Τὸν νοῦν, τὸν ἀληθῆ νοῦν καὶ ὄντως, ἆρ’ ἄν τις φαίη ψεύσεσθαί ποτε καὶ μὴ τὰ ὄντα δοξάσειν; οὐδαμῶς. πῶς γὰρ ἂν ἔτι νοῦς ἀνοηταίνων εἴη; δεῖ ἄρα αὐτὸν ἀεὶ εἰδέναι καὶ μηδ’ ἂν ἐπιλαθέσθαι ποτέ, τὴν δὲ εἴδησιν αὐτῷ μήτε εἰκάζοντι εἶναι μήτε ἀμφίβολον μηδ’ αὖ παρ’ ἄλλου οἷον ἀκούσαντι. οὐ τοίνυν οὐδὲ δι’ ἀποδείξεως. καὶ γὰρ εἴ τινά τις φαίη δι’ ἀποδείξεως, ἀλλ’ οὖν αὐτόθεν αὐτῷ ἐναργές τι εἶναι· καίτοι ὁ λόγος φησὶ πάντα. πῶς γὰρ καὶ διοριεῖ τις τά τε αὐτόθεν τά τε μή; ἀλλ’ οὖν, ἃ συγχωροῦσιν αὐτόθεν, πόθεν φήσουσι τούτων τὸ ἐναργὲς αὐτῷ παρεῖναι; πόθεν δὲ αὐτῷ πίστιν, ὅτι οὕτως ἔχει, παρέξεται;
Intellect—the true and real Intellect—would anyone say that it could ever be mistaken and believe what is not? Not at all. For how could it still be Intellect if it were unintelligent? It must, then, always know and never forget anything, and its knowing must not be guesswork or uncertain, nor again like something heard from someone else. Nor, then, through demonstration either. For even if one were to say it knows some things through demonstration, still some things will be immediately evident to it; and yet the argument says all things are. For how will anyone distinguish what is immediate from what is not? And even for the things they grant to be immediate, where will they say their evidence comes to it from? Where will it get its assurance that they are so?
ἐπεὶ καὶ τὰ ἐπὶ τῆς αἰσθήσεως, ἃ δὴ δοκεῖ πίστιν ἔχειν ἐναργεστάτην, ἀπιστεῖται, μή ποτε οὐκ ἐν τοῖς ὑποκειμένοις, ἀλλ’ ἐν τοῖς πάθεσιν ἔχῃ τὴν δοκοῦσαν ὑπόστασιν, καὶ νοῦ δεῖ ἢ διανοίας τῶν κρινούντων· ἐπεὶ καὶ συγκεχωρημένου ἐν τοῖς ὑποκειμένοις εἶναι αἰσθητοῖς, ὧν ἀντίληψιν ἡ αἴσθησις ποιήσεται, τό γε γιγνωσκόμενον δι’ αἰσθήσεως τοῦ πράγματος εἴδωλόν ἐστι, καὶ οὐκ αὐτὸ τὸ πρᾶγμα ἡ αἴσθησις λαμβάνει· μένει γὰρ ἐκεῖνο ἔξω. ὁ δὴ νοῦς γινώσκων καὶ τὰ νοητὰ γινώσκων, εἰ μὲν ἕτερα ὄντα γινώσκει, πῶς ἂν συντύχοι αὐτοῖς; ἐνδέχεται γὰρ μή, ὥστε ἐνδέχεται μὴ γινώσκειν ἢ τότε ὅτε συνέτυχε, καὶ οὐκ ἀεὶ ἕξει τὴν γνῶσιν.
For even the objects of perception, which seem to carry the clearest conviction, are doubted: perhaps their apparent existence lies not in the underlying things but in our affections, and they need intellect or discursive thought to judge them. For even granting that they are in the underlying sensible things, which perception will apprehend, what is known through perception is an image of the thing, and perception does not grasp the thing itself; for that remains outside. Now Intellect, knowing and knowing the intelligibles—if it knows them as other than itself, how would it meet with them? For it might not, so that it might not know them, or know them only when it has met them, and it will not always have knowledge.
εἰ δὲ συνεζεῦχθαι φήσουσι, τί τὸ συνεζεῦχθαι τοῦτο; ἔπειτα καὶ αἱ νοήσεις τύποι ἔσονται· εἰ δὲ τοῦτο, καὶ ἐπακτοὶ καὶ πληγαί. πῶς δὲ καὶ τυπώσεται, ἢ τίς τῶν τοιούτων ἡ μορφή; καὶ ἡ νόησις τοῦ ἔξω, ὥσπερ καὶ ἡ αἴσθησις. καὶ τί διοίσει ἢ τῷ σμικροτέρων ἀντιλαμβάνεσθαι; πῶς δὲ καὶ γνώσεται, ὅτι ἀντελάβετο ὄντως; πῶς δέ, ὅτι ἀγαθὸν τοῦτο ἢ ὅτι καλὸν ἢ δίκαιον; ἕκαστον γὰρ τούτων ἄλλο αὐτοῦ, καὶ οὐκ ἐν αὐτῷ αἱ τῆς κρίσεως ἀρχαί, αἷς πιστεύσει, ἀλλὰ καὶ αὗται ἔξω, καὶ ἡ ἀλήθεια ἐκεῖ. εἶτα κἀκεῖνα ἀναίσθητα καὶ ἄμοιρα ζωῆς καὶ νοῦ, ἢ νοῦν ἔχει.
And if they say the two are yoked together, what is this “yoked together”? Then too, the acts of thinking will be impressions; and if so, they will be imported from outside, and blows. And how will it be impressed, or what is the shape of such things? And thinking will be of what is outside, just as perception is. And how will it differ, except by apprehending smaller things? And how will it know that it has really apprehended them? And how will it know that this is good, or beautiful, or just? For each of these is other than it, and the principles of judgment it is to trust are not in it; they too are outside, and the truth is there. Then, too, those things are either without perception and without share in life and intellect, or they have intellect.
καὶ εἰ νοῦν ἔχει, ἅμα ἐνταῦθα ἄμφω, καὶ τὸ ἀληθὲς ὡδί, καὶ ὁ πρῶτος νοῦς οὗτος, καὶ ἐπὶ τούτου ζητήσομεν, πῶς ἔχει ἡ ἐνταῦθα ἀλήθεια καὶ τὸ νοητὸν καὶ ὁ νοῦς, εἰ ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ μὲν καὶ ἅμα, δύο δὲ καὶ ἕτερα ἢ πῶς; εἰ δ’ ἀνόητα καὶ ἄνευ ζωῆς, τί ὄντα; οὐ γὰρ δὴ προτάσεις οὐδὲ ἀξιώματα οὐδὲ λεκτά· ἤδη γὰρ ἂν καὶ αὐτὰ περὶ ἑτέρων λέγοι, καὶ οὐκ αὐτὰ τὰ ὄντα εἴη, οἷον τὸ δίκαιον καλόν, ἄλλου τοῦ δικαίου καὶ τοῦ καλοῦ ὄντος. εἰ δ’ ἁπλᾶ φήσουσι; δίκαιον χωρὶς καὶ καλόν, πρῶτον μὲν οὐχ ἕν τι οὐδ’ ἐν ἑνὶ τὸ νοητὸν ἔσται, ἀλλὰ διεσπασμένον ἕκαστον. καὶ ποῦ καὶ κατὰ τίνας διέσπασται τόπους; πῶς δὲ αὐτοῖς συντεύξεται ὁ νοῦς περιθέων; πῶς δὲ μενεῖ;
And if they have intellect, both are here together, the truth is right here, and this is the first Intellect; and about it we shall inquire how the truth here stands, and the intelligible and Intellect—whether they are in the same and together, but two and different, or how. But if they are without intellect and without life, what are they? For they are certainly not propositions or axioms or “sayables”; for then they too would be saying things about other things, and would not be the beings themselves—as in “the just is beautiful,” when the just and the beautiful are something else. And what if they say they are simple—the just by itself, and the beautiful? First of all, the intelligible will not be some one thing, nor in one thing; each will be scattered. And where, and over what places, has it been scattered? How will Intellect meet with them as it runs around? How will it stay?
ἢ ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ πῶς μενεῖ; τίνα δ’ ὅλως μορφὴν ἢ τύπον ἕξει; εἰ μὴ ὥσπερ ἀγάλματα ἐγκείμενα χρυσᾶ ἢ ἄλλης τινὸς ὕλης ὑπό τινος πλάστου ἢ γραφέως πεποιημένα. ἀλλ’ εἰ τοῦτο, ὁ θεωρῶν νοῦς αἴσθησις ἔσται. διὰ τί δὲ τὸ μέν ἐστι τῶν τοιούτων δικαιοσύνη, τὸ δ’ ἄλλο τι; μέγιστον δὲ πάντων ἐκεῖνο· εἰ γὰρ καὶ ὅτι μάλιστα δοίη τις ταῦτα ἔξω εἶναι, καὶ τὸν νοῦν αὐτὰ οὕτως ἔχοντα θεωρεῖν, ἀναγκαῖον αὐτῷ μήτε τὸ ἀληθὲς αὐτῶν ἔχειν διεψεῦσθαί τε ἐν ἅπασιν οἷς θεωρεῖ. τὰ μὲν γὰρ ἀληθινὰ ἂν εἴη ἐκεῖνα· θεωρήσει τοίνυν αὐτὰ οὐκ ἔχων αὐτά, εἴδωλα δὲ αὐτῶν ἐν τῇ γνώσει τῇ τοιαύτῃ λαβών. τὸ τοίνυν ἀληθινὸν οὐκ ἔχων, εἴδωλα δὲ τοῦ ἀληθοῦς παρ’ αὑτῷ λαβών, τὰ ψευδῆ ἕξει καὶ οὐδὲν ἀληθές.
Or how will it stay in the same? And what shape or impression will it have at all? Unless they are like statues set up, made of gold or some other material by some sculptor or painter. But if so, the Intellect that contemplates them will be perception. And why is one of these justice and another something else? But the biggest point of all is this: even if one were to grant, as fully as possible, that these are outside, and that Intellect contemplates them as they are, it necessarily follows that it does not possess their truth and is deceived in everything it contemplates. For those would be the true things; it will contemplate them, then, without having them, having taken in only images of them in a knowledge of this kind. Not having the true thing, then, but having taken images of the true into itself, it will have falsehoods and nothing true.
εἰ μὲν οὖν εἰδήσει, ὅτι τὰ ψευδῆ ἔχει, ὁμολογήσει ἄμοιρος ἀληθείας εἶναι· εἰ δὲ καὶ τοῦτο ἀγνοήσει, καὶ οἰήσεται τὸ ἀληθὲς ἔχειν οὐκ ἔχων, διπλάσιον ἐν αὐτῷ τὸ ψεῦδος γενόμενον πολὺ τῆς ἀληθείας αὐτὸν ἀποστήσει. διὰ τοῦτο γὰρ καὶ ἐν ταῖς αἰσθήσεσιν, οἶμαι, οὐκ ἔνεστιν ἀλήθεια, ἀλλὰ δόξα, ὅτι παραδεχομένη καὶ διὰ τοῦτο δόξα οὖσα ἄλλο παραδέχεται ἄλλου ὄντος ἐκείνου, ἐξ οὗ τοῦτο ὃ παραδέχεται ἔχει. εἰ οὖν μὴ ἀλήθεια ἐν τῷ νῷ, οὗτος μὲν ὁ τοιοῦτος νοῦς οὔτε ἀλήθεια ἔσται, οὔτε ἀληθείᾳ νοῦς, οὔτε ὅλως νοῦς ἔσται. ἀλλ’ οὐδὲ ἄλλοθί που ἡ ἀλήθεια ἔσται.
If, then, it knows that it has falsehoods, it will admit that it has no share in truth. And if it does not know even this, and thinks it has the truth when it does not, the falsehood in it, now doubled, will set it far from the truth. That, I think, is also why there is no truth in perceptions, only opinion: because perception receives, and is opinion for that very reason, it receives something other, while that from which it has what it receives is something other again. If, then, there is no truth in Intellect, such an intellect will be neither truth, nor intellect in truth, nor intellect at all. But neither will truth be anywhere else.
οὐ τοίνυν δεῖ οὔτε ἔξω τὰ νοητὰ ζητεῖν, οὔτε τύπους ἐν τῷ νῷ τῶν ὄντων λέγειν εἶναι, οὔτε τῆς ἀληθείας ἀποστεροῦντας αὐτὸν ἀγνωσίαν τε τῶν νοητῶν ποιεῖν καὶ ἀνυπαρξίαν καὶ ἔτι αὐτὸν τὸν νοῦν ἀναιρεῖν· ἀλλ’ εἴπερ καὶ γνῶσιν δεῖ καὶ ἀλήθειαν εἰσάγειν καὶ τὰ ὄντα τηρεῖν καὶ γνῶσιν τοῦ τί ἕκαστόν ἐστιν, ἀλλὰ μὴ τοῦ ποῖόν τι ἕκαστον, ἅτε εἴδωλον αὐτοῦ καὶ ἴχνος ἴσχοντας, ἀλλὰ μὴ αὐτὰ ἔχοντας καὶ συνόντας καὶ συγκραθέντας αὐτοῖς, τῷ ἀληθινῷ νῷ δοτέον τὰ πάντα. οὕτω γὰρ ἂν καὶ εἰδείη, καὶ ἀληθινῶς εἰδείη, καὶ οὐδ’ ἂν ἐπιλάθοιτο οὐδ’ ἂν περιέλθοι ζητῶν, καὶ ἡ ἀλήθεια ἐν αὐτῷ καὶ ἕδρα ἔσται τοῖς οὖσι καὶ ζήσεται καὶ νοήσει.
So we must not look for the intelligibles outside, or say that Intellect holds impressions of the things that are, or strip it of truth. That would make the intelligibles unknowable and nonexistent, and abolish Intellect itself as well. If we are to bring in knowledge and truth, and keep the things that are safe, we need knowledge of what each thing is, not merely of what sort of thing it is. Otherwise we would hold an image and trace of each thing rather than the things themselves, being with them and blended with them. So everything must be given to the true Intellect. That way it would know, and know truly. It would neither forget nor go round searching. Truth will be in it, it will be a seat for the things that are, and it will live and think.
ἃ δὴ πάντα περὶ τὴν μακαριωτάτην φύσιν δεῖ ὑπάρχειν· ἢ ποῦ τὸ τίμιον καὶ σεμνὸν ἔσται; καὶ γὰρ αὖ οὕτως οὐδ’ ἀποδείξεως δεῖ οὐδὲ πίστεως, ὅτι οὕτως· αὐτὸς γὰρ οὕτως καὶ ἐναργὴς αὐτὸς αὑτῷ, καὶ εἴ τι πρὸ αὐτοῦ, ὅτι ἐξ αὐτοῦ, καὶ εἴ τι μετ’ ἐκεῖνο, ὅτι αὐτός, καὶ οὐδεὶς πιστότερος αὐτῷ περὶ αὐτοῦ, καὶ ὅτι ἐκεῖ τοῦτο καὶ ὄντως. ὥστε καὶ ἡ ὄντως ἀλήθεια οὐ συμφωνοῦσα ἄλλῳ, ἀλλ’ ἑαυτῇ, καὶ οὐδὲν παρ’ αὑτὴν ἄλλο λέγει καὶ ἔστι καὶ ὃ ἔστι τοῦτο καὶ λέγει. τίς ἂν οὖν ἐλέγξειε; καὶ πόθεν οἴσει τὸν ἔλεγχον; εἰς γὰρ ταὐτὸν ὁ φερόμενος ἔλεγχος τῷ προειπόντι, κἂν κομίσῃ ὡς ἄλλο, φέρεται εἰς τὸν ἐξ ἀρχῆς εἰπόντα καὶ ἕν ἐστιν· οὐ γὰρ ἄλλο ἀληθέστερον ἂν εὕροι τοῦ ἀληθοῦς.
All this must belong to the most blessed nature. Otherwise where will its dignity and majesty be? And again, if things are so, it needs no demonstration and no proof that it is so. It is so itself, and is evident to itself. If there is anything before it, it is evident to itself that it comes from that. If there is anything after that, it is evident that this is itself. No one is more trustworthy to it about itself, or about the fact that it is so There, and really so. So real truth does not agree with something else but with itself. It says nothing besides itself: it is, and what it is, that is also what it says. Who, then, could refute it? And where would he bring the refutation from? The refutation brought forward comes to the same as what was said before. Even if he presents it as something different, it is carried back to the one who spoke at the start, and is one with it. For he could find nothing truer than the truth.
The great king
Intellect is the beautiful pedestal of the One, like the procession before a great king.
μία τοίνυν φύσις αὕτη ἡμῖν (νοῦς), τὰ ὄντα πάντα (ἡ ἀλήθεια)· εἰ δέ, θεός τις μέγας· μᾶλλον δὲ οὐ τίς, ἀλλὰ πᾶς ἀξιοῖ ταῦτα εἶναι. καὶ θεὸς αὕτη ἡ φύσις, καὶ θεὸς δεύτερος προφαίνων ἑαυτὸν πρὶν ὁρᾶν ἐκεῖνον· ὁ δὲ ὑπερκάθηται καὶ ὑπερίδρυται ἐπὶ καλῆς οὕτως οἷον κρηπῖδος, ἣ ἐξ αὐτοῦ ἐξήρτηται.
So this one nature is, for us, (Intellect), all the things that are, (truth). If so, it is a great god. Or rather, not just “some” god: it claims to be all these things as a whole. And this nature is god, a second god, who shows himself before one sees that other. But that one sits above, enthroned upon this beautiful pedestal, as it were, which hangs from him.
ἔδει γὰρ ἐκεῖνον βαίνοντα μὴ ἐπ’ ἀψύχου τινὸς μηδ’ αὖ ἐπὶ ψυχῆς εὐθὺς βεβηκέναι, ἀλλ’ εἶναι αὐτῷ κάλλος ἀμήχανον πρὸ αὐτοῦ προιόν, οἷον πρὸ μεγάλου βασιλέως πρόεισι μὲν πρῶτα ἐν ταῖς προόδοις τὰ ἐλάττω, ἀεὶ δὲ τὰ μείζω καὶ τὰ σεμνότερα ἐπ’ αὐτοῖς, καὶ τὰ περὶ βασιλέα ἤδη μᾶλλον βασιλικώτερα, εἶτα τὰ μετ’ αὐτὸν τίμια· ἐφ’ ἅπασι δὲ τούτοις βασιλεὺς προφαίνεται ἐξαίφνης αὐτὸς ὁ μέγας, οἱ δ’ εὔχονται καὶ προσκυνοῦσιν, ὅσοι μὴ προαπῆλθον ἀρκεσθέντες τοῖς πρὸ τοῦ βασιλέως ὀφθεῖσιν.
For when he advanced, he could not set foot on something soulless, nor even directly on soul. There had to be an inconceivable beauty going on ahead of him. Think of a great king. In his processions the lesser people go first, then always greater and more dignified ones after them. Those around the king are more royal still, and then come those honored next after him. After all of these, suddenly, the great king himself appears. The people pray and bow down—those of them, at least, who have not gone away beforehand, content with what they saw before the king.
ἐκεῖ μὲν οὖν ὁ βασιλεὺς ἄλλος, οἵ τε πρὸ αὐτοῦ προιόντες ἄλλοι αὐτοῦ· ὁ δὲ ἐκεῖ βασιλεὺς οὐκ ἀλλοτρίων ἄρχων, ἀλλ’ ἔχων τὴν δικαιοτάτην καὶ φύσει ἀρχὴν καὶ τὴν ἀληθῆ βασιλείαν, ἅτε τῆς ἀληθείας βασιλεὺς καὶ ὢν κατὰ φύσιν κύριος τοῦ αὑτοῦ ἀθρόου γεννήματος καὶ θείου συντάγματος, βασιλεὺς βασιλέων καὶ πατὴρ δικαιότερον ἂν κληθεὶς θεῶν, ὃν ὁ Ζεὺς καὶ ταύτῃ ἐμιμήσατο, τὴν τοῦ ἑαυτοῦ πατρὸς οὐκ ἀνασχόμενος θεωρίαν, ἀλλὰ τὴν τοῦ προπάτορος οἷον ἐνέργειαν εἰς ὑπόστασιν οὐσίας.
Here, then, the king is one person, and those who process before him are others. But the king There does not rule over what is alien to him. His rule is the most just, rule by nature, and his kingship is the true kingship, since he is king of truth and by nature lord of his own offspring, all of it together, and of the divine company. He is king of kings, and would more justly be called father of gods. Zeus imitated him in this respect too: he did not rest content with the contemplation of his own father, but turned to his grandfather’s—to his activity, so to speak, directed toward bringing being into existence.
