it mean becoming intelligence, and speaking in that character, or does it mean speaking in conformity with intelligence? For we are not intelligence; we speak in conformity with intelligence by the first part of discursive reason, the part that receives impressions from Intelligence. We feel through sensation, and it is we who feel. Is it also we who conceive and who simultaneously are conceived? Or is it we who reason, and who conceive the intellectual notions which enlighten discursive reason? We are indeed essentially constituted by discursive reason. The actualizations of Intelligence are superior to us, while those of sensation are inferior; as to us, “we” are the principal part of the soul, the part that forms a middle power between these two extremes, now lowering ourselves towards sensation, now rising towards Intelligence. We acknowledge sensibility to be ours because we are continually feeling. It is not as evident that intelligence is ours, because we do not make use of it continuously, and because it is separated, in this sense, that it is not intelligence that inclines towards us, but rather we who raise our glances towards intelligence. Sensation is our messenger, Intelligence is our king. [Ennead V,3 (49) 3]

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

On one hand, therefore, intelligence, and on the other the intelligible and existence form but one and the same thing, namely, the primary existence and primary Intelligence, which possesses realities, or rather, which is identical with them. But if the thought-object and the thought together form but a single entity, how will the thinking object thus be able to think itself? Evidently thought will embrace the intelligible, or will be identical therewith; but we still do not see how intelligence is to think itself. Here we are: thought and the intelligible fuse into one because the intelligible is an actualization and not a simple power; because life is neither alien nor incidental to it; because thought is not an accident for it, as it would be for a brute body, as for instance, for a stone; and, finally, because the intelligible is primary “being.” Now, if the intelligible be an actualization, it is the primary actualization, the most perfect thought, or, “substantial thought.” Now, as this thought is supremely true, as it is primary Thought, as it possesses existence in the highest degree, it is primary Intelligence. It is not, therefore, mere potential intelligence; there is no need to distinguish within it the potentiality from the actualization of thought; otherwise, its substantiality would be merely potential. Now since intelligence is an actualization, and as its “being” also is an actualization, it must fuse with its actualization. But existence and the intelligible also fuse with their actualization. Therefore intelligence, the intelligible, and thought will form but one and the same entity. Since the thought of the intelligible is the intelligible, and as the intelligible is intelligence, intelligence will thus think itself. Intelligence will think, by the actualization of the thought to which it is identical, the intelligible to which it also is identical. It will think itself, so far as it is thought; and in so far as it is the intelligible which it thinks by the thought to which it is identical. [Ennead V,3 (49) 5]

Reason, therefore, demonstrates that there is a principle which must essentially know itself. But this self-consciousness is more perfect in intelligence than in the soul. The soul knows herself in so far as she knows that she depends on another power; while intelligence, by merely turning towards itself, naturally cognizes its existence and “being.” By contemplating realities, it contemplates itself; this contemplation is an actualization, and this actualization is intelligence; for intelligence and thought form but a single entity. The entire intelligence sees itself entire, instead of seeing one of its parts by another of its parts. Is it in the nature of intelligence, such as reason conceives of it, to produce within us a simple conviction? No. Intelligence necessarily implies (certitude), and not mere persuasion; for necessity is characteristic of intelligence, while persuasion is characteristic of the soul. Here below, it is true, we rather seek to be persuaded, than to see truth by pure Intelligence. When we were in the superior region, satisfied with intelligence, we used to think, and to contemplate the intelligible, reducing everything to unity. It was Intelligence which thought and spoke about itself; the soul rested, and allowed Intelligence free scope to act. But since we have descended here below, we seek to produce persuasion in the soul, because we wish to contemplate the model in its image. [Ennead V,3 (49) 6]

