real

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

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

Thus, according to the ancient (Platonic or Empedoclean) maxim, “courage, temperance, all the virtues, nay, even prudence, are but purifications.” The mysteries were therefore wise in teaching that the man who has not been purified will, in hell, dwell at the bottom of a swamp; for everything that is not pure, because of its very perversity, delights in mud, just as we see the impure swine wallow in the mud with delight. And indeed, what would real temperance consist of, if it be not to avoid attaching oneself to the pleasures of the body, and to flee from them as impure, and as only proper for an impure being? What else is courage, unless no longer to fear death, which is mere separation of the soul from the body? Whoever therefore is willing to withdraw from the body could surely not fear death. Magnanimity is nothing but scorn of things here below. Last, prudence is the thought which, detached from the earth, raises the soul to the intelligible world. The purified soul, therefore, becomes a form, a reason, an incorporeal and intellectual essence; she belongs entirely to the divinity, in whom resides the source of the beautiful, and of all the qualities which have affinity with it. [Ennead I,6 (1) 6]

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]

(f) (If the soul is anything but simple matter, she must be constituted by a substantial form.) Those who claim that the soul is a body are, by the very force of the truth, forced to recognize the existence, before and above them, of a form proper to the soul; for they acknowledge the existence of an intelligent spirit, and an intellectual fire (as do the Stoics, following in the footsteps of Heraclitus, Stobaeus). According to them, it seems that, without spirit or fire, there cannot be any superior nature in the order of beings, and that the soul needs a location where she may be built up. On the contrary, it is bodies alone that need to be built up on something, and indeed, they are founded on the powers of the soul. If really we do believe that the soul and life are no more than a spirit, why add the qualification “of a certain characteristic,” a meaningless term employed when forced to admit an active nature superior to that of bodies. As there are thousands of inanimate spirits, not every spirit is a soul. If only that spirit is a soul which possesses that “special characteristic,” this “special characteristic” and this “manner of being” will either be something real, or will be nothing. If they are nothing, there will be nothing real but spirit, and this alleged “manner of being” is nothing more than a word. In that system, therefore, nothing but matter really exists. God, the soul, and all other things are no more than a word; the body alone really subsists. If, on the contrary, that “manner of being” is something real, if it is anything else than substrate or matter, if it resides in matter without being material or composed of matter, it must then be a nature different from the body, namely, a reason (by a pun). [Ennead IV,7 (2) 4]

(12). a. Since the soul is not corporeal, its real nature must be ascertained. Shall we assert that she is something distinct from the body, but dependent thereon, as, for instance, a harmony? Pythagoras, indeed, used this word in a technical sense; and after him the harmony of the body has been thought to be something similar to the harmony of a lyre. As tension produces in the lyre-strings an affection (or, manner of being, or state) that is called harmony, likewise, as contrary elements are mingled in our body, an individual mixture produces life and soul, which, therefore, is only an individual affection of this mixture. [Ennead IV,7 (2) 8]

(15). The soul has affinities with the divine and eternal nature. This is evident, because, as we have demonstrated it, she is not a body, has neither figure nor color, and is impalpable. Consider the following demonstration. It is generally granted that everything that is divine and that possesses genuine existence enjoys a happy and wise life. Now let us consider the nature of our soul, in connection with that of the divine. Let us take a soul, not one inside of a body, which is undergoing the irrational motions of appetite and anger, and the other affections born of the body, but a soul that has eliminated all that, and which, so far as possible, had no intercourse with the body. Such a soul would show us that vices are something foreign to the nature of the soul, and come to her from elsewhere, and that, inasmuch as she is purified, she in her own right possesses the most eminent qualities, wisdom, and the other virtues (as thought Plato). If the soul, when re-entering into herself, is such, how could she not participate in this nature that we have acknowledged to be suitable to every thing that is eternal and divine? As wisdom and real virtue are divine things, they could not dwell in a vile and mortal entity; the existence that receives them is necessarily divine, since it participates in divine things by their mutual affinity and community. Anyone who thus possesses wisdom and virtue in his soul differs little from the superior beings; he is inferior to them only by the fact of his having a body. If all men, or at least, if many of them held their soul in this disposition, no one would be sceptic enough to refuse to believe that the soul is immortal. But as we consider the soul in her present condition of being soiled by vices, no one imagines that her nature is divine and immortal. [Ennead IV,7 (2) 10]

For he has ascended to the divinity, and has become assimilated thereto. As purification permits one to know the better things, so the notions we have within us, and which constitute real science, are made clear. Indeed, it is not by an excursion among external objects that the soul attains the intuition of wisdom and virtue, but by re-entering into herself, in thinking herself in her primitive condition. Then she clears up and recognizes in herself the divine statues, soiled by the rust of time. Likewise, if a piece of gold were animated and released itself from the earth by which it was covered, after first having been ignorant of its real nature because it did not see its own splendor, it would admire itself when considering itself in its purity; it would find that it had no need of a borrowed beauty, and would consider itself happy to remain isolated from everything else. [Ennead IV,7 (2) 10]

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]

If number belongs to the class of beings, evidently the latter must include unity also; and we shall have to discover what kind of a being it is. If unity be no more than a numbering device invented by the soul, then unity would possess no real existence. But we have above observed that each object, on losing unity, loses existence also. We are therefore compelled to investigate whether essence and unity be identical either when considered in themselves, or in each individual object. [Ennead VI,9 (9) 2]

In this choric ballet, the soul sees the source of life, the source of intelligence, the principle of being, the cause of the good, and the root of love. All these entities are derived from the One without diminishing Him. He is indeed no corporeal mass; otherwise the things that are born of Him would be perishable. However, they are eternal, because their principle ever remains the same, because He does not divide Himself to produce them, but remains entire. They persist, just as the light persists so long as the sun remains. Nor are we separated from the One; we are not distant from Him, though corporeal nature, by approaching us, has attracted us to it (thus drawing us away from the One). But it is in the One that we breathe and have our being. He gave us life not merely at a given moment, only to leave us later; but His giving is perpetual, so long as He remains what He is, or rather, so long as we turn towards Him. There it is that we find happiness, while to withdraw from Him is to fall. It is in Him that our soul rests; it is by rising to that place free from all evil that she is delivered from evils; there she really thinks, there she is impassible, there she really lives. Our present life, in which we are not united with the divinity, is only a trace or adumbration of real life. Real life (which is presence with the divinity) is the actualization of intelligence. It is this actualization of intelligence which begets the divinities by a sort of silent intercourse with the One; thereby begetting beauty, justice and virtue. These are begotten by the soul that is filled with divinity. In Him is her principle and goal; her principle, because it is from there that she proceeds; her goal, because there is the good to which she aspires, so that by returning thither she again becomes what she was. Life here below, in the midst of sense-objects, is for the soul a degradation, an exile, a loss of her wings. [Ennead VI,9 (9) 9]

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

The dignity of Intelligence may be appreciated in still another way. After having admired the magnitude and beauty of the sense-world, the eternal regularity of its movement, the visible or hidden divinities, the animals and plants it contains, we may (taking our direction from all this), rise to this world’s archetype, a more real World. There we may contemplate all the intelligible entities which are as eternal as the intelligible world, and which there subsist within perfect knowledge and life. There preside pure intelligence and ineffable wisdom; there is located the real Saturnian realm, which is nothing else than pure intelligence. This indeed embraces every immortal essence, every intelligence, every divinity, every soul; everything there is eternal and immutable. Since its condition is blissful, why should Intelligence change? Since it contains everything, why should it aspire to anything? Since it is sovereignly perfect, what need of development would it have? Its perfection is so much completer, since it contains nothing but perfect things, and since it thinks them; it thinks them, not because it seeks to know them, but because it possesses them. Its felicity is not in any way contingent on anything else; itself is true eternity, of which time furnishes a moving image of the sphere of the soul. Indeed, the soul’s action is successive, and divided by the different objects that attract its attention. Now it thinks Socrates, and then it thinks a horse; never does it grasp but one part of reality, while intelligence always embraces all things simultaneously. Intelligence, therefore, possesses all things immovable in identity. It is; it never has anything but the present; it has no future, for it already is all it could ever later become; it has no past, for no intelligible entity ever passes away; all of them subsist in an eternal present, all remain identical, satisfied with their present condition. Each one is both intelligence and existence; all together, they are universal Intelligence, universal Existence. [Ennead V,1 (10) 4]

Aristotle, who lived at a later period, says that the FirsFirst Principle is separated from (sense-objects), and that it is intelligible. But when Aristotle says that He thinks himself, Aristotle degrades Him from the first rank. Aristotle also asserts the existence of other intelligible entities in a number equal to the celestial spheres, so that each one of them might have a principle of motion. About the intelligible entities, therefore, Aristotle advances a teaching different from that of Plato, and as he has no plausible reason for this change, he alleges necessity. A well-grounded objection might here be taken against him. It seems more reasonable to suppose that all the spheres co-ordinated in a single system should, all of them, stand in relation to the One and the First. About Aristotle’s views this question also might be raised: do the intelligible entities depend on the One and First, or are there several principles for the intelligible entities? If the intelligible entities depend on the One, they will no doubt be arranged symmetrically, as, in the sense-sphere, are the spheres, each of which contains another, and of which a single One, exterior to the others, contains them, and dominates them all. Thus, in this case, the first intelligible entity will contain all entities up there, and will be the intelligible world. Just as the spheres are not empty, as the first is full of stars, and as each of the others also is full of them, so above their motors will contain many entities, and everything will have a more real existence. On the other hand, if each of the intelligible entities is a principle, all will be contingent. How then will they unite their action, and will they, by agreement, contribute in producing a single effect, which is the harmony of heaven? Why should sense-objects, in heaven, equal in number their intelligible motors? Again, why are there several of these, since they are incorporeal, and since no matter separates them from each other? [Ennead V,1 (10) 9]

The principle which informs matter will give it form as something foreign to its nature; it will also introduce magnitude and all the real properties. Otherwise, it would be enslaved to the magnitude of matter, and could not decide of the magnitude of matter, and magnitude would be dependent on the disposition of matter. A theory of a consultation between it and the magnitude of matter would be an absurd fiction. On the contrary, if the efficient cause precede matter, matter will be exactly as desired by the efficient cause, and be capable of docilely receiving any kind of form, including magnitude. If matter possessed magnitude, it would also possess figure, and would thus be rather difficult to fashion. Form therefore enters into matter by importing into it (what constitutes corporeal being); now every form contains a magnitude and a quantity which are determined by reason (“being”), and with reason. That is why in all kinds of beings, quantity is determined only along with form; for the quantity (the magnitude) of man is not the quantity of the bird. It would be absurd to insist on the difference between giving to matter the quantity of a bird, and impressing its quality on it, that quality is a reason, while quantity is not a form; for quantity is both measure and number. [Ennead II,4 (12) 8]

Matter, therefore, is necessary to quality as well as to quantity, and consequently, to bodies. In this sense, matter is not an empty name, but a substrate, though it be neither visible nor extended. Otherwise, for the same reason, we would be obliged also to deny qualities and extension; for you might say that each of these things, taken in itself, is nothing real. If these things possess existence, though their existence be obscure, so much the more must matter possess existence, though its existence be neither clear nor evident to the senses. Indeed, matter cannot be perceived by sight, since it is colorless; nor by hearing, for it is soundless; nor by smell or taste, because it is neither volatile nor wet. It is not even perceived by touch, for it is not a body. Touch cognizes only body, recognizes that it is dense or sparse, hard or soft, wet or dry; now none of these attributes is characteristic of matter. The latter therefore can be perceived only by a reasoning which does not imply the presence of intelligence, which, on the contrary, implies the complete absence of matter; which (unintelligent reasoning therefore) deserves the name of “bastard” (or, illegitimate) reasoning. Corporeity itself, is not characteristic of matter. If corporeity be a reason (that is, by a pun, a ‘form’), it certainly differs from matter, both being entirely distinct. If corporeity be considered when it has already modified matter and mingled with it, it is a body; it is no longer matter pure and simple. [Ennead II,4 (12) 12]

Is there any identity between matter and otherness? Matter is not identical with otherness itself, but with that part of otherness which is opposed to real beings, and to reasons. It is in this sense that one can say of nonentity that it is something, that it is identical with privation, if only privation be the opposition to things that exist in reason. Will privation be destroyed by its union with the thing of which it is an attribute? By no means. That in which a (Stoic) “habit” occurs is not itself a “habit,” but a privation. That in which determination occurs is neither determination, nor that which is determined, but the infinite, so far as it is infinite. How could determination unite with the infinite without destroying its nature, since this infinite is not such by accident? It would destroy this infinite, if it were infinite in quantity; but that is not the case. On the contrary, it preserves its “being” for it, realizes and completes its nature; as the earth which did not contain seeds (preserves its nature) when it receives some of them; or the female, when she is made pregnant by the male. The female, then, does not cease being a female; on the contrary she is so far more, for she realizes her nature (“being”). [Ennead II,4 (12) 16]

When we think, and think ourselves, we see a thinking nature; otherwise, we would be dupes of an illusion in believing we were thinking. Consequently, if we think ourselves, we are, by thinking ourselves, thinking an intellectual nature. This thought presupposes an anterior thought which implies no movement. Now, as the objects of thought are being and life, there must be, anterior to this being, another being; and anterior to this life, another life. This is well-known to all who are actualized intelligences. If the intelligences be actualizations which consist in thinking themselves, we ourselves are the intelligible by the real foundation of our essence, and the thought that we have of ourselves gives us its image. [Ennead III,9 (13) 6]

Whence does this science derive its proper principles? Intelligence furnishes the soul with the clear principles she is capable of receiving. Having discovered and achieved these principles, dialectics puts their consequences in order. Dialectics composes, and divides, till it has arrived at a perfect intelligence of things; for according to (Plato), dialectics is the purest application of intelligence and wisdom. In this case, if dialectics be the noblest exercise of our faculties, it must exercise itself with essence and the highest objects. Wisdom studies existence, as intelligence studies that which is still beyond existence (the One, or the Good). But is not philosophy also that which is most eminent? Surely. But there is no confusion between philosophy and dialectics, because dialectics is the highest part of philosophy. It is not (as Aristotle thought) merely an instrument for philosophy, nor (as Epicurus thought) made up of pure speculations and abstract rules. It studies things themselves, and its matter is the (real) beings. It reaches them by following a method which yields reality as well as the idea. Only accidentally does dialectics busy itself with error and sophisms. Dialectics considers them alien to its mission, and as produced by a foreign principle. Whenever anything contrary to the rule of truth is advanced, dialectics recognizes the error by the light of the truths it contains. Dialectics, however, does not care for propositions, which, to it, seem only mere groupings of letters. Nevertheless, because it knows the truth, dialectics also understands propositions, and, in general, the operations of the soul. Dialectics knows what it is to affirm, to deny, and how to make contrary or contradictory assertions. Further, dialectics distinguishes differences from identities, grasping the truth by an intuition that is as instantaneous as is that of the senses; but dialectics leaves to another science, that enjoys those details, the care of treating them with exactness. [Ennead I,3 (20) 5]

It may be objected that the image need not necessarily be attached to its model; for there are images that subsist in the absence of their model from which they are derived. For instance, when the fire ceases, the heat that proceeds from it does not any the less remain in the warmed object. The relation between this image and its model should be understood as follows. Let us consider an image made by a painter. In this case, it is not the model who made the image, but the painter; and even so it is not even the real image of the model, even if the painter had painted his own portrait; for this image did not arise from the body of the painter, nor from the represented form, nor from the painter himself, but it is the product of a complex of colors arranged in a certain manner. We, therefore, do not really here have the production of an image, such as is furnished by mirrors, waters, and shadows. Here the image really emanates from the pre-existing model, and is formed by it, and could not exist without it. It is in this manner that the inferior potentialities proceed from the superior ones. [Ennead VI,4 (22) 10]

When, therefore, you will have embraced the universal Essence and will be resting within it, you must not seek anything beyond it. Otherwise, you will be withdrawing from it; and, directing your glance on something foreign, you will fail to see what is near you. If, on the contrary, you seek nothing beyond it, you will be similar to a universal Essence. How? You will be entirely united to it, you will not be held back by any of its parts, and you will not even be saying, “This is what I am!” By forgetting the particular being that you are, you will be becoming the universal Being. You had, indeed, already been the universal Essence, but you were something besides; you were inferior by that very circumstance; because that which you possessed beyond the universal Essence did not proceed from the universal Essence, for nothing can be added thereto; but rather had come from that which is not universal. When you become a determined being, because you borrow something from non-essence, you cease being universal. But if you abandon non-essence, you will be increasing yourself. It is by setting aside all the rest that the universal Essence may be discovered; for essence does not reveal itself so long as one remains with the rest. It does not approach you to make you enjoy its presence; it is you who are straying from it, when it ceases to be present. Besides, when you stray away, you are not actually straying away from it, as it continues to be present; you are not distant from it, but, though being near Essence, you have turned away from it. Thus even the other divinities, though they be present to many human beings, often reveal themselves only to some one person, because he alone is able (or, knows how) to contemplate them. These divinities (according to Homer), assume many different forms, and haunt the cities. But it is to the supreme Divinity that all the cities, all the earth, and all the heavens turn; for the universe subsists by Him, and in Him. From Him also do all real essences derive their existence; it is from Him that all depend, even the (universal) Soul, and the universal Life; it is to His infinite unity that they all turn as to their goal; a unity which is infinite precisely because it has no extension. [Ennead VI,5 (23) 12]

If this be so, what opinion shall we form of matter? How can it be the matter of beings? Because matter potentially constitutes the beings. But, since matter already exists potentially, may we not already say that it exists, when we consider what it is to be? The being of matter is only what is to be; it consists of what is going to be; therefore matter exists potentially; but it is potentially not any determinate thing, but all things. Therefore, being nothing by itself, and being what it is, namely, matter, it is nothing actually. If it were something actually, what it would actually be would not be matter; consequently, matter would no longer be absolutely matter; it would be matter only relatively, like metal. Matter is, therefore, non-being; it is not something which merely differs from being, like movement, which relates to matter because it proceeds from matter, and operates in it. Matter is denuded and despoiled of all properties; it can not transform itself, it remains ever what it was at the beginning, non-being. From the very being it actually was no being, since it had withdrawn from all beings, and had never even become any of them; for never was it able to keep a reflection of the beings whose forms it ever aspired to assume. Its permanent condition is to trend towards something else, to exist potentially in respect of the things that are to follow. As it appears where ends the order of intelligible beings, and as it is contained by the sense-beings which are begotten after it, it is their last degree. Being contained in both intelligible and sense-things, it does not actually exist in respect of either of these classes of beings. It exists only potentially; it limits itself to being a feeble and obscure image, which can not assume any form. May we not thence conclude that matter is the image actually; and consequently, is actually deception? Yes, it truly is deception, that is, it is essentially non-being. If then matter actually be non-being, it is the highest degree of non-being, and thus again essentially is non-being. Since non-being is its real nature, it is, therefore, far removed from actually being any kind of a being. If it must at all be, it must actually be non-being, so that, far from real-being, its “being” (so to speak) consists in non-being. To remove the deception of deceptive beings, is to remove their “being.” To introduce actuality in the things which possess being and essence potentially, is to annihilate their reason for being, because their being consists in existing potentially. [Ennead V,5 (25) 5]

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

Such are the objections that may be raised against those who consider all beings as corporeal; who wish to judge of their existence only by impressions they receive therefrom, and who try to found the certitude of truth on the images of sensation. They resemble sleeping men who take as realities the visions they have in their dreams. Sensation is the dream of the soul; so long as the soul is in the body, she dreams; the real awakening of the soul consists in genuine separation from the body, and not in rising along with the body. To rise with the body is to pass from one sleep into another kind; from one bed to another; really to awake is to separate oneself completely from the body. The body, whose nature is contrary to that of the soul, consequently has a nature contrary to that of “being.” This is proved by the generation, flux, and decay of bodies, all processes contrary to the nature of “being.” [Ennead III,6 (26) 6]

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

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

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]

This difference between souls is caused principally by the constitution of the bodies they animate; also by the moral habits, the activities, the thoughts and behavior of these souls in earlier existence. According to Plato the choice of the souls’ condition depends on their anterior existence. On observing the nature of souls in general, we find that Plato recognizes differences between them by saying that some souls occupy the second or third ranks. Now we have said that all souls are (potentially) all things, that each is characterized by the faculty principally exercised thereby, that is, that some souls unite with the intelligible world by actualization, while others do so in thought or desire. Souls, thus contemplating different objects, are and become all that they contemplate. Fulness and perfection also belong to soul, but in this respect they are not all identical, because variety is the law that directs their co-ordination. Indeed, the universal reason is on the one hand manifold, and on the other varied, like a being that is animate, and which possesses manifold forms. In this case, there is co-ordination; beings are not entirely separated from each other, and there is no place for chance either in real beings, nor in bodies; consequently the number of beings is definite. To be individual, beings must first be stable, then they must remain identical, and last, they must numerically be one in order to achieve individuality. Bodies which by nature perpetually ooze away, because for them form is something incidental, never possess formal existence but by their participation in (and imitation of), genuine “Beings.” On the contrary, for the latter, that are not composite, existence consists in each of them being numerically single, in possessing this unity which dates from the beginning, which does not become what it was not, and which will never cease being what it is. If indeed they cannot exist without some producing principle, that principle will not derive them from matter. It will have to add to them something from its own being. But if intelligible entities thus have at times more, and at times less, perfection, they will change; which would contradict their (nature, or) “being,” which is to remain identical. Why indeed should they become such as they are now, and why should they not always have been such as they now are? Further, if they be at times more or less perfect, if they “become,” they are not eternal. But it is granted that the Soul (as an intelligible being) is eternal. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 8]

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

Besides, the stars enjoy a blissful life because they contemplate the real life in their own souls; because they all aspire to the One, and, radiating into the entire heavens, like cords that vibrate in unison, they produce a kind of symphony by their natural harmony. Last, the entire heavens revolve; so also do their parts, which, in spite of the diversity of their motions, and of their positions, all gravitate towards a same centre. Now all these facts support the theory we have advanced, since they show that the life of the universe is one system, and is uniform. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 8]

It may perhaps be objected that this might be true of nature, but that whereas the Soul-of-the-universe contains wisdom, this implies also reasoning and memory. This objection could be raised only by persons who by “wisdom” understand that which is its absence, and mistake the search for wisdom for reasonable thinking. For what can reasoning be but the quest of wisdom, the real reason, the intelligence of the real essence? He who exercises reason resembles a man who plays the lyre to exercise himself, to acquire the habit of playing it, and, in general, to a man who learns in order to know. He seeks indeed to acquire science, whose possession is the distinguishing characteristic of a sage. Wisdom consists therefore in a stable condition. This is seen even in the conduct of the reasoner; as soon as he has found what he sought, he ceases to reason, and rests in the possession of wisdom. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 12]

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]

But does that which disappears merely depart, or does it perish? Such is the question which applies both to the light which inheres in the illuminated objects (and colors them), as well as to the life inherent in the body, and which we call the characteristically bodily life. Evidently, there remains no light left in the objects which were illuminated. But the question is to decide whether the light that inhered in them returns to its source, or is annihilated. Annihilation is impossible if anteriorly it was something real. What was it really? So-called color must depend on the very bodies from which light also emanates; and when these bodies perish, their coloring perishes with them; nobody indeed asks after the fate of the color of the fire that has gone out any more than one troubles oneself about what has become of its appearance. It may be objected that the appearance is only a condition, such as holding the hand open or closed, while the color, on the contrary, is the same sort of a quality as sweetness. Now, is there nothing to hinder the sweet or the fragrant body from perishing, without affecting the existence of the sweetness and fragrance? Could they subsist in other bodies without being felt, because the bodies which participate in the qualities, are such as not to allow the qualities they possess to be felt? What would hinder the unaffected existence of the light after the destruction of the body it colored, if it merely ceased to be reflected, unless one’s mind should see that those qualities subsist in no subject? If we were to admit this opinion, we would also be obliged to admit that qualities are indestructible, that they are not produced in the constitution of the bodies, that their colors are not produced by the reasons in seed; that, as happens with the changing plumage of certain birds, the (“seminal) reasons” not only gather or produce the colors of the objects, but they besides make use of those that still fill the air, and that they remain in the air without being such as they appear to us when in bodies. Enough of this. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 29]

As the circular movement of the world has nothing fortuitous, inasmuch as it is produced conformably to the reason of this great animal, a perfect symphonic (co-operation) between what “acts” and what “reacts” must exist within it; and there must also have been an order which would co-ordinate things one with another, so that at each of the phases of the circular movement of the world there might be a correspondence between the various beings subject to it, as if, in a varied choric ballet the dancers formed a single figure. As to our own modern dances, it is easy to explain the eternal things which contribute thereto, and which differ for every motion, like the sounds of the flute, the songs, and the other circumstances which are thereto related. It is not however as easy to conceive the motions of a person who conforms himself strictly to each figure, who accompanies, who raises one limb, or lowers another, who moves this limb, or holds the other limb motionless in a different attitude. The dancer’s eyes are doubtless fixed on some further aim while his limbs are still responding to the motions inspired by the music, by co-operating in expressing them, and in completing them symmetrically. Likewise, a man learned in the art of dancing could explain the reason that, in such a figure, such a limb is raised, such a limb is bent, while others are hidden or lowered; not indeed that the dancer deliberates about these different attitudes, but because in the general movement of his body he considers such a posture suitable to such a limb to fulfil its proper part in the dance. Likewise do the stars produce certain facts, and announce other ones. The entire world realizes its universal life by causing the motion of the greater parts it comprises, by ceaselessly changing the figures, so that the different positions of the parts, and their mutual relations may determine the rest, and that things may occur as in a movement executed by a single moving living organism. Thus such a state is produced by such an attitude, such positions, such figures; while some other state is produced by some other kind of figures, and so forth. Consequently, the real authors of what is occurring do not seem to be those who carry out the figures, but He who commands them; and He who plans the figures does not do one thing while busying Himself with another, because He is not acting on something different from Himself; He himself is all the things that are done; He here is the figures (formed by the universal movement), He himself there is the resultant passions in the animal so moved and constituted by nature, simultaneously “active” and “passive” as the result of necessary laws. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 33]

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]

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

No doubt Intelligence is beautiful; it is the most beautiful of things, since it is illuminated by a pure light, since it shines with a pure splendor, and contains the intelligible beings of which our world, in spite of its beauty, is but an adumbration and image. The intelligible world is located in a region resplendent with clearness, where is nothing either obscure or indefinite, where, within itself, it enjoys a blissful life. It entrances the human gaze, especially when one knows how to commune with it. But just as a view of heaven, and the splendor of the stars leads one to seek and conceive their author, likewise the contemplation of the intelligible world, and the fascination it exerts leads (the beholder) to seek its author. The question then arises, Who is He who has given existence to the intelligible world? Where and how did He beget this so pure Intellect, this so beautiful son who derives all of his fulness from his father? This supreme Principle itself is neither Intelligence nor son, but is superior to Intelligence, which is His son. Intelligence, His son, succeeds Him, because the son needs to receive from the father both intellection and fulness, which is his food; so (the son) holds the first rank after Him who has need of nothing, not even intellection. Nevertheless Intelligence possesses fulness and true intellection, because it immediately participates in the Good. Thus the Good, being above real fulness and intellection, neither possesses them, nor needs them; otherwise, He would not be the Good. [Ennead III,8 (30) 11]

Surely, nobody could believe that the veritable and real Intelligence could be deceived, and admit the existence of things that do not exist? Its very name guarantees its intelligent nature. It therefore possesses knowledge without being subject to forgetfulness, and its knowledge is neither conjectural, doubtful, nor borrowed, nor acquired by demonstration. Even if we did admit that some of its knowledge was derived from demonstration, no one will deny that it possesses certain knowledge from within itself. It would be wiser, however, to be entirely reasonable and say that it derives everything from within itself. Without this, it would be difficult to distinguish what knowledge it derived from itself, and what was derived from outside. Even the certainty of the knowledge derived from itself would vanish, and it would lose the right to believe that things really are such as it imagines. Indeed, though the things whose knowledge we derive from the senses seem capable of producing in us the highest evidential value, it may still be asked whether their apparent nature do not derive more from modifications in us than from the objects themselves. Even so, belief in them demands assent of the intelligence, or at least of the discursive reason, for though we admit that things perceived by the senses exist in sensible objects, it is none the less recognized that what is perceived by sensation is only a representation of the exterior object, and that sensation does not reach to this object itself, since it remains exterior to sensation. But when intelligence cognizes, and is cognizing intelligibles, intelligence could never even meet them if they are cognized as lying outside of Intelligence. One explanation would be that intelligence does not at all meet them, nor cognize them. If it be by chance that intelligence meets them, the cognition of them will also be accidental and transient. The explanation that cognition operates by union of the intelligence with the intelligible depends on explanation of the bond that unites them. Under this hypothesis, the cognitions of the intelligible gathered by intelligence will consist of impressions (or, types) of reality, and will consequently be only accidental impressions. Such, however, could not exist in Intelligence; for what would be their form? As they would remain exterior to Intelligence, their knowledge would resemble sensation. The only distinction of this knowledge from sensation would be that intelligence cognizes more tenuous entities. Intelligence would never know that it really perceives them. It would never really know for certain that a thing was good, just or beautiful. In this case the good, just and beautiful would be exterior and foreign to it; Intelligence, in itself, will not possess any forms to regulate its judgments, and deserve its confidence; they, just as much as truth, would remain outside of it. [Ennead V,5 (32) 1]

So great a King deserved to have dazzling beauty as the (ostentatious) van of his (royal) procession. In the course of rising towards Him are first met the things which by their inferior dignity are classed among the first ranks of the procession; later those that are greater and more beautiful; around the king stand those that are truly royal, while even those that follow Him are of value. Then, after all these things, suddenly breaks in upon our view the King himself; and we who have remained behind after the departure of those who were satisfied with a view of the preliminaries, fall down and worship. A profound difference distinguishes the great King from all that precedes Him. But it must not be supposed that He governs them as one man governs another. He possesses the most just and natural sovereignty. He possesses real royalty because He is the King of truth. He is the natural master of all these beings that He has begotten, and which compose His divine body-guard. He is the king of the king and of the kings, and is justly called Father of the divinities. Jupiter himself (who is the universal Soul), imitates Him in this respect that he does not stop at the contemplation of his father, (who is Intelligence), and he rises to the actualization of his grandfather, and he penetrates into the hypostatic substance of His being. [Ennead V,5 (32) 3]

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

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. [Ennead V,5 (32) 8]

The firsfirst Principle is infinite because He is one, and nothing in Him could be limited by anything whatever. Being one, He is not subject to measure or number. He is limited neither by others nor by Himself, since He would thus be double. Since He has neither parts nor form, He has no figure. Not by mortal eyes therefore must you seek to grasp this principle such as reason conceives of Him. Do not imagine that He could be seen in the way that would be imagined by a man who believes that everything is perceived by the senses, and thus annihilate the principle which is the supreme reality. The things to which the common people attribute reality do not possess it; for that which has extension has less reality (than that which has no extension); now the First is the principle of existence, and is even superior to “being.” You must therefore admit the contrary of that which is asserted by those commonplace persons; otherwise, you will be deprived of the divinity. You would resemble such men as in the sacred festivals gorge themselves with the foods from which one should abstain on approaching the divinities, and who, regarding this enjoyment as more certain than the contemplation of the divinity whose festival is being celebrated, depart without having participated in the mysteries. Indeed as the divinity does not reveal Himself in these mysteries, these gross men doubt His existence, because they consider real only what is visible by the physical eyes. Thus people who would spend their whole life in slumber would consider as certain and real the things they would see in their dreams; if they were to be waked and forced to open their eyes, they would place no credence in the testimony of their eyes, and would plunge themselves again into their somnolence. [Ennead V,5 (32) 11]

Nor should we admit the existence of several intelligences, merely because we distinguish a thinker from a consciousness of the thinker. Though there be a difference between thinking, and thinking that one thinks, these two nevertheless constitute a single intuitive consciousness of its actualizations. It would be ridiculous to deny such a consciousness to veritable Intelligence. It is therefore the same Intelligence that thinks, and that thinks that it thinks. Otherwise there would be two principles, of which the one would have thought, and the other consciousness of thought. The second would doubtless differ from the first, but would not be the real thinking principle. A mere logical distinction between thought and consciousness of thought would not establish the (actual) differences between two (hypostatic substances). Further, we shall have to consider whether it be possible to conceive of an Intelligence which would exclusively think, without any accompanying consciousness of its thought. If we ourselves who are entirely devoted to practical activity and discursive reason were in such a condition, we would, even if otherwise considered sensible, be insane. But as true Intelligence thinks itself in its thoughts, and as the intelligible, far from being outside of Intelligence, is Intelligence itself, Intelligence, by thinking, possesses itself, and necessarily sees itself. When Intelligence sees itself, it does not see itself as unintelligent, but as intelligent. Therefore in the first actualization of thought, Intelligence has the thought and consciousness of thought, two things that form but a single one; not even logically is this a duality. If Intelligence always thinks what it is, is there any reason to separate, even by a simple logical distinction, thought from the consciousness of thought? The absurdity of the doctrine we are controverting will be still more evident if we suppose that a third intelligence is conscious that the second intelligence is conscious of the thought of the first; we might thus go on to infinity. [Ennead II,9 (33) 1]

(Gnostics) admit that the Divinity interests Himself in men. How then could He (as they insist), neglect the world that contains them? Could this be the case because He lacked the leisure to look after it? In this case He would lack the leisure to look after anything beneath Him (including men also). On the other hand, if He do care for men, that care would include the world that surrounds and contains them. If He ignored what surrounded men, in order to ignore the world, He would thereby also ignore the men themselves. The objection that men do need that the Divinity should care for the world (is not true), for the world does need the care of the Divinity. The Divinity knows the arrangement of the world, the men it contains, and their condition therein. The friends of the Divinity support meekly all that results necessarily therefrom. (They are right), for that which happens should be considered not only from one’s own standpoint, but also from that of the totality of circumstances. Each (person or thing) should be considered from his place (in the scale of existence); one should ever aspire to Him to whom aspire all beings capable of (the Good); one should be persuaded that many beings, or rather that all beings, aspire thereto; that those who attain to Him are happy, while the others achieve a fate suitable to their nature; finally, one should not imagine oneself alone capable of attaining happiness. Mere assertion of possession does not suffice for real possession thereof. There are many men who, though perfectly conscious that they do not possess some good, nevertheless boast of its possession, or who really believe they do possess it, when the opposite is the true state of affairs; or that they exclusively possess it when they are the only ones who do not possess it. [Ennead II,9 (33) 9]

To begin with, if the Soul did not descend, if she limited herself to illuminating the darkness (which is synonymous with matter), by what right could it be asserted that the Soul inclined (downwards)? If indeed a kind of light issued from the Soul, this does not justify an inclination of the Soul, unless we admit the existence of something (darkness) beneath her, that the Soul approached the darkness by a local movement, and that, on arriving near it, the Soul illuminated it. On the contrary, if the Soul illuminated it while remaining self-contained, without doing anything to promote that illumination, why did the Soul alone illuminate the darkness? (According to the Gnostics) this occurred only after the Soul had conceived the Reason of the universe. Then only could the Soul illuminate the darkness, by virtue of this rational conception. But then, why did the Soul not create the world at the same time she illuminated the darkness, instead of waiting for the generation of (“psychic) images”? Further, why did this Reason of the world, which (the Gnostics) call the “foreign land,” and which was produced by the superior powers, as they say, not move its authors to that inclination? Last, why does this illuminated matter produce psychic images, and not bodies? (Wisdom, or) the image of the Soul does not seem to stand in need of darkness or matter. If the Soul create, then her image (Wisdom) should accompany her, and remain attached to her. Besides, what is this creature of hers? Is it a being, or is it, as the (Gnostics) say, a conception? If it be a being, what difference is there between it and its principle? If it be some other kind of a soul, it must be a “soul of growth and generation,” since its principle is a reasonable soul. If however (this Wisdom) be a “soul of growth and generation,” how could it be said to have created for the purpose of being honored? In short, how could it have been created by pride, audacity, and imagination? Still less would we have the right to say that it had been created by virtue of a rational conception. Besides, what necessity was there for the mother of the demiurgic creator to have formed him of matter and of an image? Speaking of conception, it would be necessary to explain the origin of this term; then, unless a creative force be predicated of this conception, it would be necessary to show how a conception can constitute a real being. But what creative force can be inherent in this imaginary being? The (Gnostics) say that this image (the demiurgic creator) was produced first, and that only afterwards other images were created; but they permit themselves to assert that without any proof. For instance, how could it be said that fire was produced first (and other things only later)? [Ennead II,9 (33) 11]

Nevertheless, those who know the Divinity should attach themselves to Him even here below, and by devoting themselves to His first principles, correct earthly things by applying their divine nature thereto. Only a nature that disdains physical pleasure can understand that of which honor consists; those who have no virtue could never rise to intelligible entities. Our criticism of the (Gnostics) is justified by this that they never speak of virtue, never study it, give no definition of it, do not make out its kinds, and never repeat anything of the beautiful discussions thereof left to us by the ancient sages. The (Gnostics) never tell how one could acquire or preserve moral qualities, how one should cultivate or purify the soul. Their precept, “Contemplate the divinity,” is useless if one does not also teach how this contemplation is to take place. One might ask the (Gnostics) if such contemplation of the divinity would be hindered by any lust or anger? What would hinder one from repeating the name of the divinity, while yielding to the domination of the passions, and doing nothing to repress them? Virtue, when perfected, and by wisdom solidly established in the soul, is what shows us the divinity. Without real virtue, God is no more than a name. [Ennead II,9 (33) 15]

The statement that in what is immaterial, knowledge and the known thing coincide, must not be understood to mean that it is the knowledge of the thing which is the thing itself, nor that the reason which contemplates an object is this object itself, but rather, conversely, that it is the thing which, existing without matter, is purely intelligible and intellection. I do not here mean the intellection which is neither a definition nor an intuition of a thing; but I say that the thing itself, such as it exists in the intelligible world, is exclusively intelligence and knowledge. It is not (the kind of) knowledge that applies itself to the intelligible, it is the (actual) thing itself which keeps that knowledge (thereof possessed by reason) from remaining different from it, just as the knowledge of a material object remains different from that object; but it is a veritable (kind of) knowledge, that is, a knowledge which is not merely a simple image of the known thing, but really is the thing itself. It is not therefore the thought of the movement which produced movement in itself, but the movement in itself which produced the thought, so that the thought thinks itself as movement, and as thought. On the one hand, intelligible movement is thought by the intelligible Essence; on the other hand, it is movement in itself because it is first — for there is no movement anterior thereto; it is real movement, because it is not the accident of a subject, but because it is the actualization of the essence which moves, and possesses actualized (existence); it is therefore “being,” though it be conceived as different from essence. Justice, for instance, is not the simple thought of justice; it is a certain disposition of Intelligence, or rather it is an actualization of a determinate nature. The face of Justice is more beautiful than the evening or morning stars, and than all visible beauty. Justice may be imagined as an intellectual statue which has issued from itself and which has manifested itself such as it is in itself; or rather, which subsists essentially in itself. [Ennead VI,6 (34) 6]

To begin with, it is unreasonable to insist that the notion of the subject one comes to us from the subject itself (which is one), from the visible man, for instance, or from some other animal, or even some stone. Evidently the visible man and the One are things entirely different, which could not be identified; otherwise, our judgment would not be able (as it is) to predicate unity of the non-man. Besides, as the judgment does not operate on emptiness for the right side, and other such things, seeing a difference of position when it tells us that an object is here, or there; likewise, it also sees something when it says that an object is one; for it does not experience there an affection that is vain, and it does not affirm unity without some foundation. It cannot be believed that the judgment says that an object is one because it sees that it is alone, and that there is no other; for, while saying that there is no other, the judgment implicitly asserts that the other is one. Further, the notions of “other” and “different” are notions posterior to that of unity; if the judgment did not rise to unity, it would not assert either the “other” nor the “different”; when it affirms that an object is alone, it says, “there is one only object”; and therefore predicates unity before “only.” Besides, the judgment which affirms is itself a substantial (being) before affirming unity of some other (being); and the (being) of which it speaks is one likewise before the judgment either asserts or conceives anything about it. Thus (being) must be one or many; if it be many, the one is necessarily anterior, since, when the judgment asserts that plurality is present, it evidently asserts that there is more than one; likewise, when it says that an army is a multitude, it conceives of the soldiers as arranged in one single corps. By this last example, it is plain that the judgment (in saying one body), does not let the multitude remain multitude, and that it thus reveals the existence of unity; for, whether by giving to the multitude a unity which it does not possess, or by rapidly revealing unity in the arrangement (which makes the body of the multitude), the judgment reduces multitude to unity. It does not err here about unity, any more than when it says of a building formed by a multitude of stones that it is a unity; for, besides, a building is more unified than an army. If, further, unity inhere in a still higher degree in that which is continuous, and in a degree still higher in what is not divisible, evidently that occurs only because the unity has a real nature, and possesses existence; for there is no greater or less in that which does not exist. [Ennead VI,6 (34) 13]

What then is the principal cause (by virtue of which objects participate in numbers)? A being is one by the presence of one; double, because of the presence of the pair; just as it is white because of the presence of whiteness; beautiful, because of the presence of beauty; and just by that of justice. If that be not admitted, we shall be reduced to asserting that whiteness, beauty and justice are nothing real, and that their only causes are simple relations; that justice consists in some particular relation with some particular being; that beauty has no foundation other than the affection that we feel; that the object which seems beautiful possesses nothing capable of exciting this affection either by nature, or by acquirement. When you see an object that is one, and that you call single, it is simultaneously great, beautiful, and susceptible of receiving a number of other qualifications. Now why should unity not inhere in the object as well as greatness and magnitude, sweetness and bitterness, and other qualities? We have no right to admit that quality, whatever it be, forms part of the number of beings, whilst quantity is excluded; nor to limit quantity to continuous quantity, while discrete quantity is excluded from the conception of quantity; and that so much the less as continuous quantity is measured by discrete quantity. Thus, just as an object is great because of the presence of magnitude, as it is one by the presence of unity; so is it double because of the presence of being a pair, and so forth. [Ennead VI,6 (34) 14]

It may be objected that a color cannot be less large, and that it can only be less vivid. However, there is a common characteristic in something smaller and less vivid; namely, that it is less than what it is its being to be. As to color, diminution implies weakness; as to size, smallness. Magnitude connected with color diminishes proportionally with it. This is evident in the perception of a varied object, as, for instance, in the perception of mountains covered with houses, forests, and many other objects; here the distinctness of detail affords a standard by which to judge of the whole. But when the view of the details does not impress itself on the eye, the latter no longer grasps the extent of the whole through measurement of the extent offered to its contemplation by the details. Even in the case where the objects are near and varied, if we include them all in one glance without distinguishing all their parts, the more parts our glance loses, the smaller do the objects seem. On the contrary, if we distinguish all their details, the more exactly do we measure them, and learn their real size. Magnitudes of uniform color deceive the eye because the latter can no longer measure their extent by its parts; and because, even if the eye attempt to do so, it loses itself, not knowing where to stop, for lack of difference between the parts. [Ennead II,8 (35) 1]

Some hold that distant objects seem to us lesser only because they are seen under a smaller visual angle. Elsewhere we have shown that this is wrong; and here we shall limit ourselves to the following considerations. The assertion that a distant object seems less because it is perceived under a smaller visual angle supposes that the rest of the eye still sees something outside of this object, whether this be some other object, or something external, such as the air. But if we suppose that the eye sees nothing outside of this object, whether this object, as would a great mountain, occupy the whole extent of the glance, and permit nothing beyond it to be seen; or whether it even extend beyond the sweep of the glance on both sides, then this object should not, as it actually does, seem smaller than it really is, even though it fill the whole extension of the glance. The truth of this observation can be verified by a mere glance at the sky. Not in a single glance can the whole hemisphere be perceived, for the glance could not be extended widely enough to embrace so vast an expanse. Even if we grant the possibility of this, and that the whole glance embraces the whole hemisphere; still the real magnitude of the heaven is greater than its apparent magnitude. How then by the diminution of the visual angle could we explain the smallness of the apparent magnitude of the sky, on the hypothesis that it is the diminution of the visual angle which makes distant objects appear smaller? [Ennead II,8 (35) 2]

Might happiness not be the satisfaction of the desire of living and activity, inasmuch as this desire is ever present with us? (Hardly). First, according to this hypothesis, the happiness of to-morrow would ever be greater than that of to-day, and that of the following day than that of the day before, and so on to infinity. In this case, the measure of happiness would no longer be virtue (but duration). Then, the beatitude of the divinities will also have to become greater from day to day; it would no longer be perfect, and could never become so. Besides, desire finds its satisfaction in the possession of what is present, both now, and in the future. So long as these present circumstances exist, their possession constitutes happiness. Further, as the desire of living can be no more than the desire to exist, the latter desire can refer to the present only, inasmuch as real existence (essence) inheres only in the present. Desire for a future time, or for some later event, means no more than a desire to preserve what one already possesses. Desire refers neither to the future nor the past, but to what exists at present. What is sought is not a perpetual progression in the future, but the enjoyment of what exists from the present moment onward. [Ennead I,5 (36) 2]

But there are some (Aristotelians or Peripatetics) who might think that the intelligible Man and the sense-man form but one. Let us first discuss this point. Does the sense-man have a being different from the soul which produces him, and makes him live and reason? Is he the soul that is disposed in some special manner? Is he the soul that uses the body in some particular way? If man be a reasonable living organism, and if the latter be composed of soul and body, this definition of man will not be identical with that of the soul. If the man be defined as being the composite of the reasonable soul and the body, how can he be an immortal hypostatic existence? This definition suits the sense-man only from the moment that the union of the soul and the body has occurred; it expresses what will be, instead of setting forth what we call the Man-in-himself; rather than being a real determination of his characteristics, it would be only a description which would not reveal the original being. Instead of defining form engaged in matter, it indicates what is the composite of soul and body, after the union has occurred. In this case, we do not yet know what is man considered in his being, which is intelligible. To the claim that the definition of sense-things should express something composite, it might be answered, that we do acknowledge that we must not determine the consistence of each thing. Now if it be absolutely necessary to define the forms engaged in matter, we must also define the being that constitutes the man; that is necessary especially for those (Peripateticians) who, by a definition, mean a statement of a being’s original “characteristics.” [Ennead VI,7 (38) 4]

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]

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

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]

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

The Stoic theory raises numberless further objections; but we halt here lest we ourselves incur ridicule in combating so evident an absurdity. It suffices if we have demonstrated that these philosophers mistake non-essence for absolute essence; (putting the cart before the horse), they assign the First rank to what should occupy the last. The cause of their error is that they have chosen sensation as guide, and have consulted nothing else in determining both their principles, and consequences. Being persuaded that the bodies are genuine essences, and refusing to believe that they transform themselves into each other, they believed that what subsisted in them (in the midst of their changes) is the real essence, just as one might imagine that place, because it is indestructible, is more essential than (metabolic) bodies. Although in the system of the Stoics place remain unaltered, these philosophers should not have regarded as essence that which subsists in any manner soever; they should, first, have considered what are the characteristics necessarily possessed by essence, the presence of which (characteristics) makes it subsist without undergoing any alteration. Let us indeed suppose that a shadow would continuously subsist by following something which changes continuously; the shadow, however, would not be no more real than the object it follows. The sense-world, taken together with its multiple objects, is more of an essence than the things it contains, merely because it is their totality. Now if this subject, taken in its totality, be non-essence, how could it be a subject? The most surprising thing, however, is that the (Stoics), in all things following the testimony of sensation, should not also have affirmed that essence can be perceived by sensation; for, to matter, they do not attribute impenetrability, because it is a quality (and because, according to them, matter has no quality). If they insist that matter is perceived by intelligence, it could only be an irrational intelligence which would consider itself inferior to matter, and attribute to it, rather than to itself, the privilege of constituting genuine essence. Since in their system intelligence is non-essence, how could any credibility attach to that intelligence when it speaks of things superior to it, and with which it possesses no affinity? But we have said enough of the nature of these subjects, elsewhere. [Ennead VI,1 (42) 28]

If the (Stoics) say that the “reasons” are only modified matter, they then admit that qualities are modes, and the (Stoics) should locate the reasons in the fourth category, of relation. If however relation be something different from modality, in what does that difference consist? Is it that modality here possesses greater reality? But if modality, taken in itself, be not a reality, why then make of it a category? Surely it would be impossible to gather in a single category both essence and non-essence. In what then does this modification of matter consist? It must be either essence or non-essence. If it be essence, it is necessarily incorporeal. If it be non-essence, it is nothing but a word, and matter alone exists. In this case, quality is nothing real, and modality still less. As to the fourth category, relation, absolutely no reality whatever will inhere in it. This Stoic system, therefore, contains nothing else but matter. [Ennead VI,1 (42) 29]

If, on occupying ourselves with this sense-world, we wished to determine the nature of bodies, would we not begin by studying some part thereof, such as a stone? We could then distinguish therein substance, quantity — such as dimension — and quality, such as color; and after having discovered these same elements in other bodies, we could say that the elements of the corporeal nature are being, quantity, and quality; but that these three coexist; and that, though thought distinguish them, all three form but one and the same body. If, besides, we were to recognize that movement is proper to this same organization, would we not add it to the three elements already distinguished? These four elements, however, would form but a single one, and the body, though one, would, in its nature, be the reunion of all four. We shall have to take the same course with our present subject, intelligible Being, and its genera and principles. Only, in this comparison, we shall have to make abstraction of all that is peculiar to bodies, such as generation, sense-perception, and extension. After having established this separation, and having thus distinguished essentially different things, we shall arrive at the conception of a certain intelligible existence, which possesses real essence, and unity in a still higher degree. From this standpoint, one might be surprised how the (substance which is thus) one can be both one and many. In respect to bodies, it is generally recognized that the same thing is both one and many; the body can indeed be divided infinitely; color and appearance, for instance, are therein very differing properties, since they are separated here below. But in respect to the soul, if she be conceived as one, without extent, dimension and absolutely simple, as it appears at first sight, how could we, after that, believe that the soul were manifold? We should have here expected to reach unity, all the more as, after having divided the animal in body and soul, and after having demonstrated that the body is multiform, composite and diverse, one might well, on the contrary, have expected to find the soul simple; and to have accepted this conclusion as final, as the end of our researches. We would thus have taken the soul as a sample of the intelligible world, just as the body represents the sense-world. Having thus considered this soul, let us examine how this unity can be manifold; how, in its turn, the manifold can be unity; not indeed a composite formed of separable parts, but a single nature simultaneously one and manifold. For, as we have already said, it is only by starting from this point and demonstrating it, that we will establish solidly the truth about the genera of essence. [Ennead VI,2 (43) 4]

What and how much can be seen in the soul? Since we have found in the soul both being and life, and as both being and life are what is common in every soul, and as life resides in intelligence, recognizing that there is (besides the soul and her being) intelligence and its life, we shall posit as a genus what is common in all life; namely, movement; consequently, being and movement, which constitute primary life, will be our first two categories. Although (in reality) they fuse, they are distinguished by thought, which is incapable of approaching unity exclusively; and whose exercise compels this distinction. Besides, it is possible, you can, in other objects, clearly see essence, as distinct from movement or life, although their essence be not real, and only shadowy or figurative. Just as the image of a man lacks several things, and, among others, the most important, life; likewise, the essence of sense-objects is only an adumbration of the veritable essence, lacking as it does the highest degree of essence, namely, vitality, which appears in its archetype. So you see it is quite easy to distinguish, on one hand, essence from life, and, on the other, life from essence. Essence is a genus, and contains several species; now movement must not be subsumed under essence, nor be posited within essence, but should be equated with essence. When we locate movement within essence, it is not that we consider life is the subject of movement, but because movement is life’s actualization; only in thought can either exist separately. These two natures, therefore, form but a single one; for essence exists not in potentiality, but in actualization; and if we conceive of these two genera as separated from each other it will still be seen that movement is within essence, and essence within movement. In the unity of essence, the two elements, when considered separately, imply each other reciprocally; but thought affirms their duality, and shows that each of the two series is a double unity. [Ennead VI,2 (43) 7]

But how shall we separate the accidents from sense-being, if it have no existence without dimension or quality? Of what will sense-being consist, if we remove from it dimension, figure (or outward appearance), color, dryness, and humidity? For sense-beings are qualified. The qualities which change simple into qualified “being” refer to something. Thus, it is not the entire fire which is being, but something of the fire, one of its parts. Now what is this part, if it be not matter? Sense-being, therefore, consists in the reunion of quality and matter; and being is constituted by the totality of these things blended in a single matter. Each thing taken separately will be quality or quantity, and so forth; but the thing whose absence makes “being” incomplete is a part of that being. As to the thing which is added to already complete being, it has its own place; and it is not lost in the blending which constitutes “being.” I do not say that such a thing, taken with others, is a being when it completes a matter of some particular size and quality, and that it is no more than a quality when it does not complete this mass; I say that even here below not everything is “being,” and that only the totality which embraces everything is “being.” Let none complain that we are constituting “being” as of that which is not being; for even the totality is not a veritable “being.” (Here this word is used in both sensual and intelligible senses, as a pun), and only offers the image of the veritable (Being), which possesses essence independently of all that refers to it, and itself produces the other things because it possesses veritable (Existence). Here below the substrate possesses essence only incompletely, and, far from producing other things, is sterile; it is only an adumbration, and onto this adumbration are reflected images which have only the appearance (instead of real existence.) [Ennead VI,3 (44) 8]

Eternity is not an extrinsic accident of (intelligible) nature, but is in it, of it, and with it. We see that it is intimately inherent in (intelligible nature) because we see that all other things, of which we say that they exist on high, are of and with this (intelligible) nature; for the things that occupy the first rank in existence must be united with the first Beings, and subsist there. Thus the beautiful is in them, and comes from them; thus also does truth dwell in them. There the whole in a certain way exists within the part; the parts also are in the whole; because this whole, really being the whole, is not composed of parts, but begets the parts themselves, a condition necessary to its being a whole. In this whole, besides, truth does not consist in the agreement of one notion with another, but is the very nature of each of the things of which it is the truth. In order, really to be a whole, this real whole must be all not only in the sense that it is all things, but also in the sense that it lacks nothing. In this case, nothing will, for it, be in the future; for to say that, for it, something “will be” for it implies that it lacked something before that, that it was not yet all; besides, nothing can happen to it against nature, because it is impassible. As nothing could happen to it, for it nothing “is to be,” “will be,” or “has been.” [Ennead III,7 (45) 4]

As this nature that is eternal and radiant with beauty refers to the One, issues from Him, and returns to Him, as it never swerves from Him, ever dwelling around Him and in Him, and lives according to Him, Plato was quite right in saying not casually, but with great profundity of thought, that “eternity is immutable in unity.” Thereby Plato not only reduces the eternity to the unity that it is in itself, but also relates the life of existence to the One itself. This life is what we seek; its permanence is eternity. Indeed that which remains in that manner, and which remains the same thing, that is, the actualization of that life which remains turned towards, and united with the One, that whose existence and life are not deceptive, that truly is eternity. (For intelligible or) true existence is to have no time when it does not exist, no time when it exists in a different manner; it is therefore to exist in an immutable manner without any diversity, without being first in one, and then in another state. To conceive of (existence), therefore, we must neither imagine intervals in its existence, nor suppose that it develops or acquires, nor believe that it contains any succession; consequently we could neither distinguish within it, or assert within it either before or after. If it contain neither “before” nor “after,” if the truest thing that can be affirmed of it be that it is, if it exist as “being” and life, here again is eternity revealed. When we say that existence exists always, and that there is not one time in which it is, and another in which it is not, we speak thus only for the sake of greater clearness; for when we use the word “always,” we do not take it in an absolute sense; but if we use it to show that existence is incorruptible, it might well mislead the mind in leading it to issue out from the unity (characteristic of eternity) to make it run through the manifold (which is foreign to eternity). “Always” further indicates that existence is never defective. It might perhaps be better to say simply “existence.” But though the word “existence” suffices to designate “being,” as several philosophers have confused “being” with generation, it was necessary to clear up the meaning of existence by adding the term “always.” Indeed, though we are referring only to one and the same thing by “existence” and “existing always,” just as when we say “philosopher,” and “the true philosopher,” nevertheless, as there are false philosophers, it has been necessary to add to the term “philosophers” the adjective “true.” Likewise, it has been necessary to add the term “always” to that of “existing,” and that of “existing” to that of “always;” that is the derivation of the expression “existing always,” and consequently (by contraction), “aion,” or, eternity. Therefore the idea “always” must be united to that of “existing,” so as to designate the “real being.” [Ennead III,7 (45) 6]

The theory that time is the priority and posteriority of this (earthly) movement, and of this inferior life, is ridiculous in that it would imply on one hand that (the priority and posteriority of this sense-life) are something; and on the other, refusing to recognize as something real a truer movement, which includes both priority and posteriority. It would, indeed, amount to attributing to an inanimate movement the privilege of containing within itself priority with posteriority, that is, time; while refusing it to the movement (of the Soul), whose movement of the universal Sphere is no more than an image. Still it is from the movement (of the Soul) that originally emanated priority and posteriority, because this movement is efficient by itself. By producing all its actualizations it begets succession, and, at the same time that it begets succession, it produces the passing from one actualization to another. [Ennead III,7 (45) 13]

How then is time present everywhere? The life of the Soul is present in all parts of the world, as the life of our soul is present in all parts of our body. It may indeed be objected, that time constitutes neither a hypostatic substance, nor a real existence, being, in respect to existence, a deception, just as we usually say that the expressions “He was” and “He will be” are a deception in respect to the divinity; for then He will be and was just as is that, in which, according to his assertion, he is going to be. [Ennead III,7 (45) 13]

Dismissing these theories, we return to our own definition of happiness. We do not necessarily make life synonymous with happiness by attributing happiness to a living being. Otherwise, we would be implying that all living beings can achieve it, and we would be admitting to real complete enjoyment thereof all those who possessed that union and identity which all living beings are naturally capable of possessing. Finally, it would be difficult to grant this privilege to the reasonable being, while refusing it to the brute; for both equally possess life. They should, therefore, be capable of achieving happiness — for, on this hypothesis, happiness could be no more than a kind of life. Consequently, the philosophers who make it consist in the rational life, not in the life common to all beings, do not perceive that they implicitly suppose that happiness is something different from life. They are then obliged to say that happiness resides in a pure quality, in the rational faculty. But the subject (to which they should refer happiness) is the rational life, since happiness can belong only to the totality (of life joined to reason). They therefore, really limit the life they speak of to a certain kind of life; not that they have the right to consider these two kinds of life (life in general, and rational life) as being ranked alike, as both members of a single division would be, but another kind of distinction might be established between them, such as when we say that one thing is prior, and the other posterior. Since “life” may be understood in different senses, and as it possesses different degrees, and since by mere verbal similarity life may be equally predicated of plants and of irrational animals, and since its differences consist in being more or less complete, analogy demands a similar treatment of “living well.” If, by its life, a being be the image of some other being, by its happiness it will also be the image of the happiness of this other being. If happiness be the privilege of complete life, the being that possesses a complete life will also alone possess happiness; for it possesses what is best since, in the order of these existences, the best is possession of the essence (being) and perfection of life. Consequently, the Good is not anything incidental, for no subject could owe its good to a quality that would be derived from elsewhere. What indeed could be added to complete life, to render it excellent? [Ennead I,4 (46) 3]

Our own definition of the Good, interested as we are not in its cause, but in its essence, is that the perfect life, that is genuine and real, consists in intelligence. The other kinds of life are imperfect. They offer no more than the image of life. They are not Life in its fulness and purity. As we have often said they are not life, rather than its contrary. In one word, since all living beings are derived from one and the same Principle, and since they do not possess an equal degree of life, this principle must necessarily be the primary Life, and perfectness. [Ennead I,4 (46) 3]

That the man who has achieved perfect Life possesses happiness is proved by his no longer desiring anything. What more could he desire? He could not desire anything inferior; he is united to the best; he, therefore, has fulness of life. If he be virtuous he is fully happy, and fully possesses the Good, for no good thing escapes him. What he seeks is sought only by necessity, less for him than for some of the things which belong to him. He seeks it for the body that is united to him; and though this body be endowed with life, what relates to his needs is not characteristic of the real man. The latter knows it, and what he grants to his body, he grants without in any way departing from his own characteristic life. His happiness will, therefore, not be diminished in adversity, because he continues to possess veritable life. If he lose relatives or friends, he knows the nature of death, and besides those whom it strikes down know it also if they were virtuous. Though he may allow himself to be afflicted by the fate of these relatives or friends, the affliction will not reach the intimate part of his nature; the affliction will be felt only by that part of the soul which lacks reason, and whose suffering the man will not share. [Ennead I,4 (46) 4]

If our exposition of the subject had defined happiness as exemption from pain, sickness, reverses, and great misfortunes, (we would have implied that) it would be impossible for us to taste happiness while exposed to one of those evils. But if happiness consist in the possession of the real good, why should we forget this good to consider its accessories? Why, in the appreciation of this good, should we seek things which are not among the number of its elements? If it consisted in a union of the true goods with those things which alone are necessary to our needs, or which are so called, even without being such, we should have to strive to possess the latter also. But as the goal of man must be single and not manifold — for otherwise it would be usual to say that he seeks his ends, rather than the more common expression, his end — we shall have to seek only what is most high and precious, what the soul somehow wishes to include. Her inclination and will cannot aspire to anything which is not the sovereign good. Reason only avoids certain evils, and seeks certain advantages, because it is provoked by their presence; but it is not so led by nature. The principal tendency of the soul is directed towards what is best; when she possesses it, she is satisfied, and stops; only then does she enjoy a life really conformable to her will. Speaking of will strictly, and not with unjustifiable license, the task of the will is not to procure things necessary to our needs (?) Of course we judge that it is suitable to procure things that are necessary, as we in general avoid evils. But the avoiding of them is no aim desirable in itself; such would rather be not to need to avoid them. This, for instance, occurs when one possesses health and is exempt from suffering. Which of these advantages most attracts us? So long as we enjoy health, so long as we do not suffer, it is little valued. Now advantages which, when present, have no attraction for the soul, and add nothing to her happiness, and which, when absent, are sought as causes of the suffering arising from the presence of their contraries, should reasonably be called necessity rather than goods, and not be reckoned among the elements of our goal. When they are absent and replaced by their contraries, our goal remains just what it was. [Ennead I,4 (46) 6]

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]

In this world, indeed, just as in the theatre, it is not the soul, the interior man, but his shadow, the exterior man, who gives himself up to lamentations and groans, who on this earth moves about so much, and who makes of it the scene of an immense drama with numberless different acts (?) Such is the characteristic of the actions of a man who considers exclusively the things placed at his feet, and outside of him, and who does not know that his tears and serious occupations are any more than games. The really earnest man occupies himself seriously only with really serious affairs, while the frivolous man applies himself to frivolous things. Indeed, frivolous things become serious for him who does not know really serious occupations, and who himself is frivolous. If, indeed, one cannot help being mixed up in this child’s play, it is just as well to know that he has fallen into child’s play where one’s real personality is not in question. If Socrates were to mingle in these games, it would only be his exterior man who would do so. Let us add that tears and groans do not prove that the evils we are complaining of are very real evils; for often children weep and lament over imaginary grievances. [Ennead III,2 (47) 15]

While, therefore, asserting that a simple principle does know itself, we must examine into the possibility of this. Otherwise, we would have to give up hope of real self-knowledge. But to resign this would imply many absurdities; for if it be absurd to deny that the soul possesses self-knowledge, it would be still more absurd to deny it of intelligence. How could intelligence have knowledge of other beings, if it did not possess the knowledge and science of itself? Indeed, exterior things are perceived by sensation, and even, if you insist, by discursive reason and opinion; but not by intelligence. It is indeed worth examining whether intelligence does, or does not have knowledge of such external things. Evidently, intelligible entities are known by intelligence. Does intelligence limit itself to knowledge of these entities, or does it, while knowing intelligible entities, also know itself? In this case, does it know that it knows only intelligible entities, without being able to know what itself is? While knowing that it knows what belongs to it, is it unable to know what itself, the knower, is? Or can it at the same time know what belongs to it, and also know itself? Then how does this knowledge operate, and how far does it go? This is what we must examine. [Ennead V,3 (49) 1]

This Principle, therefore, is really indescribable. We are individualizing it in any statement about it. That which is above everything, even above the venerable Intelligence, really has no name, and all that we can state about Him is, that He is not anything. Nor can He be given any name, since we cannot assert anything about Him. We refer to Him only as best we can. In our uncertainty we say, “What does He not feel? is He not self-conscious? does He not know Himself?” Then we must reflect that by speaking thus we are thinking of things, that are opposed to Him of whom we are now thinking. When we suppose that He can be known, or that He possesses self-consciousness, we are already making Him manifold. Were we to attribute to Him thought, it would appear that He needed this thought. If we imagine thought as being within Him, thought seems to be superfluous. For of what does thought consist? Of the consciousness of the totality formed by the two terms that contribute to the act of thought, and which fuse therein. That is thinking oneself, and thinking oneself is real thinking; for each of the two elements of thought is itself an unity to which nothing is lacking. On the contrary, the thought of objects exterior (to Intelligence) is not perfect, and is not true thought. That which is supremely simple and supremely absolute stands in need of nothing. The absolute that occupies the second rank needs itself, and, consequently, needs to think itself. Indeed, since Intelligence needs something relatively to itself, it succeeds in satisfying this need, and consequently, in being absolute, only by possessing itself entirely. It suffices itself only by uniting all the elements constituting its nature (“being”), only by dwelling within itself, only by remaining turned towards itself while thinking; for consciousness is the sensation of manifoldness, as is indicated by the etymology of the word “con-scious-ness,” or, “conscience.” If supreme Thought occur by the conversion of Intelligence towards itself, it evidently is manifold. Even if it said no more than “I am existence,” Intelligence would say it as if making a discovery, and Intelligence would be right, because existence is manifold. Even though it should apply itself to something simple, and should say, “I am existence,” this would not imply successful grasp of itself or existence. Indeed, when Intelligence speaks of existence in conformity with reality, intelligence does not speak of it as of a stone, but, merely, in a single word expresses something manifold. The existence that really and essentially deserves the name of existence, instead of having of it only a trace which would not be existence, and which would be only an image of it, such existence is a multiple entity. Will not each one of the elements of this multiple entity be thought? No doubt you will not be able to think it if you take it alone and separated from the others; but existence itself is in itself something manifold. Whatever object you name, it possesses existence. Consequently, He who is supremely simple cannot think Himself; if He did, He would be somewhere, (which is not the case). Therefore He does not think, and He cannot be grasped by thought. [Ennead V,3 (49) 13]

The real cause of love is fourfold: the desire of beauty; our soul’s innate notion of beauty; our soul’s affinity with beauty, and our soul’s instinctive sentiment of this affinity. (Therefore as beauty lies at the root of love, so) ugliness is contrary to nature and divinity. In fact, when Nature wants to create, she contemplates what is beautiful, determinate, and comprehended within the (Pythagorean) “sphere” of the Good. On the contrary, the (Pythagorean) “indeterminate” is ugly, and belongs to the other system. Besides, Nature herself owes her origin to the Good, and, therefore, also to the Beautiful. Now, as soon as one is attracted by an object, because one is united to it by a secret affinity, he experiences for the images of this object a sentiment of sympathy. We could not explain its origin, or assign its cause on any other hypothesis, even were we to limit ourselves to the consideration of physical love. Even this kind of love is a desire to procreate beauty, for it would be absurd to insist that that Nature, which aspires to create beautiful things, should aspire to procreate that which is ugly. [Ennead III,5 (50) 1]

In general, we might admit that the true goods which are possessed by the soul when she acts conformably to her nature, by applying herself to things determined (by reason), constitute real being; that the others, on the contrary, are not engendered by the very action of the soul, and are only passions. Likewise, false intellections lack real being, such as belongs to true intellections, which are eternal and determinate, possessing simultaneously the intellectual act, the intelligible existence and essence; and this latter not only in general, but in each real intelligible being (manifesting?) Intelligence in each idea. As to us, we must acknowledge that we possess only intellection and the intelligible; we do not possess them together (or completely), but only in general; and hence comes our love for generalities. Our conceptions, indeed, usually trend towards the general. It is only by accident that we conceive something particular; when, for instance, we conceive that some particular triangle’s angles amount to two right angles, it is only as a result of first having conceived that the triangle in general possesses this property. [Ennead III,5 (50) 7]

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

As these are real beings, and as the firsfirst Principle is their superior, evil could not exist in such beings, and still less in Him, who is superior to them; for all these things are good. Evil then must be located in non-being, and must, so to speak, be its form, referring to the things that mingle with it, or have some community with it. This “non-being,” however, is not absolute non-being. Its difference from being resembles the difference between being and movement or rest; but only as its image, or something still more distant from reality. Within this non-being are comprised all sense-objects, and all their passive modifications; or, evil may be something still more inferior, like their accident or principle, or one of the things that contribute to its constitution. To gain some conception of evil it may be represented by the contrast between measure and incommensurability; between indetermination and its goal; between lack of form and the creating principle of form; between lack and self-sufficiency; as the perpetual unlimited and changeableness; as passivity, insatiableness, and absolute poverty. Those are not the mere accidents of evil, but its very essence; all of that can be discovered when any part of evil is examined. The other objects, when they participate in the evil and resemble it, become evil without however being absolute Evil. [Ennead I,8 (51) 3]

All these things participate in a being; they do not differ from it, they are identical with it, and constitute it. For if evil be an accident in something, then evil, though not being a real being, must be something by itself. Just as, for the good, there is the Good in itself, and the good considered as an attribute of a foreign subject, likewise, for evil, one may distinguish Evil in itself, and evil as accident. [Ennead I,8 (51) 3]

Reason, therefore, forces us to recognize as the primary evil, Evil in itself. (This is matter which is) the subject of figure, form, determination, and limitation; which owes its ornaments to others, which has nothing good in itself, which is but a vain image by comparison with the real beings — in other word, the essence of evil, if such an essence can exist. [Ennead I,8 (51) 3]

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]

Likewise the universe is a compound of a body and of a Soul intimately united to it, and of the universal Soul, which is not in the Body, and which irradiates the Soul united to the Body. There is a similar doubleness in the sun and the other stars, (having a soul united to their body, and a soul independent thereof). They do nothing that is shameful for the pure soul. The things they produce are parts of the universe, inasmuch as they themselves are parts of the universe, and inasmuch as they have a body, and a soul united to this body; but their will and their real soul apply themselves to the contemplation of the good Principle. It is from this Principle, or rather from that which surrounds it, that other things depend, just as the fire radiates its heat in all directions, and as the superior Soul (of the universe) infuses somewhat of her potency into the lower connected soul. The evil things here below originate in the mixture inhering in the nature of this world. After separating the universal Soul out of the universe, the remainder would be worthless. Therefore, the universe is a deity if the Soul that is separable from it be included within its substance. The remainder constitutes the guardian which (Plato) names the Great Guardian, and which, besides, possesses all the passions proper to guardians. [Ennead II,3 (52) 9]

Must the evils in the universe be considered as necessary, because they are the consequences of the superior principles? Yes, for without them the universe would be imperfect. The greater number of evils, if not all of them, are useful to the universe; such as the venomous animals; though they often ignore their real utility. Even wickedness is useful in certain respects, and can produce many beautiful things; for example, it leads to fine inventions, it forces men to prudence, and does not let them fall asleep in an indolent security. [Ennead II,3 (52) 18]

To what part of our nature do pleasure and grief, fear and boldness desire and aversion, and, last, pain, belong? Is it to the soul (herself), or to the soul when she uses the body as an instrument, or to some third (combination) of both? Even the latter might be conceived of in a double sense: it might be either the simple mixture of the soul and the body, or some different product resulting therefrom. The same uncertainty obtains about the products of the above mentioned experiences: namely, passions, actions, and opinions. For example, we may ask whether ratiocination and opinion both, belong to the same principle as the passions; or whether only one of them does; in which case the other would belong to some other principle. We should also inquire concerning the nature and classification of thought. Last we should study the principle that undertakes this inquiry and which comes to some conclusion about it. But, first of all, who is the agent, who feels? This is the real starting point: for even passions are modes of feeling, or at least they do not exist without it. [Ennead I,1 (53) 1]

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]

What is our relation with God? He hovers over the intelligible nature, and real being; while we, being on the third rank as counted from thence, are of the undivided universal Soul, which is indivisible because she forms part of the upper world, while she is divisible in regard to the bodies. She is indeed divisible in regard to the bodies, since she permeates each of them as far as they live; but at the same time she is indivisible because she is one in the universe. [Ennead I,1 (53) 8]

We have distinguished from things common to soul and body, those peculiar to the soul. The former are corporeal, and cannot be produced without the organs, while the latter’s occurrence is independent of the body. Ratiocination is the essential and constitutive faculty of the real soul, because it determines the typical forms derived from sensation, it looks, it somehow feels the images, and really is the dominating part of the soul. The conception of true things is the act of intuitive thoughts. [Ennead I,1 (53) 9]

The real Man differs from the body; pure from every passion, he possesses the intellectual virtues, virtues which reside in the soul, either when she is separated from the body, or when she is — as usually here below — only separable by philosophy; for even when she seems to us entirely separated, the soul is, in this life, ever accompanied by a lower sensitive part, or part of growth, which she illuminates. [Ennead I,1 (53) 10]

Though life be a good, it does not belong to all beings. Life is incomplete for the evil person, as for an eye that does not see distinctly; neither accomplish their purpose. If, for us, life, though mingled as it is, be a good, even if an imperfect one, how shall we continue to assert that death is not an evil? But for whom would it be an evil? This we must ask because evil must necessarily be an attribute of somebody. Now there is no more evil for a being which, though even existing, is deprived of life, any more than for a stone (as they say). But if, after death, the being still live, if it be still animate, it will possess good, and so much the more as it exercises its faculties without the body. If it be united to the universal Soul, evidently there can be no evil for it, any more than for the gods who possess good unmingled with evil. Similar is the case of the soul which preserves her purity, inasmuch as he who loses her finds that life, and not death, is the real Evil. If there be chastisements in Hades, again is life an evil for the soul, because she is not pure. If, further, we define life as the union of the soul with the body, and death as their separation, the soul can pass through both these conditions (without, on that account, being unhappy, or losing her hold on the Good). [Ennead I,7 (54) 3]