ὅτι μὲν οὖν δεῖ τὴν ἀναγωγὴν ποιήσασθαι εἰς ἓν καὶ ἀληθῶς ἕν, ἀλλὰ μὴ ὥσπερ τὰ ἄλλα ἕν, ἃ πολλὰ ὄντα μετοχῇ ἑνὸς ἕν· δεῖ δὲ τὸ μὴ μετοχῇ ἓν λαβεῖν μηδὲ τὸ οὐ μᾶλλον ἓν ἢ πολλά· καὶ ὅτι ὁ μὲν νοητὸς κόσμος καὶ ὁ νοῦς μᾶλλον ἕν τῶν ἄλλων, καὶ οὐδὲν ἐγγυτέρω αὐτοῦ τοῦ ἑνός, οὐ μὴν τὸ καθαρῶς ἕν, εἴρηται. τί δὲ τὸ καθαρῶς ἓν καὶ ὄντως καὶ οὐ κατ’ ἄλλο, νῦν θεάσασθαι ποθοῦμεν, εἴ πῃ δυνατόν. χρὴ τοίνυν ἐνταῦθα ἀίξαι πρὸς ἕν, καὶ μηδὲν αὐτῷ ἔτι προσθεῖναι, ἀλλὰ στῆναι παντελῶς δεδιότα αὐτοῦ ἀποστατῆσαι μηδὲ τοὐλάχιστον μηδὲ εἰς δύο προελθεῖν. εἰ δὲ μή, ἔσχες δύο, οὐκ ἐν οἷς τὸ ἕν, ἀλλ’ ἄμφω ὕστερα.
It has already been said that we must make the ascent to one, and to what is truly one. It is not one in the way the other things are one, which are many and are one by participation in one. We must grasp what is one without participation, not something that is no more one than many. And while the intelligible world and Intellect are more one than the other things, and nothing is nearer to the One itself, they are not the purely one. But what the purely and really one is, one not in virtue of something else, we now long to see, if it is in some way possible. Here, then, we must spring toward the one and add nothing more to it. We must stand completely still, afraid of departing from it even in the least, of going on even to two. Otherwise you have got two—two among which the One is not, but both of them later than it.
οὐ γὰρ θέλει μετ’ ἄλλου οὔτε ἑνὸς οὔτε ὁποσουοῦν συναριθμεῖσθαι, οὐδ’ ὅλως ἀριθμεῖσθαι· μέτρον γὰρ αὐτὸ καὶ οὐ μετρούμενον, καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις δὲ οὐκ ἴσον, ἵνα σὺν αὐτοῖς ᾖ· εἰ δὲ μή, κοινόν τι ἔσται ἐπ’ αὐτοῦ καὶ τῶν συναριθμουμένων, κἀκεῖνο πρὸ αὐτοῦ· δεῖ δὲ μηδέν. οὐδὲ γὰρ οὐδ’ ὁ οὐσιώδης ἀριθμὸς κατ’ αὐτοῦ, οὐδέ γε ὁ ὕστερος τούτου, ὁ τοῦ ποσοῦ· οὐσιώδης μὲν ὁ τῷ νοεῖν εἶναι ἀεὶ παρέχων, τοῦ δὲ ποσοῦ ὁ τὸ ποσὸν μετ’ ἄλλων ἢ ὅ τι μὴ μετ’ ἄλλων, εἴπερ ἀριθμὸς τοῦτο.
For it will not be counted along with another, whether one or any number at all; it will not be counted at all. It is measure and not measured, and it is not equal to the others, so as to be with them. Otherwise there will be something common to it and to the things counted with it, and that common thing will be before it; but there must be nothing before it. Not even substantial number is predicated of it, nor, certainly, the number later than this, the number of quantity. Substantial number is the one that always provides being to thinking. Quantitative number is the one that provides quantity, along with other things or without other things—if that is number.
ἐπεὶ καὶ ἡ ἐν τοῖς τοῦ ποσοῦ ἀριθμοῦ πρὸς τὸ ἓν τὴν ἀρχὴν αὐτῶν ἀπομιμουμένη τὴν ἐν τοῖς προτέροις ἀριθμοῖς φύσις πρὸς τὸ ὄντως ἓν οὐκ ἀναλίσκουσα τὸ ἓν οὐδὲ κερματίζουσα τὴν ὑπόστασιν ἔχει, ἀλλὰ δυάδος γενομένης ἔστι μονὰς ἡ πρὸ τῆς δυάδος, καὶ οὐχ ἡ ἐν τῇ δυάδι μονὰς ἑκατέρα οὐδ’ ἑτέρα ἐκείνη. τί γὰρ μᾶλλον ὁποτεραοῦν; εἰ οὖν μηδετέρα αὐτῶν ἀλλ’ ἐκείνη, καὶ μένουσα οὐ μένει. πῶς οὖν ἕτεραι ἐκεῖναι; καὶ πῶς ἡ δυὰς ἕν; καὶ εἰ ταὐτὸ ἕν, ὅπερ ἐν ἑκατέρᾳ τῇ περιεχομένῃ; ἢ μετέχειν τῆς πρώτης φατέον, ἄλλας δὲ ἧς μετέχουσι, καὶ τὴν δυάδα δέ, καθ’ ὃ ἕν, μετέχειν, οὐχ ὡσαύτως δέ· ἐπεὶ οὐδὲ ὁμοίως στρατὸς ἓν καὶ οἰκία.
Consider the nature in the numbers of quantity. In relation to the one that is their principle, it imitates the nature in the prior numbers in relation to the really one. Even so, it has its existence without using up the one or breaking it into bits. When a two comes to be, there is the unit before the two, and that unit is not either of the units in the two, nor one of the pair. For why should it be one rather than the other? If, then, it is neither of them but that unit, it remains and yet does not remain. How, then, are those units different? And how is the two one? And is it the same one as the one in each of the units it contains? Or rather, we must say that they participate in the first unit but are other than what they participate in. The two, too, insofar as it is one, participates, but not in the same way. For an army and a house are not one in the same way either.
καὶ αὕτη πρὸς τὸ συνεχὲς οὔτε κατὰ τὸ ὡς εἶναι ἕν, οὔτε κατὰ τὸ ποσὸν ἕν. ἆρ’ οὖν αἱ μὲν μονάδες ἄλλως αἱ ἐν πεντάδι καὶ δεκάδι, τὸ δὲ ἓν τὸ ἐν τῇ πεντάδι πρὸς τὸ ἓν τὸ ἐπὶ τῆς δεκάδος τὸ αὐτό; ἤ, εἰ ναῦς πᾶσα πρὸς πᾶσαν, μικρὰ πρὸς μεγάλην, καὶ πόλις πρὸς πόλιν, καὶ στρατὸς πρὸς στρατόν, ταὐτὸ ἓν καὶ ἐνταῦθα. εἰ δὲ μηδ’ ἐκεῖ, οὐδ’ ἐνταῦθα· εἰ γάρ τινες περὶ τούτων ἀπορίαι, ὕστερον.
And the house, compared with what is continuous, is one neither in the sense of being one nor in the sense of quantity. Are the units in five and in ten, then, different, while the one in five is the same as the one in ten? Or rather: if every ship compared with every ship, small with large, and city with city, and army with army, is one in the same way, then the one is the same here too. And if it is not there, it is not here either. As for any difficulties about these matters, later.
ἀλλ’ ἐπ’ ἐκεῖνο ἐπανιτέον λέγουσιν, ὅτι μένει τὸ πρῶτον τὸ αὐτό, κἂν ἐξ αὐτοῦ γίνηται ἕτερα. ἐν μὲν οὖν τοῖς ἀριθμοῖς μένοντος μὲν τοῦ ἕν, ποιοῦντος δὲ ἄλλου, ὁ ἀριθμὸς γίνεται κατ’ αὐτὸ [τὸ ἕν], ἐν δὲ τῷ ὅ ἐστι πρὸ τῶν ὄντων μένει μὲν πολὺ μᾶλλον τὸ ἕν· μένοντος δὲ αὐτοῦ οὐκ ἄλλο ποιεῖ κατ’ αὐτὸ τὰ ὄντα, ἀλλ’ ἀρκεῖ αὐτὸ γεννῆσαι τὰ ὄντα. καὶ ὥσπερ ἐκεῖ ἐπὶ τῶν ἀριθμῶν ἦν τῆς μονάδος ἐπὶ πᾶσιν εἶδος πρώτως καὶ δευτέρως, καὶ οὐκ ἐπ’ ἴσης ἑκάστου μεταλαμβάνοντος τῶν ὑστέρων αὐτῆς, οὕτω καὶ ἐνταῦθα ἕκαστον μὲν τῶν μετὰ τὸ πρῶτον ἔχει τι ἐκείνου οἷον εἶδος ἐν αὑτῷ.
But we must go back to that point and say that the First remains the same even if other things come to be from it. In numbers, then, while the one remains and something else does the making, number comes to be in accordance with it [the one]. But in what is before the things that are, the One remains far more. And while it remains, it is not something else that makes the things that are in accordance with it: it is enough for it to generate the things that are. And there, in numbers, the form of the unit was in all of them, primarily and secondarily, and not every number after it shares in it equally. In the same way, here too each of the things after the First has something of it in itself, a kind of form.
κἀκεῖ μὲν ἡ μετάληψις τὸ ποσὸν ὑπέστησεν αὐτῶν, ἐνταῦθα δὲ τὸ ἴχνος τοῦ ἑνὸς τὴν οὐσίαν αὐτοῖς ὑπεστήσατο, ὥστ’ εἶναι τὸ εἶναι ἴχνος ἑνός. καὶ τὸ εἶναι δὲ τοῦτο ἀπὸ τοῦ ἓν εἴ τις λέγοι γεγονέναι, τάχα ἂν τύχοι τοῦ ἀληθοῦς. τὸ γάρ τοι λεγόμενον ὂν τοῦτο πρῶτον ἐκεῖθεν οἷον ὀλίγον προβεβηκὸς οὐκ ἠθέλησεν ἔτι πρόσω ἐλθεῖν, μεταστραφὲν δὲ εἰς τὸ εἴσω ἔστη, καὶ ἐγένετο οὐσία καὶ ἑστία ἁπάντων· οἷον ἐναπερείσαντος ἐν φθόγγῳ αὑτὸν τοῦ φωνοῦντος ὑφίσταται τὸ ἓν δηλοῦν τὸ ἀπὸ τοῦ ἑνὸς καὶ τὸ ὂν σημαῖνον τὸ φθεγξάμενον, ὡς δύναται.
There, participation brought their quantity into existence. Here, the trace of the One brought their being into existence, so that being is a trace of the One. And if someone were to say that this word einai, “being,” has come from hen, “one,” he might well hit on the truth. For what is called being, this first thing, came out from There and went only a little way forward, as it were. It did not want to go further, but turned inward and stood still, and became ousia, being, and hestia, hearth, of all things. It is as if a speaker pressed his voice into a sound: there comes to be hen, revealing what comes from the One, and on, “being,” signifying, as best it can, what uttered it.
οὕτω τοι τὸ μὲν γενόμενον καὶ τὸ εἶναι μίμησιν ἔχοντα ἐκ τῆς δυνάμεως αὐτοῦ ῥυέντα· ἡ δὲ ἰδοῦσα καὶ ἐπικινηθεῖσα τῷ θεάματι μιμουμένη ὃ εἶδεν ἔρρηξε φωνὴν τὸ ὂν καὶ τὸ εἶναι καὶ οὐσίαν καὶ ἑστίαν. οὗτοι γὰρ οἱ φθόγγοι θέλουσι σημῆναι τὴν ὑπόστασιν [τοῦ] γεννηθέντος ὠδῖνι τοῦ φθεγγομένου ἀπομιμούμενοι, ὡς οἷόν τε αὐτοῖς, τὴν γένεσιν τοῦ ὄντος.
So what came to be, and being, carry an imitation, having flowed from its power. And the soul that saw it and was stirred by the sight, imitating what it saw, broke into utterance: on, einai, ousia, hestia. These sounds aim to signify the coming into existence of what was generated, imitating, as far as they can, through the labor pains of the one who utters them, the birth of being.
ἀλλὰ ταῦτα μέν, ὥς τις ἐθέλει, λελέχθω. τῆς δὲ γενομένης οὐσίας εἴδους οὔσης — οὐ γὰρ δή τι ἄλλο ἅν τις εἴποι τὸ ἐκεῖθεν γενόμενον — καὶ εἴδους οὐ τινός, ἀλλὰ παντός, ὡς μὴ ἂν ὑπολιπεῖν τι ἄλλο, ἀνάγκη ἀνείδεον ἐκεῖνο εἶναι. ἀνείδεον δὲ ὂν οὐκ οὐσία· τόδε γάρ τι δεῖ τὴν οὐσίαν εἶναι· τοῦτο δὲ ὡρισμένον· τὸ δὲ οὐκ ἔστι λαβεῖν ὡς τόδε· ἤδη γὰρ οὐκ ἀρχή, ἀλλ’ ἐκεῖνο μόνον, ὃ τόδε εἴρηκας εἶναι. εἰ οὖν τὰ πάντα ἐν τῷ γενομένῳ, τί τῶν ἐν τούτῳ ἐκεῖνο ἐρεῖς; οὐδὲν δὲ τούτων ὂν μόνον ἂν λέγοιτο ἐπέκεινα τούτων. ταῦτα δὲ τὰ ὄντα καὶ τὸ ὄν· ἐπέκεινα ἄρα ὄντος.
But let this be taken as anyone likes. The substance that came to be is Form—one could not say that what came from there is anything else—and Form not of something in particular but of everything, so as to leave nothing else out. So that must be without form. And being without form, it is not substance. For a substance must be a “this,” and a “this” is something defined. But it cannot be grasped as a “this”: then it would no longer be the principle, but only that which you have said is “this.” If, then, all things are in what came to be, which of the things in it will you say that is? Being none of them, it could only be said to be beyond them. But these are the things that are, and being. So it is beyond being.
τὸ γὰρ ἐπέκεινα ὄντος οὐ τόδε λέγει — οὐ γὰρ τίθησιν — οὐδὲ ὄνομα αὐτοῦ λέγει, ἀλλὰ φέρει μόνον τὸ οὐ τοῦτο. τοῦτο δὲ ποιοῦν οὐδαμοῦ αὐτὸ περιλαμβάνει· γελοῖον γὰρ ζητεῖν ἐκείνην τὴν ἄπλετον φύσιν περιλαμβάνειν· ὁ γὰρ τοῦτο βουλόμενος ποιεῖν ἀπέστησεν αὑτὸν καὶ τοῦ ὁπωσοῦν καὶ κατὰ βραχὺ εἰς ἴχνος αὐτοῦ ἰέναι· ἀλλ’ ὥσπερ [ὁ] τὴν νοητὴν φύσιν βουλόμενος ἰδεῖν οὐδεμίαν φαντασίαν αἰσθητοῦ ἔχων θεάσεται ὅ ἐστιν ἐπέκεινα τοῦ αἰσθητοῦ, οὕτω καὶ ὁ θεάσασθαι θέλων τὸ ἐπέκεινα τοῦ νοητοῦ τὸ νοητὸν πᾶν ἀφεὶς θεάσεται, ὅτι μὲν ἔστι διὰ τούτου μαθών, οἷον δὲ ἔστι τοῦτο ἀφείς.
For “beyond being” does not say “this”—it posits nothing—nor does it say its name. It conveys only “not this.” And in doing so it does not encompass it at all. It is ridiculous to try to encompass that boundless nature: whoever wants to do this has cut himself off from going even a little way, in any manner, toward its trace. Someone who wants to see the intelligible nature will contemplate what is beyond the perceptible by having no imagining of anything perceptible. In the same way, someone who wants to contemplate what is beyond the intelligible will contemplate it by letting go of everything intelligible. Through the intelligible he learns that it is; but as to what it is like, he lets the intelligible go.
τὸ δὲ οἷον σημαίνοι ἂν τὸ οὐχ οἷον· οὐ γὰρ ἔνι οὐδὲ τὸ οἷον, ὅτῳ μηδὲ τὸ τί. ἀλλὰ ἡμεῖς ταῖς ἡμετέραις ὠδῖσιν ἀποροῦμεν, ὅ τι χρὴ λέγειν, καὶ λέγομεν περὶ οὐ ῥητοῦ, καὶ ὀνομάζομεν σημαίνειν ἑαυτοῖς θέλοντες ὡς δυνάμεθα. τάχα δὲ καὶ τὸ ἓν ὄνομα τοῦτο ἄρσιν ἔχει πρὸς τὰ πολλά. ὅθεν καὶ Ἀπόλλωνα οἱ Πυθαγορικοὶ συμβολικῶς πρὸς ἀλλήλους ἐσήμαινον ἀποφάσει τῶν πολλῶν.
And “what it is like” would signify “not like.” For there can be no “what it is like” for something that has no “what it is” either. But we, in our labor pains, are at a loss as to what we should say. We speak about what cannot be spoken, and we give it a name, wanting to signify it to ourselves as best we can. Perhaps this very name “One” contains a denial of the many. That is why the Pythagoreans, too, signified it to one another symbolically as Apollo, by negation of the many.
εἰ δὲ θέσις τις τὸ ἕν, τό τε ὄνομα τό τε δηλούμενον, ἀσαφέστερον ἂν γίγνοιτο τοῦ εἰ μή τις ὄνομα ἔλεγεν αὐτοῦ· τάχα γὰρ τοῦτο ἐλέγετο, ἵνα ὁ ζητήσας ἀρξάμενος ἀπὸ τοῦ ὃ πάντων [μάλιστα] ἁπλότητός ἐστι σημαντικὸν ἀποφήσῃ τελευτῶν καὶ τοῦτο, ὡς τεθὲν μὲν ὅσον οἷόν τε καλῶς τῷ θεμένῳ, οὐκ ἄξιον μὴν οὐδὲ τοῦτο εἰς δήλωσιν τῆς φύσεως ἐκείνης, ὅτι μηδὲ ἀκουστὸν ἐκεῖνο, μηδὲ τῷ ἀκούοντι δεῖ συνετὸν εἶναι, ἀλλ’ εἴπερ τινί, τῷ ὁρῶντι. ἀλλ’ εἰ τὸ ὁρῶν εἶδος ζητεῖ βλέπειν, οὐδὲ τοῦτο εἴσεται.
If the One—both the name and what it reveals—were something posited, it would be less clear than if one gave it no name at all. Perhaps this name was used so that the seeker, starting from what is [most of all] expressive of simplicity, might end by denying this too. It was posited as well as could be by the one who posited it, but even this is not worthy to reveal that nature. For that is not something heard, nor is it to be understood by the one who hears, but, if by anyone, by the one who sees. But if the one who sees seeks to see a form, he will not know even this.
Light seen by itself
Intellect sees the One as the eye sees its own light, closed to everything else.
ἢ ἐπειδὴ διττὸν καὶ τὸ ἐνεργείᾳ βλέπειν, οἷον ἐπὶ ὀφθαλμοῦ — τὸ μὲν γάρ ἐστιν ὅραμα αὐτῷ τὸ εἶδος τὸ τοῦ αἰσθητοῦ, τὸ δὲ δι’ οὗ ὁρᾷ τὸ εἶδος αὐτοῦ, ὃ καὶ αὐτὸ αἰσθητόν ἐστιν αὐτῷ, ἕτερον ὂν τοῦ εἴδους, αἴτιον δὲ τῷ εἴδει τοῦ ὁρᾶσθαι, ἐν μὲν τῷ εἴδει καὶ ἐπὶ τοῦ εἴδους συνορώμενον· διὸ οὐκ ἐναργῆ τότε δίδωσι τὴν αἴσθησιν αὑτοῦ, ἅτε τοῦ ὄμματος τετραμμένου πρὸς τὸ πεφωτισμένον· ὅταν δὲ μηδὲν ἄλλο ᾖ παρ’ αὐτό, ἀθρόᾳ εἶδε προσβολῇ, καίτοι καὶ τότε εἶδεν ἐπερειδόμενον ἄλλῳ, μόνον δὲ αὐτὸ γενόμενον, μὴ πρὸς ἑτέρῳ, οὐ δύναται ἡ αἴσθησις λαβεῖν· ἐπεὶ καὶ τοῦ ἡλίου τὸ φῶς τὸ ἐν αὐτῷ τάχ’ ἂν τὴν αἴσθησιν ἐξέφυγεν, εἰ μὴ ὄγκος ἐπέκειτο αὐτῷ στερεώτερος.
Or rather: seeing, too, as an activity, is twofold. Take the eye. One thing is what it sees, the form of the perceptible object. The other is that through which it sees the form. This too is perceptible to it; it is different from the form but is the cause of the form’s being seen, and it is seen together with the form, in it and on it. That is why it does not then give a clear perception of itself, since the eye is turned toward what is illuminated. But when there is nothing else beside it, the eye sees it in a single, all-at-once apprehension. And yet even then it saw it resting on something else. When it has become alone by itself, not on something else, perception cannot grasp it. Even the light in the sun itself might escape perception if there were no more solid mass beneath it.