We must, therefore, teach our soul how Intelligence contemplates itself. This has to be taught to that part of our soul which, because of its intellectual character, we call reason, or discursive intelligence, to indicate that it is a kind of intelligence, that it possesses its power by intelligence, and that it derives it from intelligence. This part of the soul must, therefore, know that it knows what it sees, that it knows what it expresses, and that, if it were identical with what it describes, it would thereby know itself. But since intelligible entities come to it from the same principle from which it itself comes, since it is a reason, and as it receives from intelligence entities that are kindred, by comparing them with the traces of intelligence it contains, it must know itself. This image it contains must, therefore, be raised to true Intelligence, which is identical with the true intelligible entities, that is, to the primary and really true Beings; for it is impossible that this intelligence should originate from itself. If then intelligence remain in itself and with itself, if it be what it is (in its nature) to be, that is, intelligence — for intelligence can never be unintelligent — it must contain within it the knowledge of itself, since it does not issue from itself, and since its function and its “being” (or, true nature) consist in being no more than intelligence. It is not an intelligence that devotes itself to practical action, obliged to consider what is external to it, and to issue from itself to become cognizant of exterior things; for it is not necessary that an intelligence which devotes itself to action should know itself. As it does not give itself to action — for, being pure, it has nothing to desire — it operates a conversion towards itself, by virtue of which it is not only probable, but even necessary for it to know itself. Otherwise, what would its life consist of, inasmuch as it does not devote itself to action, and as it remains within itself? [Ennead V,3 (49) 6]

It may be objected that the Intelligence contemplates the divinity. If, however, it be granted, that the Intelligence knows the divinity, one is thereby forced to admit that it also knows itself; for it will know what it derives from the divinity, what it has received from Him, and what it still may hope to receive from Him. By knowing this, it will know itself, since it is one of the entities given by the divinity; or rather, since it is all that is given by the divinity. If then, it know the divinity, it knows also the powers of the divinity, it knows that itself proceeds from the divinity, and that itself derives its powers from the divinity. If Intelligence cannot have a clear intuition of the divinity, because the subject and object of an intuition must be the same, this will turn out to be a reason why Intelligence will know itself, and will see itself, since seeing is being what is seen. What else indeed could we attribute to Intelligence? Rest, for instance? For Intelligence, rest does not consist in being removed from itself, but rather to act without being disturbed by anything that is alien. The things that are not troubled by anything alien need only to produce their own actualization, especially when they are in actualization, and not merely potential. That which is in actualization, and which cannot be in actualization for anything foreign, must be in actualization for itself. When thinking itself, Intelligence remains turned towards itself, referring its actualization to itself. If anything proceed from it, it is precisely because it remains turned towards itself that it remains in itself. It had, indeed, to apply itself to itself, before applying itself to anything else, or producing something else that resembled it; thus fire must first be fire in itself, and be fire in actualization, in order later to impart some traces of its nature to other things. Intelligence, in itself, therefore, is an actualization. The soul, on turning herself towards Intelligence, remains within herself; on issuing from Intelligence, the soul turns towards external things. On turning towards Intelligence, she becomes similar to the power from which she proceeds; on issuing from Intelligence, she becomes different from herself. Nevertheless, she still preserves some resemblance to Intelligence, both in her activity and productiveness. When active, the soul still contemplates Intelligence; when productive, the soul produces forms, which resemble distant thoughts, and are traces of thought and Intelligence, traces that conform to their archetype; and which reveal a faithful imitation thereof, or which, at least, still preserve a weakened image thereof, even if they do occupy only the last rank of beings. [Ennead V,3 (49) 7]

What qualities does Intelligence display in the intelligible world? What qualities does it discover in itself by contemplation? To begin with, we must not form of Intelligence a conception showing a figure, or colors, like bodies. Intelligence existed before bodies. The “seminal reasons” which produce figure and color are not identical with them; for “seminal reasons” are invisible. So much the more are intelligible entities invisible; their nature is identical with that of the principles in which they reside, just as “seminal reasons” are identical with the soul that contains them. But the soul does not see the entities she contains, because she has not begotten them; even she herself, just like the “reasons,” is no more than an image (of Intelligence). The principle from which she comes possesses an evident existence, that is genuine, and primary; consequently, that principle exists of and in itself. But this image (which is in the soul) is not even permanent unless it belong to something else, and reside therein. Indeed, the characteristic of an image is that it resides in something else, since it belongs to something else, unless it remain attached to its principle. Consequently, this image does not contemplate, because it does not possess a light that is sufficient; and even if it should contemplate, as it finds its perfection in something else, it would be contemplating something else, instead of contemplating itself. The same case does not obtain in Intelligence; there the contemplated entity and contemplation co-exist, and are identical. Who is it, therefore, that declares the nature of the intelligible? The power that contemplates it, namely, Intelligence itself. Here below our eyes see the light because our vision itself is light, or rather because it is united to light; for it is the colors that our vision beholds. On the contrary, Intelligence does not see through something else, but through itself, because what it sees is not outside of itself. It sees a light with another light, and not by another light; it, is therefore, a light that sees another; and, consequently, it sees itself. This light, on shining in the soul, illuminates her; that is, intellectualizes her; assimilates her to the superior light (namely, in Intelligence). If, by the ray with which this light enlightens the soul, we judge of the nature of this light and conceive of it as still greater, more beautiful, and more brilliant, we will indeed be approaching Intelligence and the intelligible world; for, by enlightening the soul, Intelligence imparts to her a clearer life. This life is not generative, because Intelligence converts the soul towards Intelligence; and, instead of allowing the soul to divide, causes the soul to love the splendor with which she is shining. Neither is this life one of the senses, for though the senses apply themselves to what is exterior, they do not, on that account, learn anything beyond (themselves). He who sees that superior light of the verities sees much better things that are visible, though in a different manner. It remains, therefore, that the Intelligence imparts to the soul the intellectual life, which is a trace of her own life; for Intelligence possesses the realities. It is in the life and the actualization which are characteristic of Intelligence that here consists the primary Light, which from the beginning, illumines itself, which reflects on itself, because it is simultaneously enlightener and enlightened; it is also the true intelligible entity, because it is also at the same time thinker and thought. It sees itself by itself, without having need of anything else; it sees itself in an absolute manner, because, within it, the known is identical with the knower. It is not otherwise in us; it is by Intelligence that we know intelligence. Otherwise, how could we speak of it? How could we say that it was capable of clearly grasping itself, and that, by it, we understand ourselves? How could we, by these reasonings, to Intelligence reduce our soul which recognizes that it is the image of Intelligence, which considers its life a faithful imitation of the life of Intelligence, which thinks that, when it thinks, it assumes an intellectual and divine form? Should one wish to know which is this Intelligence that is perfect, universal and primary, which knows itself essentially, the soul has to be reduced to Intelligence; or, at least, the soul has to recognize that the actualization by which the soul conceives the entities of which the soul has the reminiscence is derived from Intelligence. Only by placing herself in that condition, does the soul become able to demonstrate that inasmuch as she is the image of Intelligence she, the soul, can by herself, see it; that is, by those of her powers which most exactly resemble Intelligence (namely, by pure thought); which resembles Intelligence in the degree that a part of the soul can be assimilated to it. [Ennead V,3 (49) 8]

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

If one should find himself unable to rise immediately to pure thought, which is the highest, or first, part of the soul, he may begin by opinion, and from it rise to Intelligence. If even opinion be out of the reach of his ability, he may begin with sensation, which already represents general forms; for sensation which contains the forms potentially may possess them even in actualization. If, on the contrary, the best he can do is to descend, let him descend to the generative power, and to the things it produces; then, from the last forms, one may rise again to the higher forms, and so on to the primary forms. [Ennead V,3 (49) 9]

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]

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]

If myths are to earn their name (of something “reserved,” or “silent”) they must necessarily develop their stories under the category of time, and present as separate many things, that are simultaneous, though different in rank or power. That is the reason they so often mention the generation of ungenerated things, and that they so often separate simultaneous things. But after having thus (by this analysis) yielded us all the instruction possible to them, these myths leave it to the reader to make a synthesis thereof. Ours is the following: [Ennead III,5 (50) 10]

The power which participates in Intelligence (the universal Soul) does not participate in it in a manner such as to be equal to it, but only in the measure of her ability to participate therein. She is the first actualization of Intelligence, the first being that Intelligence, though remaining within itself, begets. She directs her whole activity towards supreme Intelligence, and lives exclusively thereby. Moving from outside Intelligence, and around it, according to the laws of harmony, the universal Soul fixes her glance upon it. By contemplation penetrating into its inmost depths, through Intelligence she sees the divinity Himself. Such is the nature of the serene and blissful existence of the divinities, a life where evil has no place. [Ennead I,8 (51) 2]

Here follows still another demonstration of the necessity of evil. Since good does not remain alone, evil must necessarily exist by issuing from the good. We might express this differently, as the degradation and exhaustion (of the divine power, which, in the whole hierarchic series of successive emanations weakens from degree to degree). There must, therefore, be a last degree of being, beyond which nothing further can be begotten, and that is evil. Just as the existence of something after a first (Good) is necessary, so must also a last degree (of being) be necessary. Now the last degree is matter, and contains nothing more of the First; (and, as matter and evil are identical,) the existence of evil is necessary. [Ennead I,8 (51) 7]

Just as much as the soul, matter is included within the order of beings. For both, so to speak, there is but a single locality; for it would be an error to imagine two different localities, one for matter, and the other for the soul; such as, for instance, earth might be for matter, and air for the soul. The expression that “soul occupies a locality different from matter” means only that the soul is not in matter; that is, that the soul is not united to matter; that the soul does not together with matter constitute something unitary; and that for the soul matter is not a substrate that could contain the soul. That is how the soul is separated from matter. But the soul possesses several powers, since she contains the principle (intelligence), the medium (the discursive reason), and the goal (the power of sensation) (united to the generative and growing powers). Now, just like the beggar who presents himself at the door of the banquet  -hall, and with importunity asks to be admitted, matter tries to penetrate into the place occupied by the soul. But every place is sacred, because nothing in it is deprived of the presence of the soul. Matter, on exposing itself to its rays is illuminated by it, but it cannot harbor the principle that illuminates her (the soul). The latter indeed, does not sustain matter, although she be present, and does not even see it, because it is evil. Matter obscures, weakens the light that shines down upon her, by mingling its darkness with her. To the soul, matter affords the opportunity of producing generation, by clearing free access towards matter; for if matter were not present, the soul would not approach it. The fall of the soul is, therefore, a descent into matter; hence comes her “weakness,” which means, that not all of the soul’s faculties are exercised; because matter hinders their action, intruding on the place occupied by the soul and forcing her, so to speak, to retrench. Until the soul can manage to accomplish her return into the intelligible world, matter degrades what it has succeeded in abstracting from the soul. For the soul, therefore, matter is a cause of weakness and vice. Therefore, by herself, the soul is primitively evil, and is the first evil. By its presence, matter is the cause of the soul’s exerting her generative powers, and being thus led to suffering; it is matter that causes the soul to enter into dealings with matter, and thus to become evil. The soul, indeed, would never have approached matter unless the latter’s presence had not afforded the soul an opportunity to produce generation. [Ennead I,8 (51) 14]

We must, therefore, acknowledge the existence first of Good, unmixed, and then the nature mingled of good and evil; but what most participates in evil thereby trends towards absolute Evil; and what participates in it to a less degree thereby trends towards good. For what is evil to soul? It is being in contact with inferior nature; otherwise the soul would not have any appetite, pain, or fear. Indeed fear is felt by us only for the composite (of soul and body), fearing its dissolution, which thus is the cause of our pains and sufferings. The end of every appetite is to put aside what troubles it, or to forestall what might do so. As to sense-representations (fancy), it is the impression made by an exterior object on the irrational part of the soul, a part which can receive this impression only because it is not indivisible. False opinion rises within the soul because it is no longer within truth, and this occurs because the soul is no longer pure. On the contrary, the desire of the intelligible leads the soul to unite intimately with intelligence, as she should, and there remain solidly entrenched, without declining towards anything inferior. It is only because of the nature and power of the Good that evil does not remain pure Evil. (Matter, which is synonymous with evil) is like a captive which beauty covers with golden chains, so that the divinities might not see its nakedness, and that men might not be intruded on by it; or that men, if they must see it, shall be reminded of beauty on observing an even weakened image thereof. [Ennead I,8 (51) 15]

It is said that the moon, in conjunction with (Saturn) is favorable when full, but harmful when otherwise. The opposite, however, ought to be the truth if the moon possess any influence. In fact, when it presents a full face, it presents its dark face to the planet above it (Saturn or Mars); when its disk decreases on our side, it increases on the other; therefore, it ought to exert a contrary influence when it decreases on our side, and when it increases on the side of the planet above it. These phases are of no importance for the moon, inasmuch as one of its sides is always lit. Nothing can result from it but for the planet which receives heat from it (Saturn); now this one will be heated whenever the moon turns towards us its dark side. Therefore, the moon is good for this planet when it is full towards it, but dark towards us. Besides, this obscurity of the moon for us can be of importance only for terrestrial things, not for the celestial ... (?) ... but if, because of its distance, it does not support the moon, then it must be in a worse predicament; when the moon is full, it is sufficient for terrestrial things, even when the moon is distant.... Finally, when the moon presents its obscure side to the fiery planet (Mars), it seems beneficent towards us; for the power of this planet, more fiery than (Saturn), is then sufficient by itself. [Ennead II,3 (52) 5]

When the soul applies herself to carry out her proper function — for the soul effects everything, as far as she plays the part of a principle — she follows the straight road; when she loses her way the divine justice subjugates her to the physical order which reigns in the universe, unless the soul succeed in liberating herself. The divine justice reigns ever, because the universe is directed by the order and power of the dominating principle (the universal Soul). To this is joined the co-operation of the planets which are important parts of the heaven, either by embellishing it, or by serving as signs. Now they serve as signs for all things that occur in the sense-world. As to their potency, they should be credited only with what they effect indisputably. [Ennead II,3 (52) 8]

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]

We must now distinguish, decide and express the origin of various things, inasmuch as there are some things that are produced by the course of the stars, and others that are not. Our principle is that the Soul governs the universe by Reason, just as each animal is governed by the principle (the reason) which fashions his organs, and harmonizes them with the whole of which they are parts; now the All contains everything, while the parts contain only what is individual to them. As to exterior influences, some assist, while others oppose the tendency of nature. All things are subordinated to the All because they are parts of it; by their co-operation, each with its own nature and their particular tendencies they form the total life of the universe. The inanimate beings serve as instruments for the others that set them in motion by a mechanical impulse. Irrational animated beings move indeterminately; such as horses attached to a chariot before the driver indicates which direction they are to follow; for they need the whip to be directed. The nature of the reasonable animal contains the directing driver; if the driver be skilful, it follows the straight road, instead of going blindly at chance, as often happens. Beings gifted with reason and those that lack it are both contained within the universe, and contribute to the formation of the whole. Those which are more powerful, and which occupy a more elevated rank do many important things, and co-operate in the life of the universe where their part is active, rather than passive. The passive ones act but little. Those of intermediary rank are passive in regard to some, and often active in regard to others, because they themselves possess the power of action and production (the stars, the brutes, and men.). [Ennead II,3 (52) 13]

The beings which possess a nature inferior to the star-Souls, that is, men, occupy the second rank in the universe, and play in it the same part played in us by the second power of the soul (the discursive reason). The other beings, that is, the animals, occupy about the same rank occupied in us by the lowest (or vegetative) power of the soul; for all these powers in us are not of equal rank. Consequently, all the beings which are in the heaven, or which are distributed in the universe are animated beings, and derive their life from the total Reason of the universe (because it contains the “seminal reasons” of all living beings). None of the parts of the universe, whatever be its greatness, possesses the power of altering the reasons, nor the beings engendered with the co-operation of these reasons. It may improve or degrade these beings, but cannot deprive them of their individual nature. It degrades them by injuring either their body or their soul; which occurs when an accident becomes a cause of vice for the soul which partakes of the passions of the body (the sensitive and vegetative soul) and which is given over to the inferior principle (to the animal) by the superior principle (the reasonable soul); or when the body, by its poor organization, hinders the actions in which the soul needs its co-operation; then it resembles a badly attuned lyre, which is incapable of producing sounds which could form a perfect harmony. [Ennead II,3 (52) 13]

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

Some men, fascinated by the universe and exterior objects, completely or partially abdicate their freedom. Others, dominating their environment, raise their head to the sky, and freeing themselves from exterior circumstances, release that better part of their souls which forms their primitive being. As to the latter point, it would be wrong to think that the nature of the soul was determined by the passions aroused in her by external objects, and that she did not possess her own individual nature. On the contrary, as she plays the part of a principle, she possesses, much more than other things, faculties suitable to accomplish actions suitable to her nature. Since she is a being, the soul necessarily possesses appetites, active faculties, and the power of living well. The aggregate (of the soul and body, the organism) depends on the nature which formed it, and from it receives its qualities and actions. If the soul separate from the body, she produces actions which are suitable to her nature, and which do not depend from the body; she does not appropriate the credit for the passions of the body, because she recognizes the difference of her nature. [Ennead II,3 (52) 15]

Let us examine if the “reasons” contained in the Soul are thoughts. How could the Soul produce by thoughts? It is the Reason which produces in matter; but the principle that produces naturally is neither a thought nor an intuition, but a power that fashions matter unconsciously, just as a circle gives water a circular figure and impression. Indeed, the natural generative power has the function of production; but it needs the co-operation of the governing (principle) of the Soul, which forms and which causes the activity of the generative soul engaged in matter. If the governing power of the Soul form the generative soul by reasoning, it will be considering either another object, or what it possesses in herself. If the latter be the case, she has no need of reasoning, for it is not by reasoning that the Soul fashions matter, but by the power which contains the reasons, the power which alone is effective, and capable of production. The Soul, therefore, produces by the forms. The forms she transmits are by her received from the Intelligence. This Intelligence, however, gives the forms to the universal Soul which is located immediately below her, and the universal Soul transmits them to the inferior soul (the natural generative power), fashioning and illuminating her. The inferior soul then produces, at one time without meeting any obstacles, at others, when doing so, although, in the latter case, she produces things less perfect. As she has received the power of production, and as she contains the reasons which are not the first (the “seminal reasons,” which are inferior to the Ideas) not only does she, by virtue of what she has received, produce, but she also draws from herself something which is evidently inferior (matter). It doubtless produces a living being (the universe), but a living being which is less perfect, and which enjoys life much less, because it occupies the last rank, because it is coarse and hard to manage, because the matter which composes it is, as it were, the bitterness or the superior principles, because it spreads its bitterness around her, and communicates some of it to the universe. [Ennead II,3 (52) 17]

Under these circumstances, it is plain that the universal Soul ever contemplates the better principles, because it is turned towards the intelligible world, and towards the divinity. As she fills herself with God, and is filled with God, she, as it were, overflows over her image, namely, the power which holds the last rank (the natural generative power), and which, consequently, is the last creative power. Above this creative power is the power of the Soul which immediately receives the forms from the Intelligence. Above all is the Intelligence, the Demiurge, who gives the forms to the universal Soul, and the latter impresses its traces on the third-rank power (the natural generative power). This world, therefore, is veritably a picture which perpetually pictures itself. The two first principles are immovable; the third is also immovable (in essence); but it is engaged in matter, and becomes immovable (only) by accident. As long as the Intelligence and the Soul subsist, the “reasons” flow down into this image of the Soul (the natural generative power); likewise, so long as the sun subsists, all light emanates therefrom. [Ennead II,3 (52) 18]

Such a process would imply that one individual suffers when an entirely different individual is affected. There must be a distinction between them so long as we consider the former the user, and the latter the used; and it is philosophy, that produces this separation by giving to the soul the power of using the body as a tool. [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]

The “living organism” must mean either the thus organized body, or the common mixture of soul and body, or some third thing which proceeds from the two first. In either of these three cases the soul will have to be considered impassible, while the power of experiencing passions will inhere in something else; or the soul will have to share the body’s passions, in which case the soul will have to experience passions either identical or analogous to those of the body, so that to a desire of the animal there will correspond an act or a passion of the concupiscible appetite. [Ennead I,1 (53) 5]

It would, however, probably be better to put the matter thus: by their presence, the faculties of the soul cause reaction in the organs which possess them, so that while they themselves remain unmoved, they give them the power to enter into movement. In this case, however, when the living organism experiences suffering, the life-imparting cause must itself remain impassible, while the passions and energies belong wholly to that which receives life. In this case, therefore, the life will not belong exclusively to the soul, but to the conjunction of the soul and body; or, at least, the latter’s life will not be identical with the soul’s, nor will it be the faculty of sensation, which will feel, but the being in whom that faculty inheres. [Ennead I,1 (53) 6]

As to the faculty of sensation which is peculiar to the soul, it cannot be the power of perceiving the sense-objects themselves, but only their typical forms, impressed on the animal by sensation. These have already somewhat of the intelligible nature; the exterior sensation peculiar to the animal is only the image of the sensation peculiar to the soul; which, by its very essence is truer and more real, since it consists only in contemplating images while remaining impassible. Ratiocination, opinion and thought, which principally constitute us, deal exclusively with these images, by which the soul has the power of directing the organism. [Ennead I,1 (53) 7]

She seems to be present in the bodies, and illuminates them, making living beings out of them. This occurs not as a mixture of herself and bodies, but by remaining individual, giving out images of herself, just as a single face in several mirrors. Of these, the first is sensation, which resides in the common part, the organism; then come all the other forms of the soul-forms which successively derive each from the other, down to the faculties of generation and increase, and generally, the power of producing and fashioning that which is different from self — which indeed the soul does as soon as she turns towards the object she fashions. [Ennead I,1 (53) 8]