Enneads

If vision presupposes the union of the "light of the eye," with the light interposed (between the eye) and the sense-object itself, the interposed medium is the light, and this medium is necessary, on this hypothesis. (On the theory of Aristotle) the colored substance produces a modification in the medium; but nothing here would hinder this modification from reaching the eye itself, even when there is no medium. For, in this case, the medium is necessarily modified before the eye is. (The Platonic philosophers) teach that vision operates by an effusion of the light of the eye. They have no need to postulate a medium, unless indeed they should fear that the ray of the eye should lose its way; but this ray is luminous, and the light travels in a straight line. (The Stoics) explain vision by the resistance experienced by the visual ray. They cannot do without a medium. (The Atomists and) the believers in "images" (such as Epicurus), insist that these images move in emptiness, thereby implying the existence of a free space to avoid hindering the images. Consequently as they will be hindered in a direct ratio to the existence of a medium, this opinion does not run counter to our own hypothesis (that there is no medium). A COSMOLOGICAL MEDIUM IS NECESSARY, BUT IT AFFECTS SIGHT ONLY ACCIDENTALLY.

Those who (with Plotinos himself) teach that vision operates by sympathy, assert that vision is poorer through a medium, because this medium hinders, fetters, and weakens sympathy. In this case, indeed, the medium necessarily weakens sympathy even though it shared the same nature (as the eye and the object), and was affected in the same manner. (It acts like the integument) of some body that is deeply burned by fire applied to it; the interior parts are less affected because they are protected by the exterior parts. There is no doubt that the parts of one and the same animal will be less affected in experiencing sympathy because of the existence of a medium. The affection will be weakened according to the nature of the medium, because such a medium would hinder excess of affection, unless indeed that which is transmitted (by one part to another) is not such as to fail to affect the medium. But if the universe sympathize with itself because it constitutes a single organism, and if we are affected because we are contained within this single organism, and form part of it, why should any continuity be necessary for us to feel a distant object? The single organism, indeed, could not be continuous without the continuity of some medium; this continuous medium is affected only by accident; but otherwise we would have to admit that all can be affected by all. But if these two

objects are affected in one manner, and other two objects are affected in another manner, there might not always be need of a medium. Whoever asserts the need of a medium for vision will have to advance a very good argument, inasmuch as that which traverses the air does not always affect the air, and often limits itself to dividing the air. Thus when a stone falls the only thing that happens to the air is that it fails to support the stone. As falling is part of the stone's nature, it would be unreasonable to assert that its falling was due to the reaction exerted by the ambient air. Otherwise we would have to assert that it is this same reaction of the ambient air that makes fire ascend, which is absurd; because the fire, by the rapidity of its motion, forestalls this reaction. That, by the very rapidity of the motion, reaction is accelerated, takes place only by accident, and has no relation to the upward impulsion; for trees grow from above without receiving any (upward) impulsion. Even we, when walking, divide the air without being pushed by the reaction of the air; the air behind us limits itself to filling the void we have created. If then the air allow itself to be divided by bodies without being affected by them, what would hinder the air from permitting free transit for the images to reach the eye,

without being thereby divided?

IMAGES DO NOT REACH US BY EFFLUENCE. If these images do not reach us by some sort of effluence, why should the air be affected, and why should we ourselves be affected only as a result of the affection experienced by the air? If we felt only because the air had been affected before us, we would attribute the sensation of sight not to the visible object, but to the air located near us, as occurs with heat. In the latter case it is not the distant fire, but the air located near us which, being heated, then warms us; for the sensation of heat presupposes contact, which does not occur with vision. We see, not because the sense-object is imposed on the eye (but because the medium is illuminated); now it is necessary for the medium to be illuminated because the air by itself is dark. If the air were not dark, it would have no need of light; for (to effectuate vision) the obscurity, which forms an obstacle to vision, must be overcome by light. That is perhaps the reason why an object placed very near the eye is not seen; for it brings with it the darkness of the air, together with its own. USELESSNESS OF AIR AS TRANSMITTING MEDIUM PROVED FROM SIGHT OF OBJECTS AT NIGHT.

A strong proof that the forms of sense-objects are not seen merely because the air, on being affected, transmits them by relays from point to point, is that even in darkness the fire, the stars, and their forms may be seen. In this case no one would claim that the forms of the objects, being impressed on the obscure air, are transmitted to the eye; otherwise, there would be no obscurity, as the fire, while transmitting its form, would illuminate. Indeed, in the profound obscurity in which the light of the stars is not seen, the fire of signals and of light-houses may be perceived. Should any one, in opposition to the testimony of his senses, claim that even in this case the fire penetrates the air, he should be answered by having it pointed out to him that in that case human vision should distinguish the smallest objects which are in the air, instead of being limited to the perception of the fire. If then we see what is beyond a dark medium, it would be much better seen without any medium whatever. ABSENCE OF MEDIUM WOULD INTERFERE WITH VISION ONLY BY DESTROYING SYMPATHY.

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

Here is another important (related) question. If there existed another world and organism which had no relation with our world, and if on the surface of the sky was an eye that was looking, would it perceive this other world at a moderate distance, or would it have no relation thereto? This question will be considered later. Now however we shall give a further proof that the medium has nothing to do with vision. If the air were affected, it would experience a material affection, similar to the figure impressed on wax. In this case, a certain part of the object would be impressed on a certain part of the air; and consequently, the part of the air nearest to the eye would receive a part of the visible object, and this part would be of a size equal to that of the pupil. Now a visible object is seen in its entirety, and all those who are in the air equally see it, whether they behold it from the front, or side, or whether they be one behind the other, without however forming mutual obstacles. This proves that every part of the air contains the entire visible object. This cannot be explained by any corporeal affection, but by higher laws, suitable to the soul, and to the (universal) organism which everywhere responds to itself. MUTUAL RELATION OF THE EYE'S LIGHT AND THE OBJECTIVE LIGHT.

What is the mutual relation between the light that emanates from the eye, and the light which is exterior to the eye, and which extends between the eye and the object? Light has no need of air as a medium, unless indeed somebody should undertake to say that there is no light without air, in which case air would be a medium only accidentally. Light itself, however, is an unaffected medium, for there is no necessity here for an affection, but only for a medium; consequently, if light be not a body, there is no need of a body (to act as medium). It might be objected that sight has no need either of a foreign light nor of a medium to see near by, but has need of them for vision at a distance. Later we shall consider whether or not light without air be possible. Now let us consider the first point. INTERMEDIARY LIGHT IS UNNECESSARY, PARTLY BEING AN OBSTACLE.

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

NOT EVEN THE LIGHT OF THE EYE IS TO BE CONSIDERED AS MEDIUM. On the hypothesis that the soul remains within herself, while making use of the light (emanated from the eye) as a rod to reach the visible object, a very sharp perception would be caused by the resistance experienced by the light in its tension and sense-color. In so far as it is color, the light itself would possess the property of reflecting light. In this case, the contact would take place by a medium. But already before this the light has reached the object without any medium; so that the later contact operated by a medium would produce cognition by a sort of memory or reasoning - which is not the case. THE OBJECTIVE LIGHT DOES NOT TRANSMIT THE IMAGE BY RELAYS. The hypothesis that the light contiguous to the visible object is affected, and transmits this affection by relays from point to point into the eye, is essentially identical with that theory which supposes that the medium must be preliminarily modified by the visible object; a hypothesis that has already been discussed above. NEITHER FOR HEARING IS THE AIR NECESSARY AS A MEDIUM.

As to hearing, there are several theories. One is that the air is first set in motion, and that this motion, being transmitted unaltered from point to point from the (location of the) sound-producing air as far as the ear, causes the sound to arrive to the sense. Again, another theory is that the medium is here affected accidentally, and only because it happens to be interposed; so that, if the medium were annihilated, we would feel the sound immediately on its production by the shock of two bodies. We might think that the air must first be set in motion, but the medium interposed (between the first moved air and the ear) plays a different part. The air here seems to be the sovereign condition of the production of sound; for, at the origin of the sound, the shock of two bodies would produce no sound if the air, compressed and struck by their rapid concussion did not transmit the motion from point to point as far as the ear. But if the production of the sound depend on the impulsion impressed on the air, the (qualitative) difference between voices and (instrumental) sounds will challenge explanation; for there is great difference (of "timbre") between metal struck by metal of the same kind, or another. These differences are not merely quantitative, and cannot be attributed to the air which (everywhere) is the same, nor to the force of the stimulus (which may be equal in intensity). Another theory (of Aristotle's) is that the production of voices and sound is due to the air, because the impulsion impressed on the air is sonorous. (To this it should be answered that) air, in so far as it is air, is not the cause of sound; for it resounds only in so far as it resembles some solid body, remaining in its situation, before it dilates, as if it were something solid. The (cause of the sound) then is the shock between objects, which forms the sound that reaches the sense of hearing. This is demonstrated by the sounds produced in the interior of animals, without the presence of any air, whenever one part is struck by some other. Such is the sound produced by certain articulations when they are bent (as, the knee); or certain bones, when they are struck against each other, or when they break; in this case air has nothing to do with the production of the sound. These considerations compel a theory of hearing similar to our conclusions about sight. The perception of audition, like that of vision, therefore consists in a repercussion (an affection sympathetically felt) in the universal organism.

THE RELATION OF THE AIR TO THE LIGHT.

Could light exist without air, if the sun illuminated the surface of bodies, and if there were a void in the interval which is accidentally illuminated by virtue of its location (between the sun and the bodies)? It is certain that if the other things were affected because the air itself was affected, and if light were nothing more than an affection of the air, that is, its substance; then indeed this affection could not exist without the experiencing subject (the air). But (in our view) light is not essentially characteristic of air as such; for all fiery and brilliant bodies, among which are precious stones, possess a luminous color. Could that which passes from a brilliant body into some other body exist without that other body? If light be but a simple quality of an object, and as every quality implies a subject on which it depends, light will have to be sought in the body in which it resides. If, on the contrary, light be only an actualization produced by some other thing, and if there be no body contiguous to the luminous object, and it be entirely surrounded by a void, why could light not exist, and radiate upwards (as well as downwards, and in every direction)? Since light radiates, why should it not radiate without hindrance? If its nature be to fall, it will spontaneously descend; for neither the air nor any illuminated body will make

it issue from the illuminating body, nor can force it to advance, since it is neither an accident that implies a subject, nor an affection that implies an affected object. Otherwise, the light would remain (in the illuminated body) when the object from which it emanates should happen to withdraw; but since the light withdraws with it, it radiates. In what direction does light radiate? (Its radiation) demands no more than the existence of sufficient space; otherwise the body of the sun would lose its actualization; that is, the light it radiates. In this case light would not be the quality of a subject, but the actualization that emanates from a subject, but which does not pass into any other subject (as a kind of undulation); but if another subject be present, it will suffer an affection. As life, which constitutes an actualization of the soul, affects the body if it be present, and does not any the less constitute an actualization if the body be absent, likewise light constitutes an actualization subject to the same conditions. It is not the obscurity of the air that begets light, nor obscurity mingled with the earth which produces an impure light; otherwise one might produce something sweet by mingling some thing with what is bitter. The statement that light is a modification of the air, is incomplete without the addition that the air must itself be modified by this modification, and that

the obscurity of the air is no longer obscure after having undergone that change. The air itself, however, remains what it was, just as if it had not been affected. The affection belongs only to that which has been affected. Color therefore does not belong to the air, but subsists in itself; the air's only function is its presence. But enough of this.

DOES THE WITHDRAWAL OF THE LUMINOUS SOURCE ABANDON THE LIGHT TO DESTRUCTION; OR DOES THE LIGHT FOLLOW IT?

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

LIGHT AS ACTUALIZATION IS THE BEING OF THE LUMINOUS BODY, AND IS INCORPOREAL.

Thus the light that emanates from bodies is the actualization of the luminous body which is active exteriorly. The light in the bodies whose original nature is such, is the formal being of the originally luminous body. When such a body has been mingled with matter, it produces color. The actualization alone does not suffice to give color; it produces only the hue, because the actualization is the property of a subject, and depends on it, so that nothing can be withdrawn from the subject without simultaneously being withdrawn from its actualization. Light is entirely incorporeal, though it be the actualization of a body. It could not therefore properly be said of light that it withdraws or is present. The true state of affairs is entirely different; for the light, so far as it is the actualization of the luminous body, is its very being. The image produced in a mirror is therefore an actualization of the visible object, which acts on anything that is passive (that can suffer, or experience), without letting any of its substance escape by any wastage. If the object be present, the image appears in the mirror; it is as it were the image of the color that possesses some particular figure. When the object withdraws, the diaphanous body no longer possesses what it possessed while the visible object was acting on the mirror. A similar condition is that of the soul; her actualization dwells within the (world's) body so long as this soul herself dwells within it.

LIFE AND LIGHT DO NOT PERISH, BUT ARE NO MORE THERE. (Curiosity might lead some one to ask about) a force that were not the actualization of the Soul, but which only proceeded from this actualization, such as the life which we say is proper to the body. Is the case of such a force similar to that of the light characteristic of bodies? We said that the light inheres in colored bodies, so far as that which produces the colors inheres in the bodies. As to the life proper to the bodies, we think that the body possesses it so far as the soul is present; for nothing can be inanimate. When the body perishes, and when it is no longer assisted by the soul which communicated life to it, nor by the actualization of this soul, how should life remain in the body? What! Has this life perished? No: this life itself has not perished, for it is only the image of an irradiation; it would not be correct to say more than that it is no more there. A WORLD OUTSIDE OF OUR WORLD WOULD NOT BE VISIBLE.

If there were a body outside of our world, and if an eye observed it from here without any obstacle, it is doubtful that the eye could see that body, because the eye would have no affection common to it; for community of affection is caused by the coherence of the single organism (that is, the unity of the world). Since this community of affection (or, sympathy), supposes that sense-objects and that the senses belong to the single organism, a body located outside of the world would not be felt, unless it were part of the world. In this case, it would be felt. If it were not a part of the world, but yet by its color and other qualities it was conformed to the organ that was to cognize it, would it be felt? No, it would not be felt, that is, if such a hypothesis (of a body located outside of the world) were at all admissible. If however, anyone should refuse to admit such a hypothesis, he would pretend that it is absurd that the eye should not see the color located in front of it, and that the other senses do not perceive the qualities before them. That is the reason of its absurdity. For we are active or passive only because we are integral parts of the single organism, and are located within it. Is anything still left to be considered? If what we have said suffices, our demonstration is finished; otherwise we shall have to give still further proofs to support our proposition.

SENSATION IS LIMITED TO COMMON INTEGRAL PARTS OF THE UNIVERSE.

Every organism is coherent (that is, is sympathetic with itself). In the case of a single organism, our demonstration suffices, and all things will experience common affections so far as they constitute parts of the single organism. The plea that a body exterior to the world could be felt because of its resemblance (is ill-founded because perception is characteristic of an organism and because it is the organism that possesses perception. For its organ resembles (the perceived object); thus sensation would be the perception presented to the soul by means of organs similar to the perceived objects. If then the organism feel not only its contents, but also objects resembling them, it will perceive these things by virtue of its organic nature; and these things will be perceived not because they are contents thereof, but by virtue of their resemblance thereto. It seems rather that perceived objects must be perceived in the measure of their resemblance, because the soul has familiarized herself with them, and has assimilated them to herself. If then the soul which has assimilated these objects to herself differ from them, the things which were supposed to have become assimilated to her will remain entirely foreign to her. The absurdity of this consequence shows us that there is a flaw in the hypothesis; for it affirms simultaneously that the soul exists, and does not exist, that the things are both conformable and different, similar and dissimilar. Since then this hypothesis implies contradictories, it is not admissible; for it supposes that the soul exists in this world, as a result of the world, both being and not being universal, both being and not being different, both being and not being perfect. The above hypothesis must therefore be abandoned; and since it implies a contradiction, no reasonable consequence could be deduced therefrom.

Of Nature, Contemplation and Unity. (_These three subjects are discussed in paragraphs 1-4, 5-7, and 8-16. The plain paragraph numbers are those of the Teubner edition; those in parenthesis are the Creuzer (Didot) edition._) A. OF NATURE. INTRODUCTION: AS A JOKE, IT MAY BE SAID THAT EVEN PLANTS ASPIRE TO CONTEMPLATION.

If as a preliminary pleasantry, we said that all beings, not only reasonable ones, but even the irrational, plants as well as the earth that begets them, aspire to contemplation, and are directed towards that end; that, as a result of the difference existing between them, some really achieve contemplation, while others only accomplish a reflection or image of it, we would no doubt be told that this was an absurd paradox. But as we are here engaged in a private study, we may, as an indulgence, support this paradox. While thus trifling, are we ourselves not actually engaging in contemplation? Besides, it would be not only we, but any who thus trifle, who aspire to contemplation. We might even say that a joking child, as well as a meditating man both aim at reaching contemplation when the former jokes, and the later meditates. Indeed, there is not a single action that does not tend towards contemplation; more or less externalizing it according as it is carried out strictly or freely. In any case its ultimate aim is always contemplation; but of this later. ENUMERATION OF THE LOWER FORMS OF CONTEMPLATION.

(1). Let us begin by explaining what could be the nature of contemplation (thought) that we attribute to the earth, to the trees, and to the plants (as we promised), and how the things produced and begotten by these beings can be reduced to the actuality of contemplation; how nature, that is usually considered to lack reason and imagination, nevertheless is quite capable of some kind of contemplation, thereby producing all its works, although speaking strictly, it is incapable thereof. NATURE ACTS ON MATTER NOT MECHANICALLY BUT BY ITS POTENCY.

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

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

(2). How does nature produce? And how, in producing, does she arrive at contemplation? Since she produces while remaining immovable within herself, and as she is a "reason," she is a contemplation also. Indeed, every action is produced according to a "reason," and consequently differs from it. Reason assists and presides over action, and consequently is not an action. Since reason is not an action, it is a contemplation. In universal Reason, the reason which holds the last rank itself proceeds from contemplation, and in this sense still deserves the name of contemplation because it is produced by the contemplation (of the soul). However universal Reason, which is superior to the latter reason, may be considered under two points of view, as soul and as nature. (Let us begin by nature.) THE REASON OF NATURE IS THE RESULT OF AN IMMOVABLE CONTEMPLATION.

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

(3). If anybody were to ask nature why she produces, Nature, if at all willing to listen and answer would say, "You should not have questioned me; you should have tried to understand, keeping silence, as I do; for I am not in the habit of speaking. What were you to understand? Here it is. First, what is produced is the work of my silent speculation, a contemplation effected by my nature; for, myself being born of contemplation, mine is a contemplative nature. Besides, that which in me contemplates, produces a work of contemplation, like geometricians who, while contemplating, describe figures. For it is not in describing figures, but in contemplating, that I let drop from within me the lines which outline the forms of the bodies. I preserve within me the disposition of my mother (the universal Soul), and that of the principles that beget me (the formal 'reasons'). The latter, indeed, are born of contemplation: I was begotten in the same way. These principles gave birth to me without any action, or the mere fact that they are more powerful reasons, and that they contemplate themselves." DESCRIPTION OF NATURE AS A WEAKER CONTEMPLATION.

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

Likewise it is men too weak for speculation who, in action, seek a shadow of speculation and reason. Not being capable of rising to speculation, and because of their soul-weakness not being able to grasp that which in itself is intelligible, and to fill themselves therewith, though however desiring to contemplate it, these men seek, by action, to achieve that which they could not obtain by thought alone. Thus we find that action is a weakness or result of contemplation, when we act, or desire to see, or to contemplate, or to grasp the intelligible, or try to get others to grasp it, or propose to act to the extent of our ability. It is a weakness, for, after having acted, we possess nothing of what we have done; and a consequence, because we contemplate something better than we ourselves have made. What man indeed who could contemplate truth would go and contemplate its image? This is the explanation of the taste for manual arts, and for physical activity (as thought Aristotle). B. CONTEMPLATION. THE PROCESSION OF THE WORLD-SOUL.

(4). After having spoken of nature, and having explained how generation is a sort of contemplation, let us pass to the Soul that occupies a rank superior to nature. This is what we have to say about her. By her contemplative action, by her ardent desire to learn and to discover, by the fruitfulness of her knowledge, and her resulting need to produce, the Soul, her totality having become an object of contemplation, gave birth to some other object; just as science, on fructifying, by instruction begets a lesser science in the soul of the young disciple who possesses the images of all things, but only in the state of obscure theories, of feeble speculations, which are incapable of self-sufficiency. The higher and rational part of the Soul ever dwells in the higher region of the intelligible world, and is, by this intelligible world, ever illuminated and fructified; while the lower ("natural and generative power") participates in what the superior part has received, by immediately participating in the intelligible; for life ever proceeds from life, and its actualization extends to everything, and is present everywhere. In her procession, the universal Soul allows her superior part to remain in the intelligible world; for, if she detached herself from this superior part, she would no longer be present everywhere; she would subsist only in her lower extremities. Besides, the part of the Soul that thus proceeds out of the intelligible world is

inferior to what remains within it. Therefore, if the Soul must be present and must assert her sphere of activity everywhere, and if that which occupies the superior rank differs from that which occupies the inferior; if, besides, her activity proceeds either from contemplation or action - though indeed originally from contemplation - because contemplation precedes the action which could not exist without contemplation; in this state of affairs, though one actualization would be weaker than another, yet it would ever remain a contemplation, so that the action derived from contemplation seems to be no more than a weakened contemplation; for that which is begotten must always remain consubstantial with its generating principle, though weaker, since of lower rank. All things therefore silently proceed from the Soul, because they stand in no need of either contemplation or exterior visible action. Thus the Soul contemplates, and the contemplating part of the Soul, being somehow located outside of the superior part, and being different therefrom, produces what is below it; thus it is that contemplation begets contemplation. No more than its object is contemplation limited below; that is why it extends to everything. Where is it not? Every soul contains the same object of contemplation. This object, without being circumscribed as a magnitude, does not equally inhere in all beings; consequently, it is not present in the same way to all parts of the Soul. That is why Plato says that the charioteer of the soul

communicates to his horses what he has seen. The latter receive something from him only because they desire to possess what he has seen; for they have not received the entire intelligible (world). Though they act because of a desire, they act only in view of what they desire; that is, in view of contemplation, and of its object.

PRACTICE IS ONLY A PREPARATION FOR CONTEMPLATION.

(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.

THIS CONTEMPLATION IS THE GOAL OF ALL KINDS AND GRADES OF EXISTENCE.

(6). Thus everything (ultimately) derives from contemplation; everything (really) is contemplation, including the true beings, and the beings by the former secondarily begotten by giving themselves up to contemplation, and which themselves are objects of contemplation either for sensation, or for knowledge or opinion. Actions, and also desire, result in knowledge. Generation originates in speculation, and ends in the production of a form, that is: in an object of contemplation. In general, all beings that are images of generating principles produce forms and objects of contemplation. Begotten substances, being imitations of beings, show that the purpose of generating principles is neither generation nor action, but the production of works which themselves are to be contemplated. Contemplation is aimed at by both discursive thought, and beneath it, by sensation, the end of both of which is knowledge. Further, beneath discursive thought and sensation is the nature which, bearing within herself an object of contemplation, that is, a ("seminal) reason," produces another "reason." Such are the truths that are self-evident, or that can be demonstrated by reasoning. Besides it is clear that, since the intelligible objects devote themselves to contemplation, all other beings must aspire thereto; for the origin of beings is also their end. EVEN LOWER FORMS OF BEGETTING ARE DUE TO SEMINAL REASONS.

The begetting of animals is entirely due to the activity within them of seminal reasons. Generation is an actualization of contemplation; it results from the need of producing multiple forms, from objects of contemplation, of filling everything with reasons, of ceaseless contemplation; begetting is no more than producing a form, and to spread contemplation everywhere. All the faults met with in begotten or manufactured things are no more than faults of contemplation. The poor workman resembles the producer of bad form. Besides, lovers must be counted among those who study forms, and who consequently give themselves up to contemplation. But enough of this. C. OF UNITY. THE DIFFERENT GRADES OF THOUGHT AND LIFE.

(7). Since contemplation rises by degrees, from nature to the Soul, from the Soul to Intelligence; and as within it thought becomes more and more (intimate or) interior, more and more united to the thinker; and as in the perfect Soul the things known are identical with the knower; and because they aspire to Intelligence, the subject must then evidently within Intelligence be identical with the object; not through any appropriation thereof, as the perfect Soul does indeed appropriate it, but because their essence ("being") is identical, because of the identity between thinking and being ("essence"). Within intelligence no longer do we have on one side the object, and on the other the subject; otherwise we would need another principle where this difference would no longer exist. Within it, then, these two things, the subject and the object, form but a single (entity). That is a living contemplation, and no longer an object of contemplation which seems to inhere in something else; for existence within a living being is not identical with living by oneself. Therefore if it is to be alive, the object of contemplation and of thought must be life itself, and not the life of plants, that of sensation, or psychic life. Those are different thoughts, the one being the thought of plants, the thought of sensation, and psychic thought. They are thoughts because they are "reasons." "ALL BEINGS ARE CONTEMPLATIONS."

Every life is a thought which, like life itself, may be more or less true. The truest thought is also the first life; and the first life is identical with the first Intelligence. Consequently, the first degree of life is also the first degree of thought; the second degree of life is also the second degree of thought; and the third degree of life is also the third degree of thought. Therefore every life of this kind is a thought. Nevertheless it is humanly possible to define the differences of the various degrees of life without being able to set forth clearly those of thought; men will limit themselves to saying that some (of these degrees of thought) imply intelligence, while others exclude it, because they do not seek to penetrate the essence of life. We may observe that the remainder of the discussion brings us back to this proposition, that "all beings are contemplations." If the truest life be the life of thought, if the truest life and the life of thought be identical, then the truest thought must be alive. This contemplation is life, the object of this contemplation is a living being and life, and both form but one. LIKE A CIRCLE, INTELLIGENCE IS INSEPARABLY SINGLE AND MANIFOLD.

Since both are identical, the unity that they form became manifold because it does not contemplate unity, or it does not contemplate unity so far as it is one; otherwise it would not be intelligence. After having begun by being one, it ceased being one; unconsciously it became manifold as a result of the fruitful germs it contained. It developed to become all things, though it would have been better for it not to have desired this. Indeed, it thus became the second principle, as a circle which, by developing, becomes a figure and a a surface, whose circumference, centre, and rays are distinct, occupying different points. The origin of things is better than their goal. The origin is not equivalent to the origin and goal, and that which is both origin and goal is not identical with that which is no more than origin. In other words, intelligence itself is not the intelligence of a single thing, but universal intelligence; being universal, it is the intelligence of all things. If then intelligence be universal Intelligence, and the intelligence of all things, then each of its parts must also be universal, also possess all things. Otherwise, intelligence would contain a part that was not intelligence; intelligence would be composed of non-intelligences; and it would resemble a conglomeration of things which would form an intelligence only by their union. Thus intelligence is infinite. When something proceeds from it, there is no weakening; neither for the things that proceed from it, for this is also all things, nor for the intelligence from which the thing proceeds, because it is not a summation of parts.

TO THE INTELLIGENCE THAT SIMULTANEOUSLY IS THE INTELLIGIBLE THERE MUST BE A SUPREME.

(8). Such is the nature of Intelligence. Therefore it does not occupy the first rank. Above it must be a Principle, whose discovery is the object of this discussion. Indeed, the manifold must be posterior to unity. Now intelligence is a number; and the principle of number is unity, and the principle of the number that constitutes unity is absolute Unity. Intelligence is simultaneously intelligence and the intelligible; it is therefore two things at once. If then it be composed of two things, we must seek what is prior to this duality. Could this principle be Intelligence alone? But Intelligence is always bound to the intelligible. If the Principle we seek cannot be bound to the intelligible, neither will it be Intelligence. If then it be not Intelligence, and transcend duality, it must be superior thereto, and thus be above Intelligence. Could it be the Intelligence alone? But we have already seen that the intelligible is inseparable from Intelligence. If this Principle be neither Intelligence, nor the intelligible, what can it be? It must be the Principle from which are derived both Intelligence and its implied intelligible. THE BEGETTER OF INTELLIGENCE MUST BE SIMPLER THAN IT, AND IS REACHED NOT BY INTELLIGENT REASONING BUT A SIMPLE INTUITION.

But what is this Principle, and how are we to conceive it? It must be either intelligent or not intelligent. If it be intelligent, it will also be Intelligence. If it be not intelligent, it will be unconscious of itself, and will not be in any way venerable. Though true, it would not be clear or perspicuous to say that it is the Good itself, since we do not yet have an object on which we could fasten our thought when we speak of it. Besides, since the knowledge of the other objects in all beings who can know something intelligent, occurs through Intelligence and lies in Intelligence, by what rapid intellection (or intuition) could we grasp this Principle that is superior to Intelligence? We may answer, by that part of us which resembles it; for there is in us something of it; or rather, it is in all things that participate in Him. Everywhere you approach the Good, that which in you can participate receives something of it. Take the illustration of a voice in a desert, and the human ears that may be located there. Wherever you listen to this voice, you will grasp it entirely in one sense, and not entirely in another sense. How then would we grasp something by approximating our intelligence (to the Good)? To see up there the Principle it seeks, Intelligence must, so to speak, return backwards, and, forming a duality, it

must somehow exceed itself; that means, it would have to cease being the Intelligence of all intelligible things. Indeed, intelligence is primary life, and penetration of all things, not (as the soul does) by a still actualizing movement, but by a movement which is ever already accomplished and past. Therefore, if Intelligence be life, which is the penetration of all things, if it possess all things distinctly, without confusion - for otherwise it would possess them in an imperfect and incomplete manner - it must necessarily proceed from a superior Principle which, instead of being in motion, is the principle of motion (by which Intelligence runs through all things), of life, of intelligence, and of all things. The Principle of all things could not be all things, it is only their origin. Itself is neither all things, nor any particular thing, because it begets everything; neither is it a multitude, for it is the principle of multitude. Indeed that which begets is always simpler than that which is begotten. Therefore if this principle beget Intelligence, it necessarily is simpler than Intelligence. On the theory that it is both one and all, we have an alternative, that it is all things because it is all things at once, or that it is everything individually. On the one hand, if it be all things at once, it will be posterior to all things; if on the contrary it be prior to all things, it will be

different from all things. For if the One co-existed with all things, the One would not be a principle; but the One must be a principle, and must exist anteriorly to all things, if all things are to originate from it. On the other hand, if we say that the One is each particular thing, it will thereby be identical with every particular thing; later it will be all things at once, without being able to discern anything. Thus the One is none of these particular things, being prior to all things.

THE SUPREME IS THE POTENTIALITY OF ALL THINGS, ABOVE ALL ACTUALIZATION.

(9). This Principle then is the potentiality of all. Without it, nothing would exist, not even Intelligence, which is the primary and universal life. Indeed what is above life is the cause of life. The actualization of life, being all things, is not the first Principle; it flows from this Principle as (water) from a spring. THE SUPREME AS A SPRING OF WATER. The first Principle may indeed be conceived of as a spring (of water) which is its own origin, and which pours its water into many streams without itself becoming exhausted by what it yields, or even without running low, because the streams that it forms, before flowing away each in its own direction, and while knowing which direction it is to follow, yet mingles its waters with the spring. THE SUPREME AS THE TREE OF THE UNIVERSE. Again, (the Supreme may be compared to) the life that circulates in a great tree, without its principle issuing from the root, where is its seat, but which later divides among the branches. Though spreading everywhere a manifold life, the Principle still dwells in itself exempt from all manifoldness, though being only its origin. IF UNITY PASSED INTO THE MANIFOLD, THE UNIVERSE WOULD BE DESTROYED.

This contains nothing surprising. Why should we be surprised at manifoldness issuing from Him who is not manifold, or at the impossibility of the existence of the manifold without the prior existence of That which is not manifold? The Principle is not distributed in the universe; far rather, if it were disturbed, the universe would be annihilated; for it cannot exist except in so far as its Principle abides within itself, without becoming confused with the rest. THIS IS THE BASIS OF THE RETURN TO UNITY.

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

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

THE GOOD AS SUPREME NEITHER NEEDS NOR POSSESSES INTELLECTION.

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.

Concerning Intelligible Beauty. ART MAKES A STATUE OUT OF ROUGH MARBLE.

Since he who rises to the contemplation of the intelligible world, and who conceives the beauty of true intelligence, can also, as we have pointed out, by intuition grasp the superior Principle, the Father of Intelligence, let us, so far as our strength allows us, try to understand and explain to ourselves how it is possible to contemplate the beauty of Intelligence and of the intelligible world. Let us imagine two pieces of marble placed side by side, the one rough and inartistic, the other one fashioned by the sculptor's chisel, who made of it the statue of a goddess, a grace, or a muse; or that of a man - but not that of any individual whatever, but that of a (cultured gentle) man in whom art would have gathered all the traits of beauty offered by different individuals. After having thus from art received the beauty of the form, the second marble will appear beautiful, not by virtue of its essence, which is to be stone - for otherwise the other block would be as beautiful as this one - but because of the form received through art. The latter, however, did not exist in the matter of the statue. It was in the thought of the artist that it existed before passing into the marble; and it existed therein, not because it had eyes and hands, but because it participated in art. It was therefore in art that this superior beauty existed. It

could not have become incorporated in stone. Dwelling within itself, it begat an inferior form, which, passing into matter, could neither preserve all its purity, nor completely respond to the will of the artist, possessing no perfection other than that allowed by matter. As the nature of art is to produce beauty, if art succeed in producing beauty which conforms to its constitutive essence, then, by the possession of the beauty essential to it, art possesses a beauty still greater and truer than that which passes into exterior objects. As all form extends by passing into matter, (this objectified form) is weaker than that which remains one. All that extends abandons its own (nature), as do force, heat, and in general any property; likewise with beauty. Every creating principle is always superior to the created thing. It is not the lack of musical ability, but the music itself that creates the musician; while it is the intelligible music that creates the sense music. It has been attempted to degrade the arts by saying that to create they imitate nature. This may be answered by pointing out that the natures of beings are themselves the images of other beings (or essences); besides, the arts do not limit themselves to the imitation of objects which offer themselves to our view, but that they go as far back as the (ideal) reasons from which are derived the nature of objects. Further the arts

independently create many things, and to the perfection of the object they add what is lacking, because they possess beauty in themselves. Phidias seems to have represented Jupiter without copying any sense-objects, conceiving him such as he would appear to us if he ever revealed himself to our eyes.

BEAUTY INHERES NOT IN THE ORGANISM'S PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS, BUT IN ITS COLOR AND FORM.

Now let us turn away from the arts and consider the objects they imitate, such as natural beauties, namely, rational and irrational creatures, especially the more perfect, in which the creator was able to master matter, and endue it with the desired form. What then constitutes the beauty in these objects? Surely not (the physical characteristics, such as) blood or menstrual discharges, but the color and figure, which differ essentially therefrom; otherwise that which constitutes beauty is something indifferent - either something formless, or something that contains a simple nature (that is, the "seminal reason"), as does matter, for instance. BEAUTY COMES FROM THE FORM IMPARTED BY THE ORIGINATOR.

Whence came the beauty of that Helena about whom so many battles were fought? Whence comes the beauty of so many women comparable to Venus? Whence came the beauty of Venus herself? Whence comes the beauty of a perfect man, or that of one of those divinities who reveal themselves to our eyes, or who, without showing themselves, nevertheless possess a visible beauty? Does it not everywhere originate from the creating principle that passes into the creature, just as, in the art considered above, the beauty passes from the artist into the work? It would be unreasonable to assert that the creatures and the ("seminal) reason" united to matter are beautiful, while denying beauty to the "reason" which is not united to matter while still residing in the creator in a primary and incorporeal condition; and to assert that in order to become beautiful this reason must become united to matter. For if mass, as such, was beautiful, then the creative reason would be beautiful only in so far as it was mass. If form, whether in a large or small object, equally touches and moves the soul of the beholder, evidently beauty does not depend on the size of the mass. Still another proof of this is that so long as the form of the object remains exterior to the soul, and as we do not perceive it, it leaves us insensible; but as soon as it penetrates into the soul, it moves us. Now form alone can penetrate into the soul by the eyes; for great objects could not enter by so narrow a space. In this respect, the size of the object contrasts, because that which is great is not mass, but form.

RECOGNITION OF BEAUTY DEPENDS ON PRELIMINARY INTERIOR BEAUTY.

Further, the cause of beauty must be either ugly, beautiful or indifferent. If it were ugly, it could not produce its opposite. If it were indifferent, it would have no more reason to produce that which is beautiful, than that which is ugly. Therefore nature which produces so many beautiful objects must in herself possess a very superior beauty. But as we do not have the habit of seeing the interior of things, which remains unknown, we attach ourselves only to their exterior, forgetting that which moves us hides itself within them; and (in this habit of ours) we resemble (Narcissus), who, on seeing his image, and not knowing whence it came, would try to catch it. It is not the mass of an object that constitutes its attractiveness for us, for it is not in mass that beauty inheres. This is revealed by the beauty found in the sciences, in the virtues, and in general in the souls, where it shines more truly and brilliantly on contemplation and admiration of its inherent wisdom. Then we do not regard the countenance, which may be ugly; we leave aside the form of the body, to attach ourselves exclusively to interior beauty. If, carried away by the emotion that such a spectacle should cause, you should not proclaim its beauty; and if, on directing your gaze within yourself, you should not experience all the charm of beauty, then you search for intelligible beauty, by such a method, would be vain; for you would seek it only with what is impure and ugly. That is why these discussions are not intended for all men. But if you have recognized beauty within yourself they you may rise to the reminiscence (of intelligible beauty).

BEAUTY IS THE CREATING PRINCIPLE OF THE PRIMARY REASON.

The reason of the beauty in nature is the archetype of the beauty of the (bodily) organism. Nature herself, however (is the image of the) more beautiful archetypal "reason" which resides in the (universal) Soul, from which it is derived. This latter shines more brilliantly in the virtuous soul, whenever it develops therein. It adorns the soul, and imparts to her a light itself derived from a still higher Light, that is, primary Beauty. The universal Soul's beauty thus inhering in the individual soul, explains the reason of the Beauty superior to it, a reason which is not adventitious, and which is not posited in any thing other than itself, but which dwells within itself. Consequently it is not a "reason," but really the creating principle of the primary Reason, that is, the beauty of the soul, which in respect to the soul plays the part of matter. It is, in the last analysis, Intelligence, which is eternal and immutable because it is not adventitious. OUR IMAGE OF INTELLIGENCE IS ONLY A SAMPLE THAT MUST BE PURIFIED.

What sort of an image does Intelligence then afford? This is a material question because we know that any image of Intelligence supplied by anything else would be imperfect. Therefore this image of itself given by Intelligence also could not be a genuine image; it can be no more than what is any stray piece of gold in respect to gold in general, namely, a sample. But if the gold which falls under our perception be not pure, we have to purify it either by our labor or by our thought, observing that it can never be gold in general that we can examine, but gold in particular, considered in an individual mass. Likewise (in the subject we are studying) our starting-point must be our purified intelligence, or, if you prefer, the divinities themselves, considering the kind of intelligence indwelling in them; for they are all venerable and unimaginably beautiful. To what do they owe their perfection? To Intelligence, which acts in them with sufficient force to manifest them. They do not indeed owe it to the beauty of their body; for their divinity does not consist in the possession of a body; the divinities therefore owe their character to their intelligence. Now all divinities are beautiful, because they are not wise at certain times, and at other times unwise. They possess wisdom by an impassible intelligence, that is immutable and pure. They know everything; not indeed human things, but those which are proper to them, the things which are divine, and all those that intelligence contemplates.

DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE CELESTIAL AND INFERIOR DIVINITIES. Amidst the divinities, those who reside in the visible heaven, having much leisure, ever contemplate the things existing in the superior Heaven, but as it were from a distance, and "by raising their head." On the contrary, those in the superior Heaven, and who dwell there, dwell there with their whole personality, because they reside everywhere. Everything on high, namely, earth, sea, plants, or animals, forms part of the heaven; now all that forms part of the heaven is celestial. The divinities that dwell there do not scorn men, nor any of the other essences up there, because all are divine, and they traverse the whole celestial region without leaving their rest. DESCRIPTION OF THE INTELLIGIBLE WORLD.

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

THE INTELLIGIBLE COMPARED TO LYNCEUS WHOSE SIGHT PENETRATED ALL.

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

DEMONSTRATION THAT WISDOM IS VERITABLE BEING, AND THE CONVERSE.

All the productions of nature or art are the works of a certain wisdom which ever presides over their creation. Art is made possible only by the existence of this wisdom. The talent of the artist is derived from the wisdom of nature which presides over the production of every work. This wisdom is not a sequence of demonstrations, as the whole of it forms a unity; it is not a plurality reduced to unity, but a unity which is resolved into a plurality. If we admit that this wisdom is primary Wisdom, there is nothing to be sought beyond it, since in this case it is independent of every principle, and is located within itself. If, on the contrary, we say that nature possesses the ("seminal) reason," and is its principle, we shall have to ask whence nature derives it. If it be called a superior principle, we still have to ask the derivation of this principle; if it be derived from nothing, we need not go beyond it (but return to the above demonstration). If, on the contrary, it be derived from Intelligence, we shall have to examine whether Intelligence produced wisdom. The first objection here will be, how could it have done so? For if Intelligence itself produced it, Intelligence could not have produced it without itself being Wisdom. True Wisdom is therefore "being" and, on the other hand, "being" is wisdom, and derives its dignity from Wisdom; that is why "being" is veritable "Being." Consequently, the being (essences) which do not possess wisdom are such beings only because they were created by a certain wisdom; but they are not true beings (essences), because they do not in themselves possess Wisdom. It would, therefore, be absurd to state that the divinities, or the blessed dwellers in the intelligible world, in that world are engaged in studying demonstrations. The entities that exist there are beautiful forms, such as are conceived of as existing within the soul of the wise man; I do not mean painted forms, but existing (substantial) forms. That is why the ancients said that ideas are essences and beings.

BY A PUN, EGYPTIAN WISDOM IS ADDUCED AS A SYMBOL.

The sages of Egypt seem to me to have shown either a consummate insight or a marvellous instinct when, in order to reveal to us their wisdom, they did not, to express words and propositions, make use of letters representing sounds and expressions, but symbolized objects by hieroglyphics, and in their mysteries symbolically designated each of them by a particular emblem. Thus each hieroglyphic sign constituted a kind of science or wisdom; and without discursive conception or analysis places the thing under the eyes in a synthetic manner. Later, this synthetic notion was reproduced by other signs which developed it expressing it discursively, declaring the causes of the constitution of things, wherever their beautiful disposition excited admiration. The wisdom of the Egyptians is best seen in this, that though they did not possess the causes of (essential) beings, (their writing) was able to express everything so as to harmonize with the causes of essential "Being." RESEMBLANCE OF EARTHLY THINGS TO THE INTELLIGIBLE IS THE BASIS OF THE RESEMBLANCE OF THE INTELLIGIBLE TO THE EARTHLY. If therefore all (celestial) entities resemble earthly objects - a truth which is perhaps impossible to demonstrate, so much the more must we, before any examination or discussion, premiss that all (earthly) objects resemble those which exist in the intelligible world. This truth, which applies to everything, may perhaps best be understood by an important example. CONTROVERSY AGAINST THE GNOSTIC DIVINE PLANNING OF THE WORLD.

It is then by all of us agreed that the universe proceeds from a superior Principle which possesses a certain perfection. The (Gnostic) question then arises whether this Principle, before creating, reflected that it was necessary first to form the globe, and to suspend it to the middle of the world; then, to produce the water, and to spread it over the surface of the earth; later creating successively the other things contained in the space between the earth and heaven. Further, did He give birth to all the animals only after having to Himself represented all their forms, and exterior parts? Did the Creator undertake the work only after having conceived the plan of the world in its totality and in its details? Certainly not; He cannot have submitted to all such considerations. How could He, never having seen anything such, have been inclined to them? Neither could He have borrowed the idea of the things He was to produce, and then carried them out as some workman, by the use of his hands and feet; for hands and feet are created entities. The only hypothesis left is that all things were within some one other thing (that is, matter, which is their substrate). ("Being") was next to this other thing (matter), and as no interval separated them, He suddenly begot an image or representation of Himself, either by Himself, or by the intermediation of the universal Soul, or of some particular soul - which detail does not matter to our discussion here.

HOW CREATION OF THE WORLD TOOK PLACE.

Therefore, everything here below derives from above there, and is more beautiful in the superior world; for forms here below are mingled with matter; on high, they are pure. Thus this universe proceeds from the intelligible world, and is contained by the forms from beginning to end. First matter receives the forms of the elements, later receiving gradual accessions of other forms, so that ultimately matter becomes so buried under forms that it becomes difficult to recognize. It receives forms easily, because it (already) possesses a form which holds the lowest rank. Likewise, the producing Principle uses a form as model, and easily produces forms because it consists entirely of "being" and form; as a result, its work has been easy and universal, because itself was universal. Therefore it met no obstacle, and still exercises an absolute sovereignty. Even of the things that act as obstacles to each other, none, even until the present time, form an obstacle to the demiurgic (Creator), because He preserves His universality. That is why I am convinced that if even we were simultaneously the models, forms and essence of things, and if the form which produces here below were our essence, (that is, being), we would accomplish our work without trouble, though man, in his present state here below, produces (his individual body which is) a form different from himself; indeed, on becoming an individual, man ceased being universal. But on ceasing to be an individual, man, in the words of Plato, "soars in the ethereal region, and governs the whole world." For, becoming universal, he administers the universe.

THE SUPREME PRINCIPLE ADMITS OF NO REASONING, DEMONSTRATION, FAITH OR CAUSE. Returning to our subject, you can perhaps explain why the earth is located in the middle of the world, and why its form is spherical; you may clear up why the equator is inclined towards the ecliptic; but you would be wrong in thinking that the divine Intelligence proposed to achieve these objects because it judged them to be reasonable; these things are good only because Intelligence is what it is. Its work resembles the conclusion of a syllogism, whose premises had been withdrawn, and that was based on the intuition of its causes. In divine Intelligence nothing is a consequence, nothing depends on a combination of means; its plan is conceived independently of such considerations. Reasoning, demonstration, faith - all these are posterior things. The mere existence of the principle determines here below the existence and nature of the entities depending from it. Never is one more right in asserting that the causes of a principle should not be sought, than when referring to a Principle which is perfect, and is both principle and end. That which is simultaneously principle and end is all things at the same time, and consequently leaves nothing to be desired. IF THIS PRINCIPLE IS NOT BEAUTIFUL, NOTHING ELSE COULD BE THAT.

This Principle is sovereignly beautiful; it is beautiful entirely and throughout, so that not a single one of its parts lacks beauty. Who could deny that this Principle is beautiful? Only such as do not entirely possess beauty, possessing it only partially, or even not at all. If this Principle were not sovereignly beautiful, surely none other could claim that distinction. As the superior Principle (the one, superior to Intelligence) is above beauty, that which first presents itself to our view, because it is a form, and the object of the contemplation of intelligence, is that whose aspect is amiable. PLATO SYMBOLIZES THIS BY MAKING THE CREATOR ADMIRE HIS HANDIWORK.

It was to express this idea strikingly that Plato represents the demiurgic creator as admiring his handiwork, which would lead us also to admire the beauty both of the model and of the idea. After all, admiration of a work made to resemble a model amounts to admiration of the model itself. However there is no reason for astonishment at persons to whom this idea seems novel, for lovers, and in general all those who admire visible beauty do not realize that they admire it only because (it is the image) of the intelligible beauty. That Plato referred to the model the admiration felt by the demiurgic (creator) for his work is proved by his adding to the words "he admired his work" the expression "and he conceived the purpose of rendering it still more similar to its model." He betrays the beauty of the model by saying that the work is beautiful, and that it is the image of the model; for if this model were not sovereignly beautiful, and did not possess an unspeakable beauty, how could there be anything more beautiful than this visible world? It is therefore wrong to criticize this world; all that can be said of it, is that it is inferior to its model. THE POWER OF THE INFERIOR DIVINITIES DEPENDS ON THEIR INHERING IN THE SUPREME.

(To explain our view we shall propose an experiment). Let us imagine that in the sense-world every being should remain as it is, confusing itself with the others in the unity of the whole, to the extent of its ability; so that all that we see is lost in this unity. Imagine a transparent sphere exterior to the spectator, by looking through which one might see all that it contains, first the sun and the other stars together, then the sea, the earth, and all living beings. At the moment of picturing to yourself in thought a transparent sphere that would contain all moving, resting and changeable things, preserving the form of this sphere, and without diminishing the size of it, suppress mass, extent, and material conception. Then invoke the divinity that created this world of which you have made yourself an image to invest it. His coming down into it may be conceived of as resulting from two causes. Either the Divinity that is simultaneously single and manifold will come to adorn this world in the company of the other inferior divinities which exist within Him. Each of these would contain all the others that are manifold because of their powers; and nevertheless they would form a single divinity because their multiple powers are contained in unity. Or the Divinity will do this because the only divinity contains all the inferior divinities within His breast. (Which is the more likely hypothesis?)

ALL THE INFERIOR DIVINITIES ARE CONTAINED WITHIN THE SUPREME.

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

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

That is why Jupiter, the most ancient of the other divinities, whose chief he is, leads them in this divine spectacle of the contemplation of the intelligible world. He is followed by these divinities, the guardians, and the souls who can support (the glory of) this vision. From an invisible place, this divine world sheds light on all. On rising above its sublime horizon, it scatters its rays everywhere, inundating everything with clearness. It dazzles all those who are located at the foot of the peak where it shines; and, like the sun, it often obliges them to turn away their sight, which cannot sustain its glory. Some however are forced to raise their eyes, imparting to them strength for this contemplation; others, who are at a distance, are troubled. On perceiving it, those who can contemplate Him fix their gaze on it and all its contents. Not every one, however, sees in it the same thing. One discerns therein the source and being of justice; another is overwhelmed by the revelation of wisdom, of which men here below scarcely possess an enfeebled image. Indeed, our vision is only an imitation of intelligible wisdom. The latter, spreading over all beings, and as it were embracing immensity, is the last to be perceived by those who have already long contemplated these brilliant lights. PSYCHOLOGICAL EFFECT OF THIS VISION.

Such is the vision seen by the divinities, all together, and each one separately. It is also beheld by the souls that see all the things contained within the intelligible world. By this sight, souls themselves become capable of containing, from beginning to end, all the entities within their intelligible world; they dwell within it by that part of theirs which is capable of doing so. Often, even, the whole of them dwells within it, at least so long as they do not withdraw therefrom. THIS VISION, WHEN TRANSFERRED WITHIN, BECOMES SWEET AS NECTAR.

This is what is beheld by Jupiter and by all those of us who share His love for this revelation. The last thing which then appears is the beauty that shines in its entirety in the essences (that is, beings), as well as in those who participate therein. In the intelligible world everything glows, and beautifies itself by shedding splendor on those who gaze at it. Thus men who have climbed a high mountain on arriving at the summit suddenly shine with the golden color reflected by the ground whereon they stand. Now the color that bathes the intelligible world is the beauty that blooms within its flower; or rather there everything is color, everything is beauty, in its most intimate depths; for beauty, in the intelligible world, is not a flower that blooms only on the surface. Those who do not apprehend the totality of the view appreciate the beauty of only that which meets their gaze; but those who, like men intoxicated with this sweet nectar, are, to the very soul, penetrated by the beauty of the intelligible world, are no longer mere spectators. No longer are the contemplated objects and the contemplated soul two things exterior to each other. If the soul's gaze is piercing enough, she finds the object she contemplates within herself. Often she possesses it without knowing it. Then indeed does she contemplate it as she would contemplate some exterior object, because she seeks to see it in the same manner. Every time that one looks at something as a spectacle, it is seen outside of oneself. Now this spectacle of the intelligible world must be transferred within oneself, and be contemplated as something with which one has fused, to the point of identity. Thus a man, possessed by a divinity, whether by Phoebus or by some Muse, would contemplate this divinity within himself, if he were at all able to contemplate a divinity.

MECHANISM OF THE ECSTASY.

(The ecstasy operates as follows.) When a man is entranced by the divinity, he loses consciousness of himself. Then when he contemplates the (divine) spectacle which he possesses within himself, he contemplates himself and sees his image embellished. However beautiful it be, he must leave it aside, and concentrate upon the unity, without dividing any of it. Then he becomes simultaneously one and all with this divinity which grants him His presence silently. Then is the man united to the divinity to the extent of his desire and ability. If, while remaining pure, he return to duality, he remains as close as possible to the divinity, and he enjoys the divine presence as soon as he turns towards the divinity. BENEFITS OF THIS CONVERSION TOWARDS THE DIVINITY.

The advantages derived from this conversion towards the divinity are first self-consciousness, so long as he remains distinct from the divinity. If he penetrate into his interior sanctuary, he possesses all things, and renouncing self-consciousness in favor of indistinction from the divinity, he fuses with it. As soon as he desires to see something, so to speak, outside of himself, it is he himself that he considers, even exteriorly. The soul that studies the divinity must form an idea of him while seeking to know him. Later, knowing how great is that divinity to which she desires to unite herself, and being persuaded that she will find beatitude in this union, she plunges herself into the depths of the divinity until, instead of contenting herself with contemplating the intelligible world, she herself becomes an object of contemplation, and shines with the clearness of the conceptions whose source is on high. HOW THE SOUL MAY BE UNITED TO THE DIVINITY WITHOUT SEEING HIM.

But how can one be united to beauty, without seeing it? If it be seen as some thing distinct from oneself, he is not yet fused with it. If the act of vision imply a relation with an exterior object, we have no vision; or, at least, this vision consists in the identity of seer and seen. This vision is a kind of conscience, of self-consciousness; and if this feeling be too acute, there is even danger of breaking up this unity. Besides, one must not forget that the sensations of evils make stronger impressions, and yield feebler knowledge, because the latter are frittered away by the force of impressions. Thus sickness strikes sharply (but arouses only an obscure notion); health, on the contrary, thanks to the calm that characterizes it, yields us a clearer notion of itself, for it remains quietly within us, because it is proper to us, and fuses with us. On the contrary, sickness is not proper to us, but foreign. Consequently it manifests itself vividly, because it is opposed to our nature; while we, on the contrary, enjoy but a feeble feeling of ourselves and of what belongs to us. The state in which we grasp ourselves best is the one in which our consciousness of ourselves fuses with us. Consequently on high, at the very moment when our knowledge by intelligence is at its best, we believe that we are ignorant of it, because we consult sensation, which assures us that it has seen nothing. Indeed it has not seen anything, and it never could see anything such (as the intelligible beings). It is therefore the sensation that doubts; but he who has the ability to see differs therefrom. Before the seer could doubt, he would have to cease believing in his very existence; for he could not, so to speak, externalize himself to consider himself with the eyes of the body.

NATURE OF THE OBJECT OF SPIRITUAL VISION.

We have just said that a man can see, either in differing from what he sees, or in identifying himself with the object seen. Now, when he has seen, either as being different, or as being identical, what does he report? He tells us that he has seen the Divinity beget an offspring of an incomparable beauty, producing everything in Himself, and without pain preserving within Himself what He has begotten. In fact, charmed with the things He has begotten, and full of love for his works, the Divinity retained them within Himself, congratulating Himself upon their splendor, as much as upon his own. In the midst of these beauties, nevertheless inferior to those which have remained within the nature of the Divinity, alone of all these beings, his Son (Jupiter, the son of Saturn, here representing the universal Soul born of divine Intelligence) has manifested himself externally. By him, as by an image, you may judge of the greatness of his Father, and that of his brothers still unissued from within their Father's nature. Besides, it is not in vain that Jupiter tells us that he proceeds from his Father; for he constitutes another world that has become beautiful, because he is the image of beauty, and because it is impossible that the image of beauty and being should not itself be beautiful. Jupiter, therefore, everywhere imitates his archetype. That is why, because he is an image, he possesses life and constitutes being; and that is why, because he proceeds from his Father, he also possesses beauty. He likewise enjoys the privilege of being the image of his eternity. Otherwise he would at one time reveal the image of his Father, and at other times he would not; which is impossible, because he is not an artificial image. Every natural image remains what it was, so long as its archetype subsists. It is therefore an error to believe that, while the intelligible world subsists, the visible world could perish, and that it was begotten in such a manner as that he who had created it, had done so with deliberation. Whatever indeed might have been the manner of operation, these men do not wish to conceive and believe that, so long as the intelligible world shines, other things that proceed therefrom could not perish; and that they exist ever since (their model) existed. But the (intelligible world) has ever existed, and will ever exist; for (in spite of their impropriety), we are obliged to make use of such terms to express our thought.

SATURN IS SON OF COELUS, AND FATHER OF JUPITER.

(Saturn) is always represented as chained, because He remains immovable in his identity. It is said he gave up to his son, Jupiter, the government of the universe, because such (an occupation) did not suit Him, who possesses the fulness of good things, to distract himself from the government of the intelligible world to undertake that of an empire younger and less exalted than himself. Besides, on one hand, (Saturn) fixed within himself, and raised himself up to his father (Coelus, or Uranus). On the other hand, he likewise fixed the inferior things which were begotten by his son (Jupiter). Between both he (Saturn) therefore occupies a rank intermediary between his Father, who is more perfect and his son, who is less so. On one hand he mutilates his Father, by splitting primitive unity into two different elements. On the other, he raises himself above the being which is inferior to him, disengaging himself from the chains that might tend to lower him. As (Coelus), the father of (Saturn), is too great to admit of having beauty attributed to him, (Saturn) occupies the first rank of beauty. IF THE WORLD-SOUL AND VENUS BE BEAUTIFUL, HOW MUCH MORE THEIR SOURCE?