Míguez
8. No debe, pues, preguntarse de dónde viene, porque hay lugar de donde pueda venir. Ciertamente, ni viene marcha a ningún lado, sino que se presenta y deja de presentarse. Por lo que no conviene perseguirla, sino esperar tranquilamente a que aparezca, lo mismo que se prepara el ojo en espera de la salida del sol; pues, el sol que se eleva en el horizonte — o que sale del Océano —, como dicen los se ofrece a nuestros ojos como objeto de contemplación. Pero, ¿de dónde se elevará Aquel a quien imita el sol? ¿Y a qué punto podrá adelantarse para hacerse realmente presente? Sin duda deberá elevarse por encima de la Inteligencia que lo contempla, y la Inteligencia, a su vez, permanecerá inmóvil en su contemplación, sin atender a otra cosa que a lo Bello. Ella misma se volverá hacia El y se le entregará por entero. Y, así dispuesta y saciada de EL, se verá taimen hermosa y resplandeciente en razón a su proximidad con el Primero. Pero El no vendrá, como podría esperarse. Vendrá, si acaso, como si no viniese. Y se hará presente sin estarlo realmente, ya que se encuentra por delante de todas las cosas, e incluso de la Inteligencia. Es la Inteligencia, precisamente, la que ha de ir y venir, porque desconoce dónde debe permanecer y dónde se encuentra el Primero, que no está verdaderamente en ninguna parte. Si fuese posible a la Inteligencia no permanecer en ninguna parte — no quiero decir en ningún lugar, porque la Inteligencia no ocupa ningún lugar y no se encuentra en absoluto en ninguna parte de él —, no dejaría de ver al Primero. Mejor dicho, no lo vería, sino que formaría una misma cosa con El. Pero, siendo como es Inteligencia, lo contempla, y lo contempla justamente por su parte no inteligente.
He aquí algo digno de admiración. Porque no ha venido y se encuentra presente, y, no estando en ninguna parte, no hay lugar en el que no se encuentre. Es cosa, en verdad, que justifica la admiración. Pero, para aquel que le conoce, más sorpresa causaría lo contrario. Porque, para que alguien se admire, a El más que a nadie le es imposible hacerlo. Veamos las razones.
Bouillet
VIII. Quand l’intelligence aperçoit ainsi cette lumière divine, on ne sait d’où vient cette lumière, si c’est du dedans ou du dehors; quand elle a cessé de briller, on croit tour à tour qu’elle vient du dedans et qu’elle n’en vient pas. Mais il est inutile de chercher d’où vient cette lumière : on ne peut élever sur elle aucune question de lieu. En effet, elle ne saurait ni s’éloigner, ni s’approcher de nous; elle nous apparaît seulement ou nous reste cachée. Il ne faut donc pas la chercher, mais attendre en repos qu’elle nous apparaisse, et nous préparer à la contempler, de même que l’œil attend le lever du soleil qui apparaît au-dessus de l’horizon, ou qui s’élance de l’Océan, comme le disent les poètes. D’où s’élève Celui dont notre soleil est l’image ? Au-dessus de quel horizon doit-il apparaître pour nous éclairer? Il faut qu’il apparaisse au-dessus de l’intelligence qui contemple. Ainsi, l’intelligence doit rester immobile dans la contemplation, concentrée et absorbée dans le spectacle de la beauté seule qui relève et la remplit de vigueur. Alors l’intelligence sent qu’elle est plus belle et plus brillante, parce qu’elle approche du Premier. Celui-ci ne vient pas, comme on pourrait le croire ; il vient sans venir dans le sens propre du mot (15) : il apparaît sans venir d’aucun lieu, parce qu’il est déjà présent au-dessus de toutes choses avant que l’intelligence s’approche de lui. C’est en effet l’intelligence qui s’approche et qui s’éloigne du Premier ; elle s’en éloigne quand elle ne sait pas où elle doit se tenir ni où se tient le Premier. Le Premier ne se tient nulle part, et, si l’intelligence pouvait aussi ne se tenir nulle part (je ne veux pas dire en aucun lieu : car elle est elle-même hors de tout lieu; j’entends n’être absolument nulle part), elle apercevrait toujours le Premier; ou plutôt, elle ne l’apercevrait pas, elle serait en lui, ne ferait qu’un avec lui. Maintenant, l’intelligence, par cela même qu’elle est intelligence, n’aperçoit le Premier que quand elle l’aperçoit par cette partie d’elle-même qui n’est pas intelligence [qui est supérieure à l’intelligence]. Sans doute, il semble étonnant que l’Un puisse nous être présent sans s’approcher de nous, et, tout en n’étant nulle part, être partout. Cet étonnement est fondé sur la faiblesse de notre nature; mais l’homme qui connaît le Premier s’étonnerait bien plus que les choses fussent autrement. Et en effet, elles ne peuvent être autrement. Qu’on s’en étonne, si l’on veut ; ce que nous venons de dire est cependant l’exacte vérité.