εἰ δέ τις φῶς πᾶν εἶναι αὐτὸν λέγοι, τοῦτο ἄν τις λάβοι πρὸς δήλωσιν τοῦ λεγομένου· ἔσται γὰρ φῶς ἐν οὐδενὶ εἴδει τῶν ἄλλων ὁρωμένων, καὶ ἴσως ὁρατὸν μόνον· τὰ γὰρ ἄλλα ὁρατὰ οὐ φῶς μόνον. οὕτω τοίνυν καὶ ἡ τοῦ νοῦ ὄψις ὁρᾷ μὲν καὶ αὐτὴ δι’ ἄλλου φωτὸς τὰ πεφωτισμένα ἐκείνῃ τῇ πρώτῃ φύσει καὶ ἐν ἐκείνοις ὄντως ὁρᾷ, νεύουσα μέντοι πρὸς τὴν τῶν καταλαμπομένων φύσιν ἧττον αὐτὸ ὁρᾷ.
But if someone were to say that the sun is all light, one could use this to illustrate what is being said. It will be light not in the form of any of the other visible things, and perhaps it alone is purely visible; for the other visible things are not light alone. In the same way, the sight of Intellect too sees, through another light, the things illuminated by that first nature, and in them it truly sees. But in leaning toward the nature of the things lit up, it sees that light itself less.
εἰ δ’ ἀφήσει τὰ ὁρώμενα καὶ δι’ οὗ εἶδεν εἰς αὐτὸ βλέπει, φῶς ἂν καὶ φωτὸς ἀρχὴν ἂν βλέποι. ἀλλ’ ἐπεὶ μὴ ὡς ἔξω ὂν δεῖ τὸν νοῦν τοῦτο τὸ φῶς βλέπειν, πάλιν ἐπὶ τὸν ὀφθαλμὸν ἰτέον, ὅς ποτε καὶ αὐτὸς οὐ τὸ ἔξω φῶς οὐδὲ τὸ ἀλλότριον εἴσεται, ἀλλὰ πρὸ τοῦ ἔξω οἰκεῖόν τι καὶ μᾶλλον στιλπνότερον ἐν ἀκαρεῖ θεᾶται, ἢ νύκτωρ ἐν σκότῳ πρὸ αὐτοῦ ἐξ αὐτοῦ προπηδήσαντος ἢ ὅταν μηδὲν ἐθελήσας τῶν ἄλλων βλέπειν προβάλληται πρὸ αὑτοῦ τὴν τῶν βλεφάρων φύσιν τὸ φῶς ὅμως προφέρων, ἢ καὶ πιέσαντος τοῦ ἔχοντος τὸ ἐν αὑτῷ φῶς ἴδῃ· τότε γὰρ οὐχ ὁρῶν ὁρᾷ καὶ μάλιστα τότε ὁρᾷ· φῶς γὰρ ὁρᾷ· τὰ δ’ ἄλλα φωτοειδῆ μὲν ἦν, φῶς δὲ οὐκ ἦν.
But if it lets go of the things seen and looks at that through which it saw, it would see light and the source of light. But since Intellect must not see this light as something outside it, we must go back to the eye. Sometimes the eye too will know a light that is not the outside light or someone else’s, but one of its own, prior to the outside light and more brilliant, which it beholds in an instant. This happens at night in the dark, when that light leaps out from it in front of it. Or when, not wanting to see anything else, it draws the lids in front of itself and still brings the light forward. Or when its owner presses it and it sees the light within itself. Then it sees without seeing, and then most of all it sees: for it sees light. The other things were light-like, but they were not light.
οὕτω δὴ καὶ νοῦς αὑτὸν ἀπὸ τῶν ἄλλων καλύψας καὶ συναγαγὼν εἰς τὸ εἴσω μηδὲν ὁρῶν θεάσεται οὐκ ἄλλο ἐν ἄλλῳ φῶς, ἀλλ’ αὐτὸ καθ’ αὑτὸ μόνον καθαρὸν ἐφ’ ἑαυτοῦ ἐξαίφνης φανέν.
In just this way Intellect, veiling itself from the other things and drawing itself together inward, seeing nothing, will behold a light. It is not one thing in another, but light itself by itself, alone, pure, suddenly appearing on its own.
ὥστε ἀπορεῖν, ὅθεν ἐφάνη, ἔξωθεν ἢ ἔνδον, καὶ ἀπελθόντος εἰπεῖν ‘ἔνδον ἄρα ἦν καὶ οὐκ ἔνδον αὖ’. ἢ οὐ δεῖ ζητεῖν πόθεν· οὐ γάρ ἐστι τὸ πόθεν· οὔτε γὰρ ἔρχεται οὔτε ἄπεισιν οὐδαμοῦ, ἀλλὰ φαίνεταί τε καὶ οὐ φαίνεται· διὸ οὐ χρὴ διώκειν, ἀλλ’ ἡσυχῇ μένειν, ἕως ἂν φανῇ, παρασκευάσαντα ἑαυτὸν θεατὴν εἶναι, ὥσπερ ὀφθαλμὸς ἀνατολὰς ἡλίου περιμένει· ὁ δὲ ὑπερφανεὶς τοῦ ὁρίζοντος — ἐξ ὠκεανοῦ φασιν οἱ ποιηταί — ἔδωκεν ἑαυτὸν θεάσασθαι τοῖς ὄμμασιν. οὑτοσὶ δέ, ὃν μιμεῖται ὁ ἥλιος, ὑπερσχήσει πόθεν; καὶ τί ὑπερβαλὼν φανήσεται;
So one is at a loss as to where it appeared from, from outside or from within. And when it has gone, one says: “So it was within—and yet again it was not within.” Or rather, one should not ask where it comes from, for there is no “where from.” It neither comes nor goes away anywhere. It appears and does not appear. That is why one must not chase after it, but wait quietly until it appears, having prepared oneself to be a beholder, as the eye waits for the rising of the sun. And the sun, rising above the horizon—“out of Ocean,” the poets say—gives itself to the eyes to behold. But this one, whom the sun imitates: what will he rise from? And what will he climb above when he appears?
ἢ αὐτὸν ὑπερσχὼν τὸν νοῦν τὸν θεώμενον· ἑστήξεται μὲν γὰρ ὁ νοῦς πρὸς τὴν θέαν εἰς οὐδὲν ἄλλο ἢ πρὸς τὸ καλὸν βλέπων, ἐκεῖ ἑαυτὸν πᾶς τρέπων καὶ διδούς, στὰς δὲ καὶ οἷον πληρωθεὶς μένους εἶδε μὲν τὰ πρῶτα καλλίω γενόμενον ἑαυτὸν καὶ ἐπιστίλβοντα, ὡς ἐγγὺς ὄντος αὐτοῦ. ὁ δὲ οὐκ ᾔει, ὥς τις προσεδόκα, ἀλλ’ ἦλθεν ὡς οὐκ ἐλθών· ὤφθη γὰρ ὡς οὐκ ἐλθών, ἀλλὰ πρὸ ἁπάντων παρών, πρὶν καὶ τὸν νοῦν ἐλθεῖν. εἶναι δὲ [δεῖ] τὸν νοῦν τὸν ἐλθόντα καὶ τοῦτον εἶναι καὶ τὸν ἀπιόντα, ὅτι μὴ οἶδε ποῦ μένειν δεῖ καὶ ποῦ ἐκεῖνος μένει, ὅτι ἐν οὐδενί.
Perhaps this: above Intellect itself, the one that beholds. For Intellect will stand still for the vision, looking at nothing but the beautiful, turning and giving itself wholly there. Having stood still and been filled, as it were, with strength, it first saw itself becoming more beautiful and gleaming, because he was near. But he did not come as one expected. He came as one who did not come. He was seen not as having come, but as present before everything, even before Intellect came. No: it is Intellect that [must be] the one that came, and the one that goes away too, because it does not know where it should remain, and where he remains—namely, in nothing.
καὶ εἰ οἷόν τε ἦν καὶ αὐτῷ τῷ νῷ μένειν μηδαμοῦ, οὐχ ὅτι ἐν τόπῳ· οὐδὲ γὰρ οὐδ’ αὐτὸς ἐν τόπῳ, ἀλλ’ ὅλως οὐδαμοῦ· ἦν ἂν ἀεὶ ἐκεῖνον βλέπων· καίτοι οὐδὲ βλέπων, ἀλλ’ ἓν ἐκείνῳ ὢν καὶ οὐ δύο. νῦν δέ, ὅτι ἐστὶ νοῦς, οὕτω βλέπει, ὅτε βλέπει, τῷ ἑαυτοῦ μὴ νῷ. θαῦμα δή, πῶς οὐκ ἐλθὼν πάρεστι, καὶ πῶς οὐκ ὢν οὐδαμοῦ οὐκ ἔστιν ὅπου μὴ ἔστιν. ἔστι μὲν οὖν οὑτωσὶ αὐτόθεν θαυμάσαι, τῷ δὲ γνόντι, τὸ ἐναντίον εἴπερ ἦν, θαυμάσαι· μᾶλλον δὲ οὐδὲ δυνατὸν εἶναι, ἵνα τις καὶ θαυμάσῃ. ἔχει δὲ ὧδε.
And if it were possible for Intellect itself to remain nowhere—not just not in place, since it is not in place either, but nowhere at all—it would always be seeing him. Or rather, not seeing, but being one with him and not two. As it is, because it is Intellect, it sees him in this way, when it sees, by that in itself which is not intellect. It is a marvel, then, how he is present without having come, and how, being nowhere, there is nowhere he is not. One may well marvel at this, taken just as it stands. But to someone who knows, it would be the opposite that would be marvelous, if it were so—or rather, it could not even be, for anyone to marvel at it. This is how it is.
Everywhere and nowhere
The One holds all things without being held, and so is nowhere and everywhere.
πᾶν τὸ γενόμενον ὑπ’ ἄλλου ἢ ἐν ἐκείνῳ ἐστὶ τῷ πεποιηκότι, ἢ ἐν ἄλλῳ, εἴπερ εἴη τι μετὰ τὸ ποιῆσαν αὐτό· ἅτε γὰρ γενόμενον ὑπ’ ἄλλου καὶ πρὸς τὴν γένεσιν δεηθὲν ἄλλου, ἄλλου δεῖται πανταχοῦ· διόπερ καὶ ἐν ἄλλῳ. πέφυκεν οὖν τὰ μὲν ὕστατα ἐν τοῖς πρὸ αὐτῶν ὑστάτοις, τὰ δ’ ἐν πρώτοις ἐν τοῖς προτέροις καὶ ἄλλο ἐν ἄλλῳ, ἕως εἰς τὸ πρῶτον ἀρχῆς. ἀρχὴ δέ, ἅτε μηδὲν ἔχουσα πρὸ αὑτῆς, οὐκ ἔχει ἐν ὅτῳ ἄλλῳ· μὴ ἔχουσα δ’ ἐν ὅτῳ αὕτη τῶν ἄλλων ὄντων ἐν τοῖς πρὸ αὐτῶν τὰ ἄλλα περιείληφε πάντα αὐτή· περιλαβοῦσα δὲ οὔτ’ ἐσκεδάσθη εἰς αὐτὰ καὶ ἔχει οὐκ ἐχομένη. ἔχουσα δὴ καὶ αὐτὴ οὐκ ἐχομένη οὐκ ἔστιν ὅπου μὴ ἔστιν· εἰ γὰρ μὴ ἔστιν, οὐκ ἔχει.
Everything that has come to be from another is either in what made it or in something else, if there is anything after its maker. For since it came to be from another and needed another in order to come to be, it needs another in every respect. That is why it is also in another. So it is natural for the last things to be in the last of those before them, and the things among the first to be in those prior to them, one thing in another, up to the First, the principle. But the principle, since it has nothing before it, has nothing else to be in. Having nothing to be in, while the other things are in those before them, it encompasses all the others itself. And having encompassed them, it was not scattered into them; it holds without being held. Holding, then, and not held, there is nowhere it is not. For if it is not there, it does not hold.
εἰ δὲ μὴ ἔχεται, οὐκ ἔστιν· ὥστε ἔστι καὶ οὐκ ἔστι, τῷ μὲν μὴ περιέχεσθαι οὐκ οὖσα, τῷ δ’ εἶναι παντὸς ἐλευθέρα οὐδαμοῦ κωλυομένη εἶναι· εἰ γὰρ αὖ κεκώλυται, ὥρισται ὑπ’ ἄλλου καὶ τὰ ἐφεξῆς ἄμοιρα αὐτοῦ καὶ μέχρι τούτου ὁ θεὸς καὶ οὐδ’ ἂν ἔτι ἐφ’ ἑαυτοῦ, ἀλλὰ δουλεύων τοῖς μετ’ αὐτόν. τὰ μὲν οὖν ἔν τινι ἐκεῖ ἔστιν, οὗ ἔστιν· ὅσα δὲ μὴ ποῦ, οὐκ ἔστιν ὅπου μή. εἰ γὰρ μὴ ἐνθαδί, δῆλον ὅτι ἄλλος αὐτὸν κατέχει τόπος, καὶ [εἰ] ἐνθαδί, ἐν ἄλλῳ· ὥστε ψεῦδος τὸ οὐ ποῦ.
But if it is not held, it is not there. So it both is and is not: by not being contained, it is not there; by being free of everything, it is nowhere prevented from being. For if, in turn, it were prevented, it would be bounded by something else. The things that come next would have no share in it, the god would reach only that far, and he would no longer be by himself but a slave to what comes after him. So the things that are in something are where they are; but whatever is not anywhere—there is nowhere that it is not. For if it is not here, clearly another place holds it, and [if] it is here, it is in something else. So the “not anywhere” is false.
εἰ οὖν ἀληθὲς τὸ οὐ ποῦ καὶ ψεῦδος τὸ ποῦ, ἵνα μὴ ἐν ἄλλῳ, οὐδενὸς ἂν ἀποστατοῖ. εἰ δὲ μηδενὸς ἀποστατεῖ οὐ ποῦ ὤν, πανταχοῦ ἔσται ἐφ’ ἑαυτοῦ. οὐδὲ γὰρ τὸ μέν τι αὐτοῦ ὡδί, τὸ δὲ ὡδί· οὐ μὴν οὐδ’ ὅλον ὡδί· ὥστε ὅλον πανταχοῦ οὐδενὸς ἔχοντος αὐτὸ οὐδ’ αὖ μὴ ἔχοντος· ἐχομένου ἄρα ὁτουοῦν. ὅρα δὲ καὶ τὸν κόσμον, ὅτι, ἐπεὶ μηδεὶς κόσμος πρὸ αὐτοῦ, οὐκ ἐν κόσμῳ αὐτὸς οὐδ’ αὖ ἐν τόπῳ· τίς γὰρ τόπος πρὶν κόσμον εἶναι; τὰ δὲ μέρη ἀνηρτημένα εἰς αὐτὸν καὶ ἐν ἐκείνῳ.
If, then, “not anywhere” is true and “somewhere” false, so that it is not in another, it would not stand apart from anything. And if it stands apart from nothing, being nowhere, it will be everywhere by itself. For it is not that one part of it is here and another there. Nor is the whole of it just here. So it is whole everywhere, with nothing holding it and, again, nothing not holding it: everything whatever, then, is held by it. Look at the cosmos too. Since there is no cosmos before it, it is not in a cosmos, nor again in a place: what place was there before the cosmos existed? Its parts depend on it and are in it.
ψυχὴ δὲ οὐκ ἐν ἐκείνῳ, ἀλλ’ ἐκεῖνος ἐν αὐτῇ· οὐδὲ γὰρ τόπος τὸ σῶμα τῇ ψυχῇ, ἀλλὰ ψυχὴ μὲν ἐν νῷ, σῶμα δὲ ἐν ψυχῇ, νοῦς δὲ ἐν ἄλλῳ· τούτου δὲ οὐκέτι ἄλλο, ἵν’ ἂν ἦν ἐν αὐτῷ· οὐκ ἐν ὁτῳοῦν ἄρα. ταύτῃ οὖν οὐδαμοῦ. ποῦ οὖν τὰ ἄλλα; ἐν αὐτῷ. οὔτε ἄρα ἀφέστηκε τῶν ἄλλων οὔτε αὐτὸς ἐν αὐτοῖς ἐστιν οὐδὲ ἔστιν οὐδὲν ἔχον αὐτό, ἀλλ’ αὐτὸ ἔχει τὰ πάντα. διὸ καὶ ταύτῃ ἀγαθὸν τῶν πάντων, ὅτι καὶ ἔστι καὶ ἀνήρτηται πάντα εἰς αὐτὸ ἄλλο ἄλλως. διὸ καὶ ἀγαθώτερα ἕτερα ἑτέρων, ὅτι καὶ μᾶλλον ὄντα ἕτερα ἑτέρων.
Soul is not in the cosmos; the cosmos is in Soul. For body is not a place for soul. Rather, Soul is in Intellect, body in Soul, and Intellect in something else. But beyond that there is nothing else for it to be in. So it is not in anything whatever, and in this sense it is nowhere. Where, then, are the other things? In it. So it neither stands apart from the other things nor is it in them. There is nothing that holds it; it holds all things. That is why, in this way too, it is the good of all things: because it is, and all things depend on it, each in its own way. And that is why some things are better than others: because some have more being than others too.
ἀλλὰ σὺ μή μοι δι’ ἑτέρων αὐτὸ ὅρα· εἰ δὲ μή, ἴχνος ἂν ἴδοις, οὐκ αὐτό· ἀλλ’ ἐννόει, τί ἂν εἴη τοῦτο, ὃ ἔστι λαβεῖν ἐφ’ ἑαυτοῦ ὂν καθαρὸν οὐδενὶ μιγνύμενον, μετεχόντων ἁπάντων αὐτοῦ μηδενὸς ἔχοντος αὐτό· ἄλλο μὲν γὰρ οὐδὲν τοιοῦτον, δεῖ δέ τι τοιοῦτον εἶναι. τίς ἂν οὖν τὴν δύναμιν αὐτοῦ ἕλοι ὁμοῦ πᾶσαν; εἰ γὰρ ὁμοῦ πᾶσαν, τί ἄν τις αὐτοῦ διαφέροι; κατὰ μέρος ἄρα. ἀλλὰ προσβαλεῖς μὲν ἀθρόως ὁ προσβάλλων, ὅλον δὲ οὐκ ἀπαγγελεῖς· εἰ δὲ μή, νοῦς νοῶν ἔσῃ, κἂν τύχῃς, ἐκεῖνός σε ἐκφεύξεται, μᾶλλον δὲ σὺ αὐτόν. ἀλλ’ ὅταν μὲν ὁρᾷς, ὅλον βλέπε· ὅταν δὲ νοῇς, ὅ τι ἂν μνημονεύσῃς αὐτοῦ, νόει ὅτι τἀγαθόν.
But you—please don’t look at it through other things. Otherwise you would see a trace, not it. Think instead what this could be which can be grasped as being by itself, pure, mixed with nothing, with all things participating in it and nothing holding it. There is nothing else of that kind, but there must be something of that kind. Who, then, could grasp its power all at once? If someone grasped all of it at once, how would he differ from it? In part, then. You who approach will approach it all at once, but you will not report it as a whole. Otherwise you will be an intellect thinking, and even if you reach it, it will escape you—or rather, you will escape it. But when you see, look at it whole. And when you think, whatever you remember of it, think that it is the Good.
ζωῆς γὰρ ἔμφρονος καὶ νοερᾶς αἴτιος δύναμις ὤν, ἀφ’ οὗ ζωὴ καὶ νοῦς, ὅτι οὐσίας καὶ τοῦ ὄντος, ὅτι ἕν· ἁπλοῦν γὰρ καὶ πρῶτον, ὅτι ἀρχή. ἀπ’ αὐτοῦ γὰρ πάντα· ἀπ’ αὐτοῦ κίνησις ἡ πρώτη, οὐκ ἐν αὐτῷ, ἀπ’ αὐτοῦ στάσις, ὅτι αὐτὸς μὴ ἐδεῖτο· οὐ γὰρ κινεῖται οὐδ’ ἕστηκεν· οὐδὲ γὰρ εἶχεν οὔτε ἐν ᾧ στήσεται, οὔτε ἐν ᾧ κινηθήσεται· περὶ τί γὰρ ἢ πρὸς τί ἢ ἐν τίνι; πρῶτος γὰρ αὐτός. ἀλλ’ οὐδὲ πεπερασμένος εἶναι· ὑπὸ τίνος γάρ; ἀλλ’ οὐδ’ ἄπειρος, ὡς μέγεθος· ποῖ γὰρ ἔδει προελθεῖν αὐτόν; ἢ ἵνα τί γένηται αὐτῷ οὐδενὸς δεομένῳ; τὸ δ’ ἄπειρον ἡ δύναμις ἔχει· οὐ γὰρ ἄλλως ποτὲ οὐδ’ ἐπιλείψει, ὅπου καὶ τὰ μὴ ἐπιλείποντα δι’ αὐτόν.
For it is the power that causes life endowed with understanding and intellect, since life and intellect come from it. It is the cause of being and of what is, because it is one; for it is simple and first, because it is the principle. All things come from it. From it comes the first motion, which is not in it. From it comes rest, because it itself had no need of it: it neither moves nor is at rest. It had nothing in which to rest or in which to be moved. Around what, toward what, in what? For it is first. But neither is it limited: by what? Nor is it unlimited as a magnitude is: where would it have had to go? Or to gain what, when it needs nothing? It is its power that has the unlimited. It could never be otherwise, nor will it fail, since even the things that never fail are unfailing through it.
καὶ τὸ ἄπειρον τοῦτο τῷ μὴ πλέον ἑνὸς εἶναι μηδὲ ἔχειν πρὸς ὃ ὁριεῖ τι τῶν ἑαυτοῦ· τῷ γὰρ ἓν εἶναι οὐ μεμέτρηται οὐδ’ εἰς ἀριθμὸν ἥκει. οὔτ’ οὖν πρὸς ἄλλο οὔτε πρὸς αὑτὸ πεπέρανται· ἐπεὶ οὕτως ἂν εἴη καὶ δύο. οὐδὲ σχῆμα τοίνυν, ὅτι μηδὲ μέρη, οὐδὲ μορφή. μὴ τοίνυν ζήτει θνητοῖς ὄμμασι τοῦτο, οἷόν φησιν ὁ λόγος, μηδ’ ὅτι οὕτως ἔστιν ἰδεῖν, ὡς ἄν τις ἀξιώσειεν, [ὃς] πάντα αἰσθητὰ ὑπολαμβάνων τὸ μάλιστα πάντων ἀναιρεῖ.
And it is unlimited in this sense: it is no more than one, and has nothing against which it would set a limit to anything of its own. By being one it is not measured, and it does not enter into number. So it is limited neither in relation to something else nor in relation to itself; for then it would be two as well. So it has no figure either, since it has no parts, and no shape. Do not seek it, then, with mortal eyes, such as the argument declares it to be. Do not think it can be seen in the way someone might think fit, [who,] by assuming that everything is perceptible, does away with what most of all is.
ἃ γὰρ ἡγεῖταί τις εἶναι μάλιστα, ταῦτα μάλιστα οὐκ ἔστι· (τὸ δὲ μέγα ἧττον ἐστί)· τό δὲ πρῶτον ἀρχὴ τοῦ εἶναι καὶ κυριώτερον αὖ τῆς οὐσίας· ὥστε ἀντιστρεπτέον τὴν δόξαν· εἰ δὲ μή, καταλελείψῃ ἔρημος θεοῦ, οἷον οἱ ἐν ταῖς ἑορταῖς ὑπὸ γαστριμαργίας πλήσαντες ἑαυτούς, ὧν οὐ θέμις λαβεῖν τοὺς εἰσίοντας πρὸς τοὺς θεούς, νομίσαντες μᾶλλον ἐκεῖνα ἐναργέστερα εἶναι τῆς θέας τοῦ θεοῦ, ᾧ ἑορτάζειν προσήκει, οὐ μετέσχον τῶν ἐκεῖ ἱερῶν. καὶ γὰρ ἐν τούτοις τοῖς ἱεροῖς ὁ θεὸς οὐχ ὁρώμενος ἀπιστεῖσθαι ποιεῖ ὡς οὐκ ὢν τοῖς ἐναργὲς νομίζουσι μόνον, ὃ τῇ σαρκὶ μόνον ἴδοιεν· οἷον εἴ τινες διὰ βίου κοιμώμενοι ταῦτα μὲν πιστὰ καὶ ἐναργῆ νομίζοιεν τὰ ἐν τοῖς ὀνείρασιν, εἰ δέ τις αὐτοὺς ἐξεγείρειεν, ἀπιστήσαντες τοῖς διὰ τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν ἀνεῳγότων ὀφθεῖσι πάλιν καταδαρθάνοιεν.
For the things people think most are, are most of all the things that are not (and what is large has less being). The First is the principle of being and, again, has more authority than being. So we must turn our opinion around. Otherwise you will be left bereft of god. You will be like people at festivals who, out of gluttony, stuff themselves with things that those who go in to the gods are not allowed to take. They think these more evident than the vision of the god in whose honor they ought to celebrate, and so they had no part in the rites there. In these rites too, the god, not being seen, makes those who think evident only what they might see with the flesh disbelieve in him, as if he did not exist. It is as if people asleep their whole lives were to think the things in their dreams trustworthy and evident, and, if someone woke them, disbelieved what they saw with their eyes open and fell asleep again.
The Good and the beautiful
All desire the Good, often unknowingly; beauty comes second and brings pain with delight.
χρὴ δὲ βλέπειν ᾧ ἕκαστα δεῖ αἰσθάνεσθαι, ὀφθαλμοῖς μὲν ἄλλα, ὠσὶ δὲ ἕτερα, καὶ τὰ ἄλλα ὡσαύτως· καὶ τῷ νῷ πιστεύειν ἄλλα ὁρᾶν, καὶ μὴ τὸ νοεῖν ἀκούειν νομίζειν ἢ ὁρᾶν, ὥσπερ ἂν εἰ τοῖς ὠσὶν ἐπιτάττοιεν βλέπειν, καὶ τὰς φωνὰς οὐκ εἶναι, ὅτι μὴ ὁρῶνται. χρὴ δὲ ἐννοεῖν, ὡς εἰσὶν ἐπιλελησμένοι οὗ καὶ ἐξ ἀρχῆς εἰς νῦν ποθοῦσι καὶ ἐφίενται αὐτοῦ. πάντα γὰρ ὀρέγεται ἐκείνου καὶ ἐφίεται αὐτοῦ φύσεως ἀνάγκῃ, ὥσπερ ἀπομεμαντευμένα, ὡς ἄνευ αὐτοῦ οὐ δύναται εἶναι.
One must consider what each kind of thing is to be perceived with: some things with the eyes, others with the ears, and so on. And one must trust that Intellect sees other things, and not think that thinking is hearing or seeing. That would be like ordering the ears to see and saying that sounds do not exist because they are not seen. One must also bear in mind that they have forgotten what they have longed for and desired from the beginning until now. For all things reach out for it and desire it by a necessity of nature, as if they had divined that without it they cannot exist.
καὶ τοῦ μὲν καλοῦ ἤδη οἷον εἰδόσι καὶ ἐγρηγορόσιν ἡ ἀντίληψις καὶ τὸ θάμβος καὶ τοῦ ἔρωτος ἡ ἔγερσις, τὸ δ’ ἀγαθὸν ἅτε πάλαι παρὸν εἰς ἔφεσιν σύμφυτον καὶ κοιμωμένοις πάρεστι καὶ οὐ θαμβεῖ ποτε ἰδόντας, ὅτι σύνεστιν ἀεὶ καὶ οὐ ποτὲ ἡ ἀνάμνησις· οὐ μὴν ὁρῶσιν αὐτό, ὅτι κοιμωμένοις πάρεστι. τοῦ δὲ καλοῦ ὁ ἔρως, ὅταν παρῇ, ὀδύνας δίδωσιν, ὅτι δεῖ ἰδόντας ἐφίεσθαι. δεύτερος [οὖν] ὢν οὗτος ὁ ἔρως καὶ ἤδη συνιέντων μᾶλλον δεύτερον μηνύει τὸ καλὸν εἶναι· ἡ δὲ ἀρχαιοτέρα τούτου καὶ ἀναίσθητος ἔφεσις ἀρχαιότερόν φησι καὶ τἀγαθὸν εἶναι καὶ πρότερον τούτου.
Grasping the beautiful, the amazement at it, and the awakening of love belong to those who already know it, in a way, and are awake. But the Good, since it has long been present to an innate desire, is present even to those who are asleep. It does not amaze them when they see it at some point, because it is always with them, and recollection of it is not something that happens at a given time. Yet they do not see it, because it is present to them while they sleep. But love of the beautiful, when it is present, brings pain, because those who have seen it must desire it. This love, being second and belonging to those who already understand more, indicates that the beautiful is second. The more ancient desire, which is not perceived, declares that the Good too is more ancient, and prior to the beautiful.
καὶ οἴονται δὲ τἀγαθὸν λαβόντες ἀρκεῖν αὑτοῖς ἅπαντες· εἰς γὰρ τὸ τέλος ἀφῖχθαι· τὸ δὲ καλὸν οὔτε πάντες εἶδον, γενόμενόν τε αὑτῷ οἴονται εἶναι, ἀλλ’ οὐκ αὐτοῖς, οἷα καὶ τὸ τῇδε κάλλος· τοῦ γὰρ ἔχοντος τὸ κάλλος εἶναι. καὶ καλοῖς εἶναι δοκεῖν ἀρκεῖ, κἂν μὴ ὦσι· τὸ δ’ ἀγαθὸν οὐ δόξῃ ἐθέλουσιν ἔχειν. ἀντιποιοῦνται γὰρ μάλιστα τοῦ πρώτου καὶ φιλονεικοῦσι καὶ ἐρίζουσι τῷ καλῷ, ὡς καὶ αὐτῷ γεγονότι ὥσπερ αὐτοί· οἷον εἴ τις ὕστερος ἀπὸ βασιλέως τῷ μετὰ βασιλέα εἰς ἀξίωσιν ἴσην βούλοιτο ἰέναι, ὡς ἀφ’ ἑνὸς καὶ τοῦ αὐτοῦ ἐκείνῳ γεγενημένος, ἀγνοῶν ὡς ἀνήρτηται μὲν καὶ αὐτὸς εἰς βασιλέα, ἔστι δὲ ἐκεῖνος πρὸ αὐτοῦ.
And everyone thinks that once they have the Good it is enough for them; for they have reached the end. But not everyone has seen the beautiful. When it has come about, they think it exists for its own sake, not for them—like beauty here too, since beauty belongs to whoever has it. And it is enough to seem beautiful, even if one is not; but no one wants to have the good merely in seeming. For they lay claim above all to the first, and compete and quarrel with the beautiful, as if it had come to be just as they did. It is as if someone lower down from a king wanted to rise to the same rank as the one next to the king, as though born from one and the same source as he. He does not realize that he too depends on the king, but that the other is ahead of him.
ἀλλ’ οὖν ἡ τῆς πλάνης αἰτία τὸ μετέχειν ἄμφω τοῦ αὐτοῦ καὶ πρότερον τὸ ἓν ἀμφοτέρων εἶναι, καὶ ὅτι κἀκεῖ τὸ μὲν ἀγαθὸν αὐτὸ οὐ δεῖται τοῦ καλοῦ, τὸ δὲ καλὸν ἐκείνου. καὶ ἔστι δὲ τὸ μὲν ἤπιον καὶ προσηνὲς καὶ ἁβρότερον καί, ὡς ἐθέλει τις, παρὸν αὐτῷ· τὸ δὲ θάμβος ἔχει καὶ ἔκπληξιν καὶ συμμιγῆ τῷ ἀλγύνοντι τὴν ἡδονήν.
Anyway, the cause of the error is that both share in the same thing, and the One is prior to both; and also that there too the Good itself does not need the beautiful, while the beautiful needs the Good. The Good is gentle and kindly and more delicate, and present to anyone whenever he wishes. The beautiful brings amazement and shock, and pleasure mixed with pain.
καὶ γὰρ αὖ καὶ ἕλκει ἀπὸ τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ τοὺς οὐκ εἰδότας, ὥσπερ ἀπὸ πατρὸς τὸ ἐρώμενον· νεώτερον γάρ· τὸ δὲ πρεσβύτερον οὐ χρόνῳ, ἀλλὰ τῷ ἀληθεῖ, ὃ καὶ τὴν δύναμιν προτέραν ἔχει· πᾶσαν γὰρ ἔχει· τὸ γὰρ μετ’ αὐτὸ οὐ πᾶσαν, ἀλλ’ ὅση μετ’ αὐτὸν καὶ ἀπ’ αὐτοῦ, ὥστε ἐκεῖνος καὶ ταύτης κύριος, οὐ δεηθεὶς οὗτος τῶν ἐξ αὐτοῦ γενομένων, ἀλλὰ πᾶν καὶ ὅλον ἀφεὶς τὸ γενόμενον, ὅτι μὴ ἐδεῖτο μηδὲν αὐτοῦ, ἀλλ’ ἔστιν ὁ αὐτός, οἷος καὶ πρὶν τοῦτο γεννῆσαι. ἐπεὶ οὐδ’ ἂν ἐμέλησεν αὐτῷ μὴ γενομένου· ἐπεὶ οὐδ’ εἰ ἄλλῳ δυνατὸν ἦν γενέσθαι ἐξ αὐτοῦ, ἐφθόνησεν ἄν· νῦν δὲ οὐκ ἔστιν οὐδὲν γενέσθαι· οὐδὲν γάρ ἐστιν ὃ μὴ γέγονε γενομένων τῶν πάντων.
And it even draws those who do not know away from the Good, as the beloved draws one away from a father; for it is younger. The Good is older, not in time but in truth, and its power is prior too, for it has all power. What comes after it does not have all of it, only as much as comes after it and from it; so the Good is lord of this power too. It did not need what came to be from it. It let the whole of what came to be go entirely, because it needed nothing of it, and it is the same as it was before generating it. It would not even have cared if it had not come to be. And if it had been possible for anything else to come to be from it, it would not have begrudged it. As it is, nothing more can come to be. For there is nothing that has not come to be, now that all things have come to be.
αὐτὸς δὲ οὐκ ἦν τὰ πάντα, ἵν’ ἂν ἐδεήθη αὐτῶν, ὑπερβεβηκὼς δὲ τὰ πάντα οἷός τε ἦν καὶ ποιεῖν αὐτὰ καὶ ἐφ’ ἑαυτῶν ἐᾶσαι εἶναι αὐτὸς ὑπὲρ αὐτὰ ὤν.
It was not itself all things, so as to need them. Transcending all things, it was able both to make them and to let them be by themselves, being itself above them.
ἔδει δὲ καὶ τἀγαθὸν αὐτὸν ὄντα καὶ μὴ ἀγαθὸν μὴ ἔχειν ἐν ἑαυτῷ μηδέν, ἐπεὶ μηδὲ ἀγαθόν. ὃ γὰρ ἕξει, ἢ ἀγαθὸν ἔχει ἢ οὐκ ἀγαθόν· ἀλλ’ οὔτε ἐν τῷ ἀγαθῷ τῷ κυρίως καὶ πρώτως ἀγαθῷ τὸ μὴ ἀγαθόν, οὔτε τὸ ἀγαθὸν ἔχει τὸ ἀγαθόν. εἰ οὖν μήτε τὸ οὐκ ἀγαθὸν μήτε τὸ ἀγαθὸν ἔχει, οὐδὲν ἔχει· εἰ [δὲ] οὐδὲν ἔχει, μόνον καὶ ἔρημον τῶν ἄλλων ἐστίν. εἰ οὖν τὰ ἄλλα ἢ ἀγαθά ἐστι καὶ οὐ τἀγαθὸν ἢ οὐκ ἀγαθά ἐστιν, οὐδέτερα δὲ τούτων ἔχει, οὐδὲν ἔχων τῷ μηδὲν ἔχειν ἐστὶ τὸ ἀγαθόν. εἰ δ’ ἄρα τις ὁτιοῦν αὐτῷ προστίθησιν, ἢ οὐσίαν ἢ νοῦν ἢ καλόν, τῇ προσθήκῃ ἀφαιρεῖται αὐτοῦ τἀγαθὸν εἶναι.
Since it is the Good itself and not a good, it must also have nothing in itself, since it does not even have good. For whatever it has, it has either as good or as not good. But the not-good is not in what is good in the strict and primary sense, and the Good does not have the good. If, then, it has neither the not-good nor the good, it has nothing. [And] if it has nothing, it is alone and isolated from the others. The other things either are good and not the Good, or are not good. If it has neither of these, then, having nothing, it is the Good by having nothing. But if anyone adds anything at all to it, whether being or intellect or beauty, by the addition he takes away its being the Good.
πάντα ἄρα ἀφελὼν καὶ οὐδὲν περὶ αὐτοῦ εἰπὼν οὐδέ τι ψευσάμενος, ὡς ἔστι παρ’ αὐτῷ, εἴασε τὸ ἔστιν οὐδὲν καταμαρτυρήσας τῶν οὐ παρόντων, οἷον οἱ μὴ ἐπιστήμῃ τοὺς ἐπαίνους ποιούμενοι, οἳ ἐλαττοῦσι τὴν τῶν ἐπαινουμένων δόξαν προστιθέντες αὐτοῖς ἃ τῆς ἀξίας αὐτῶν ἐστιν ἐλάττω, ἀποροῦντες ἀληθεῖς εἰπεῖν περὶ τῶν ὑποκειμένων προσώπων τοὺς λόγους. καὶ οὖν καὶ ἡμεῖς μηδὲν τῶν ὑστέρων καὶ τῶν ἐλαττόνων προστιθῶμεν, ἀλλ’ ὡς ὑπὲρ ταῦτα ἰὼν ἐκεῖνος τούτων αἴτιος ᾖ, ἀλλὰ μὴ αὐτὸς ταῦτα.
So whoever takes away everything and says nothing about it, not even falsely saying that anything belongs to it, lets it simply be, without charging it with any of the things that are not there. Compare people who make speeches of praise without knowledge. They diminish the reputation of those they praise by attributing to them things beneath their worth, because they are at a loss for true things to say about the persons in question. So let us too add nothing of what is later and lesser. Let it, as going beyond these, be their cause, without being these itself.
καὶ γὰρ αὖ φύσις ἀγαθοῦ οὐ πάντα εἶναι οὐδ’ αὖ ἕν τι τῶν πάντων· εἴη γὰρ ἂν ὑπὸ ἓν καὶ ταὐτὸν τοῖς ἅπασιν, ὑπὸ δὲ ταὐτὸν ὂν τοῖς πᾶσι διαφέροι ἂν τῷ ἰδίῳ μόνον καὶ διαφορᾷ καὶ προσθήκῃ. ἔσται τοίνυν δύο, οὐχ ἕν, ὧν τὸ μὲν οὐκ ἀγαθόν, τὸ κοινόν, τὸ δὲ ἀγαθόν· μικτὸν ἄρα ἔσται ἐξ ἀγαθοῦ καὶ οὐκ ἀγαθοῦ· οὐκ ἄρα καθαρῶς ἀγαθὸν οὐδὲ πρώτως, ἀλλ’ ἐκεῖνο ἂν εἴη πρώτως, οὗ μετέχον παρὰ τὸ κοινὸν γεγένηται ἀγαθόν. μεταλήψει μὲν δὴ αὐτὸ ἀγαθόν, οὗ δὲ μετέλαβεν οὐδὲν τῶν πάντων· οὐδὲν ἄρα τῶν πάντων τὸ ἀγαθόν.
For again, it is the nature of the Good not to be all things, nor, again, any one of all things. Otherwise it would fall under one and the same heading as all of them. And falling under the same heading as all of them, it would differ only by what is peculiar to it, by a difference and an addition. Then it will be two, not one: one part not good, the common element, and the other good. So it will be a mixture of good and not good, and so not purely good, nor primarily. Primarily good would be that by participation in which, over and above the common element, it has become good. So it is good by participation, while what it participated in is none of all things. So the Good is none of all things.
ἀλλ’ εἰ ἐν αὐτῷ τοῦτο τὸ ἀγαθόν — διαφορὰ γάρ, καθ’ ἣν τοῦτο τὸ σύνθετον ἦν ἀγαθόν — δεῖ αὐτὸ παρ’ ἄλλου εἶναι· ἦν δὲ αὐτὸ ἁπλοῦν καὶ μόνον ἀγαθόν· πολλῷ ἄρα [μᾶλλον] τὸ ἀφ’ οὗ μόνον ἀγαθόν. τὸ ἄρα πρώτως καὶ τἀγαθὸν ὑπέρ τε πάντα τὰ ὄντα ἀναπέφανται ἡμῖν καὶ μόνον ἀγαθὸν καὶ οὐδὲν ἔχον ἐν ἑαυτῷ, ἀλλὰ ἀμιγὲς πάντων καὶ ὑπὲρ πάντα καὶ αἴτιον τῶν πάντων. οὐ γὰρ δὴ ἐκ κακοῦ τὸ καλὸν οὐδὲ τὰ ὄντα οὐδ’ αὖ ἐξ ἀδιαφόρων· κρεῖττον γὰρ τὸ ποιοῦν τοῦ ποιουμένου· τελειότερον γάρ.
But suppose this good is in it—for it was a difference that made this composite good. Then it must come from something else. But that was simple and good alone; far [more], then, is what it comes from good alone. So what is primarily good, the Good, has been revealed to us as above all the things that are: good alone, having nothing in itself, unmixed with all things, above all things, and cause of all things. For the beautiful certainly does not come from evil, nor do the things that are, nor again do they come from things indifferent. What makes is better than what is made, for it is more complete.