Guthrie
INTELLIGIBLE LIGHT, NOT BEING SPATIAL, HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH PLACE.
8. When intelligence thus perceives this divine light, it is impossible to discern whence this light comes, from within or from without; for when it has ceased shining the subject first thinks that it came from within, and later that it came from without. But it is useless to seek the source of this light, for no question of location can be mooted in connection with it. Indeed, it could neither withdraw from us, nor approach us; it merely appears, or remains hidden. Therefore it cannot be sought; we must restfully wait till it appears, while preparing ourselves to contemplate it, just as the eye awaits the rising of the sun which appears above the horizon, or, as the poets say, which springs up from the ocean.
GOD ARISES ABOVE THE HORIZON OF INTELLIGENCE.
Whence rises He whose image is our sun? Above what horizon must He rise, or appear, to enlighten us? He must appear above the contemplating Intelligence. Thus, Intelligence must remain immovable in contemplation, concentrated and absorbed in the spectacle of pure beauty which elevates and invigorates it. Then Intelligence feels that it is more beautiful and more brilliant, merely because it has approached the First. The latter does not come, as might be thought; He comes without really coming, in the proper sense of the word; He appears without coming from any place, because He is already present above all things before Intelligence approaches Him. In fact, it is Intelligence which approaches and withdraws from the First; it withdraws when it does not know where it should be, or where is the First. The First is nowhere; and if Intelligence could also be nowhere — I do not wish to say “in no place,” for itself is outside of all place, that is, absolutely nowhere — it would always perceive the First; or rather, it would not perceive Him, it would be within the First, and fusing with Him. By the mere fact that Intelligence is intelligence, it perceives the First only by that part of itself which is not intelligence (that is, which is above Intelligence). It doubtless seems surprising that the One could be present to us without approaching us; and be everywhere, though being nowhere. This surprise is based on the weakness of our nature; but the man who knows the First would much more likely be surprised were the state of affairs different. It cannot indeed be otherwise. Wonder at it, if you please; but what has been said nevertheless represents the real state of the case.
MacKenna
8. So that we are left wondering whence it came, from within or without; and when it has gone, we say, “It was here. Yet no; it was beyond!” But we ought not to question whence; there is no whence, no coming or going in place; now it is seen and now not seen. We must not run after it, but fit ourselves for the vision and then wait tranquilly for its appearance, as the eye waits on the rising of the sun, which in its own time appears above the horizon – out of the ocean, as the poets say – and gives itself to our sight.
This Principle, of which the sun is an image, where has it its dawning, what horizon does it surmount to appear?
It stands immediately above the contemplating Intellect which has held itself at rest towards the vision, looking to nothing else than the good and beautiful, setting its entire being to that in a perfect surrender, and now tranquilly filled with power and taking a new beauty to itself, gleaming in the light of that presence.
This advent, still, is not by expectation: it is a coming without approach; the vision is not of something that must enter but of something present before all else, before the Intellect itself made any movement. Yet it is the Intellect that must move, to come and to go – going because it has not known where it should stay and where that presence stays, the nowhere contained.
And if the Intellect, too, could hold itself in that nowhere – not that it is ever in place; it too is uncontained, utterly unplaced – it would remain for ever in the vision of its prior, or, indeed, not in vision but in identity, all duality annulled. But it is Intellect [having a sphere of its own] and, when it is to see, it must see by that in it which is not Intellect [by its divinest power].
No doubt it is wonderful that The First should thus be present without any coming, and that, while it is nowhere, nowhere is it not; but wonderful though this be in itself, the contrary would be more wonderful to those who know. Of course neither this contrary nor the wonder at it can be entertained. But we must explain: