Self-Control enthroned
Reading Plotinus, treatise I.6.[1]: On Beauty. Part VI
In Xenophon’s Memorabilia, we read about a dialogue between Socrates and Parrasius. The latter was an acknowledged painter, known for his highly realistic depictions, able to make paintings appear as vivid as life itself. It is told that at one time, Parrasius had a contest with the painter Zeuxis, to see who of the two could make the most realistic painting. Zeuxis painted a bunch of grapes, he did so with such realism, that a flock of birds flew to the painting, thinking they could eat the grapes. Parrasius was impressed, and asked Zeuxis to come to his workshop to look at the painting he had made. When they arrived, Parrasius told Zeuxis to open a curtain so he could see the painting. Zeuxis went to open the curtain, but upon doing so realized that the curtain was not a curtain at all, but in fact Parrasius’ painting itself. Zeuxis admitted to have lost the contest, for while he had been able to trick some birds with his painting, Parrasius had managed to trick a man.
We have here one of the first known instances of the trompe-l’œil technique, and the question of realism in painting. And this will be the topic of Socrates’ discussion with Parrasius, the question of whether art consists in imitating reality, and to what degree it is able to do so.
Socrates asks: “Parrasius, does the art of painting consist in making likeness of what is seen?” And indeed it does, replies Parrasius. Socrates asks a follow-up question: “Do you imitate a most persuasive, pleasing, loving, longed-for, and passionately beloved thing —the soul’s character?” And Parrasius responds: “How could a thing be imitated, Socrates, which has neither proportion nor color nor any of the things you just now mentioned — and which is altogether unseen?”
The artist can imitate many things; he can imitate nature, a curtain, some grapes. But the soul, being invisible, this the painter cannot imitate.
But Socrates is not content with the answer, and he continues by asking if the character of a person’s soul is not visible in the expressions of his face, how his eyes look, how he carries himself, and other things. The soul might be invisible, but it expresses itself indirectly in things which are visible —the eyes, the behaviour, posture, attitude, etc. And these things can be imitated by the artist.
Parrasius agrees.
“The character that is magnificent and liberal or humble and illiberal, that is moderate and sensible or insolent and inexperienced in the beautiful, shines through the facial expression as well as the postures of human beings.” (Xenophon, Memorabilia, 3:10, 5)
It is through imitating the effects of the soul’s disposition that the artist is able to give the appearance of his works “being alive.” And this is how the artist makes the invisible visible. The soul is invisible, true Beauty is invisible, but it gives visible form to everything it touches. True Courage is invisible, but it shines through in the posture of those gripped by it. And true Wisdom is invisible, but you can divine its presence in the eyes of those who possess it.
Art can serve as a model for all human activity. And I believe, that for Platonic philosophy, it does effectively serve as the model. What is truly of worth — the Intelligible and the Forms—, is invisible to the common eye. It is not of this world, but it does form this world. And the traces of the invisible are present everywhere in the visible. If only the eye is willing to see.
By taking art as our model, we can also immediately see a teaching of direction. If you recall the very beginning of Plotinus’ treatise on Beauty, he told us that the human eye is instinctively attracted to beauty, and instinctively turns away from what is ugly. And in Socrates’ discussion with Parrasius we read this same thing:
“Which likeness then, do you hold to be more pleasant for human beings to see: those through which the noble and good and cherished characters are visible, or those through which the shameful and wicked and hateful characters are visible?” (Xenophon, 3:10, 5).
The answer is evident, we are naturally attracted to the noble and the good. But why? Because, simply, there is more life present in the good than in the wicked. For the good is closer to the Good, the principle of all Life. And this is then what the artist must express: the invisible good, so that it might infuse the world of matter with its beauty.
This is the model for all activity. In all that we do, we should strive to make our material existence be an imitation or expression of divine reality.
§I.6.8.
But to imitate divine reality, we must first know it. We must gain some ‘vision’ of the invisible, before we can make it visible. There are two roads of virtue for Plotinus, both necessary, neither existing without the other. There is practical virtue, which consists in imitating the Intelligible, in having our actions be in accordance with the Ideas, in giving form to matter, and spreading the Beautiful. Virtuous action belongs here, but also the creation of beauty through art for example.
But there is also theoretical virtue, which is the road of getting to know the Intelligible. This is through theoretical philosophy, and through inner contemplation or mysticism.
Both roads are necessary. We have spoken at length about the first road, and we have ourselves, through reading Plotinus’ treatise, engaged in theoretical philosophy. What remains to be explained is the contemplative road, the inner experience of Beauty.
Now, in chapter 8, Plotinus asks:
“How, then, can we do this? What technique should we employ? How can one see the ‘inconceivable beauty’ which remains in a way within the sacred temple?”(I.6.8.)
And he immediately answers:
“Let him who is able go and follow it inside, leaving outside the sight of his eyes, not allowing himself to turn back to the splendour of the bodies he previously saw. For when he does see beauty in bodies, he should not run after them, but realize that they are images and traces and shadows, and flee towards that of which they are images.”(I.6.8.)
How have we come to (theoretically) realize the existence of Beauty? Let us go over the steps again. First, we see beautiful things with our eyes, because the eye is naturally attracted to what is beautiful, and naturally turns away from what is ugly. Second, we wondered at beautiful actions and deeds. And then, we asked, what is common to all these different things that makes us call them beautiful? And then we found the Idea of Beauty. Now, having seen various beauties with our eyes, we realize that the true Beauty is not to be seen in the world with our eyes, but rests within our soul. When we see something beautiful, this can only be so because we recognize the Beautiful in it. Before the eye sees anything, its sight is informed by this Idea of the Beautiful. And thus it follows, that if we are to gain actual vision of the Beautiful, and not just theoretical knowledge, we will not be able to gain this vision with our eyes. For the Beautiful is anterior to our eyes. And thus, here in I.6.8., Plotinus announces the method of ‘looking inside’, a way of looking which has nothing to do with the eyes. “Leaving outside the sight of his eyes, not allowing himself to turn back to the splendour of the bodies he previously saw.” And when we do see beautiful bodies, with the knowledge we already have, we now know that these are only shadows. They are truly beautiful, but this is only so because of the Beautiful. And right now, we are seeking the Beautiful. Again, this seeking after the internal Beauty does not equate to a depreciation of external beauties. Plotinus is only saying that they are only beautiful because of a prior existing Beauty. And imagine, how much more beautiful the beautiful things of this world will appear to us, if we have clearer vision of what makes them beautiful, —Beauty itself.
There are thus two ways of looking, outwardly, and inwardly. There is a way of looking at what is different from us, with the eyes and the other senses. And there is a way of looking at ourselves, not through our senses, but ‘inwardly’. But both are ways of looking. This offers quite the strange situation, for isn’t ‘looking’ or seeing always done by way of the eyes, or maybe sometimes with the other senses? How can we ‘look’ at ourselves, when sight requires a certain distance or differentiation between the subject seeing and the object seen. How can we ‘look inside’, when our eyes can only grasp what is in front of them, outside of us? Looking seems, by definition, to pertain to what is outside of us. How then, can we come to look inside? What is this ‘seeing inwardly’?
In fact, it is more of a true seeing than the ordinary seeing of things outside of us. In this context, the word commonly used for ‘seeing’ by Plotinus has as its root the Greek: εἴδομαι, related to ‘seeing’, ‘to be seen’, ‘to appear into sight’. And coming from the Proto-Indo-European ‘weyd’, meaning ‘to see’, but also ‘to know’. Knowing is equated to seeing. To know something, is to have vision of it. French philosopher Michel Henry diagnosed the entirety of Western metaphysics as being dominated by this very equation between knowing and seeing. This is very true, and evident in the presence of εἴδομαι and ‘weyd’. And because of this, Henry thought, Western (Greek) metaphysics cannot think the true essence of subjectivity. Because it can only know what is seen, and what is seen? What we can see with our eyes. But what we can see with our eyes, this is always something different from ourselves. But our very essence, this we can never put in front of our eyes, it can never be put into view. I see this or that, but how can I see (know) myself, when in order to know I must see something? And seeing already presupposes a certain distance between subject and object, the presence of a world within which I can see.
And thus, for Western metaphysics, subjectivity can not be known. For the relation of knowledge that we have to ourselves is not a relation of seeing, but of feeling. I do not see myself, I feel myself to see this or that. And this feeling, this immediate awareness of our being through feeling ourselves to be. This is subjectivity. Henry, in many senses, has a point. But he is not entirely right. For we must realize that the Greek variations of εἴδομαι, also relate to ‘making oneself like something.’ This seeing is seeing, but in seeing, we make ourselves like the object that is seen. Now, in seeing this tree in front of me, I put my attention to it (another meaning of εἴδομαι is ‘putting one’s attention to’), and in this sense I make my experience like it. The smell of the tree fills my nostrils, my sight is dominated by this tree, etc., my experience becomes more and more like the tree. And as the popular saying goes, you become like the people you spend your time with. This is seeing and knowing, not an innocent and disinterested activity, but the activity of becoming like that which is seen and thus known. For what is seeing but averting our gaze towards something, of putting our attention towards something. And what are we, but this energy that has the power to choose where it puts its energy, this power of ‘sight’?
In Homer’s Iliad, εἴσατο is used to express ‘making one’s voice like’. In the sense of imitating another’s voice, making one’s voice sound like the voice of someone else. Seeing and knowing, it is this making oneself like the object that is seen or known. Not disinterested knowing, but a process of transformation. Be careful with what you put your attention to. Now, with this in mind, and the Greek dogma that ‘like is known by like’, is it truly the case that subjectivity cannot be ‘seen’? Is not this self-knowledge that Plotinus is seeking, this “knowledge which knows itself”(Plato, Charmides, 169e), also a particularly intense form of ‘sight’? In many ways, true seeing is not the seeing of what is in-front of us and thereby different from us. Rather, true seeing —etymologically speaking— is the seeing in which the one who sees is completely united with what is seen. A seeing in which the seer has completely become the seen. And where else do we find this type of seeing or knowing, except for in the knowledge that we have of ourselves? An immediate intuitive awareness, of ourselves being present to ourselves. We do not know ourselves by putting ourselves in front of us like an object to investigate. Rather, we know ourselves precisely because we cannot look at ourselves like an object, but because the subject that is looking is entirely the object that is seen. There is no distance here, yet still, for the Greek mind, the word ‘vision’ or ‘sight’ applies here.
This seeing in which the seer and the seen are one, this is the seeing of Intellect, self-thinking thought, in which there is no separation between the knowing subject and the object known. A thinking in which that which thinks and that which is thought are the same. And we must remind ourselves that the Greek term used by Plato for Idea, εἶδος, is of the same form as ‘seeing’. An Idea, is that sight in which there is no separation between the subject —the Idea—, and the object, again the Idea. For as we know, an Idea is entirely itself. The Idea of Justice is fully and entirely Justice, and nothing else.
In looking at beautiful things, in seeing the sights this world has to offer, we are seeing. But we are not truly seeing, or rather, we are seeing at a very low intensity. What is required is to ‘look inward’, which means as much as bringing vision entirely to itself. To cease the dispersion, and intensify vision, to concentrate it, so that there is no longer a difference between vision and what is seen, between subject and object. In the sense of vision being ‘becoming like’, this self-knowledge that we have in which there is no distinction between subject and object, but in which we immediately feel ourselves to be who we are, in such an intimacy and closeness that any separation is made impossible, this is true vision. And this is more seeing than the seeing of a tree for example. Stop looking at things, have your looking look at itself. And when you succeed, then you are looking inwardly.
This looking inward is a different way of looking, but in a sense, it is only looking more fully. In the next chapter, in describing what the attainment of the vision of Beauty is like, Plotinus says “If you see that you have become this, at that moment you have become sight.”(I.6.9.) You will, as we have said before, become like an Idea —entirely yourself, no longer other than yourself by your attachments to things inferior.
Michel Henry can say that the Greek philosophy cannot attain perfect self-knowledge, wherein there is no separation between subject and object, because the Greek equates knowing with seeing. But it seems to me, that Henry can only say this because he lacks understanding as to what ‘seeing’ actually means for Greek philosophy. Seeing an object in this world through our eyes or some other senses, this is only one degree of seeing. But barely touches the surface, of what seeing can actually mean. For to the Greek mind, a knowing in which there is no separation between the subject who knows and the object which is known, is also a form of ‘seeing’. And in fact, it is not so much different from ordinary ways of seeing, as it is a much more essential seeing than ordinary seeing. In other words, the seeing in which what is seen is different from that which sees, is less truly seeing, than the seeing in which there is no such difference.
Let us move on.
“For if someone runs towards the image, wanting to grasp it as something true, like someone wanting to grasp a beautiful reflection in water - as a certain story has it, hinting at something else, in an enigmatic way, I think, who then falls into the water and disappears.”(I.6.8.)
Plotinus is here referring to the myth of Narcissus, which offers an illustration for what it would be like to mis-identify oneself with images of beauty, instead of with Beauty itself. Narcissus was a beautiful young man, and one day he went out to hunt. And after a while he gets tired and goes to a pool to rest and drink some water. He sits down to drink, but in doing so he sees his own reflection in the water. He grows so enamoured by this sight, that he forgets to drink. He sits there, staring at his own image and forgetting everything else. He falls so in love with his reflected image, that he forgets about everything else. Eventually, he dies there, staring at his own reflection. He rots away, because he has fallen in love with an image of himself. You can see why Plotinus is using this image. In valuing images of Beauty over Beauty itself, we will never attain the Good, and we will rot away like matter. I have written at length on Plotinus’ interpretation of Narcissus specifically, I share the link here, but will not go into it now.
Quoting Homer, Plotinus says: “Let us flee to our beloved fatherland.” (Iliad; 2.140) Like Odysseus fled from all the obstacles that prevented him from getting home to Ithaca, in this very same way we must flee from all that distracts us in this life. When Odysseus was with the sorceress Circe, he and his men had all the pleasures in the world, and were enamoured by sensuous beauty like never before. Yet, it was a deception, only distracting them from their true goal: reaching home. In this very same way, we must not be distracted by sensible pleasures and visible beauties, but must remind ourselves that we are seeking not pleasure but virtue, and not beauties, but Beauty. Again, I have written on Odysseus’ journey in this context before, but will not go into it now.
How will we reach our ‘fatherland’, which resides in the Intelligible world? “What is our course and what is our means of flight?”(I.6.8.)
“We should not rely on our feet to get us there, for our feet just take us everywhere on earth, one place after another. Nor should you saddle up a horse or prepare some sea-going vessel. You should put aside all such things and stop looking; just shut your eyes, and change your way of looking, and wake up. Everyone has this ability, but few use it.” (I.6.8.)
Again, we cannot escape our body —that material element of ours that attaches us to matter— by way of what is of the body. We cannot use our feet, and not even our eyes, to reach what is not of the body. So stop paying attention to these things, and ‘wake up’. For Plotinus, Plato’s allegory of the cave is no mere epistemological riddle, it signifies a very real process. The waking up from the shadowy existence attached to matter, and the realization of the true world of Intellect.
§I.6.9.
Now, in chapter 9, Plotinus asks once again:
“What, then, is that inner way of looking? Having just awakened the soul is not yet able to look at the bright objects before it. The soul must first be accustomed to look at beautiful practices, next beautiful works - not those works that the crafts produce, but those that men who are called ‘good’ produce - next, to look at the soul of those who produce these beautiful works.” (Plotinus, I.6.9.)
This is the educative purpose of artistic beauty, the more we see beautiful things, the more we will grow accustomed to recognizing beauty, and the more we will eventually be able to know Beauty. This is the ascent on the ladder of beauty, as we know it from Plato’s Symposium. The same goes for virtuous people, the more we see people acting good, the more we ourselves will be drawn towards virtue. It is good to be with good people. Next, Plotinus says, “look at the soul of those who produce these beautiful works.” Those who are able to create beautiful works, must have some knowledge —intuitive or theoretical— of Beauty. Their soul must be in touch with Beauty, for it to produce beauty in the world. And thus, there is no better learning ground for the soul than to be in touch with greater souls.
In all our material actions, we betray something of the character of our soul. Our posture, our eyes, the beauty of our bodies. A well-trained body betrays a disciplined and ordered soul. And a beautiful work of art betrays a well-trained and fine eye. As virtuous action betrays a soul which has its eyes on the Good.
Again, we have here in Plotinus this magnificent combination of beauty being immanent to matter, and it being transcendent. The beautiful is invisible, but everywhere it makes itself manifest in the visible.
Being exposed to many beautiful things, we can divine the presence of this thing that we call beauty. But how then, can we get to know this beauty ourselves? “How, then, can you see the kind of beauty that a good soul has?”
We have grown impatient, and Plotinus finally answers:
“Go back into yourself and look. If you do not yet see yourself as beautiful, then be like a sculptor who, making a statue that is supposed to be beautiful, removes a part here and polishes a part there so that the makes the latter smooth and the former just right until he has given the statue a beautiful face. In the same way, you should remove superfluities and straighten things that are crooked, work on the things that are dark, making them bright, and not stop ‘working on your statue’ until the divine splendour of virtue shines in you, until you see ‘Self-Control enthroned on the holy seat.’” (Plotinus, I.6.9.)
You look into yourself. At first you look at beautiful things outside of you, until you realize that true beauty is not in these things, but is the invisible quality of soul, which is expressed in these things. Having arrived at this point, you decide to look no longer at the world, but at soul. How does one go about looking at soul? There are three activities which can aid you. One, contemplation. If you wish to revert to Intellect —self-thinking thought— then practice a mode of thought that is not thinking about certain things, but thinking about itself. A thought which knows not of intentionality, but abides entirely in itself. Shut your eyes, shut out the world. And if you find that your thoughts wander to anything else but thought itself, then try again. For you have seen that your soul is not pure, but attaches itself to a myriad of different things. This is the practice of what we usually call meditation. Practice silence, for all internal noise means that you are not present to yourself, but to something else. The second road is the path of beauty. Look at beautiful art, connect with beautiful souls, go out into nature, bathe in the sun, and absorb beauty. This way, your sense of vision will be sharpened, you will come to recognize beauty. And third, the path of virtue. Act in accordance with the Ideas, so that your life will be purified, and you will more easily be able to receive the presence of the Good. Plotinus says:
“If the eye approaches that sight bleary with vices and not having been purified, or weak and, due to cowardice, is not able to see bright objects, it does not see them even if someone else shows that they are present and able to be seen. For the one who sees has a kinship with that which is seen, and he must make himself the same as it if he is to attain the sight.” (Plotinus, I.6.9.)
Like is known by like, and an ugly soul will not be able to recognize beauty. So make yourself beautiful, cultivate your body, and cultivate your soul. Act in accordance with virtue, rid yourself of vices. Act in accordance with nature, rid yourself of toxins. The Beautiful is not strictly speaking something you find, it is always present, and you recognize it when you have rid yourself of the ugliness that clouds its sight. “No eye has ever seen the sun without becoming sun-like.”(I.6.9.) The metaphor of becoming like the sun is a powerful one. For what is the sun? It is a unity, entirely self-sufficient, giving life and beauty to what resides below it. The sun is constant in its gifts, being entirely itself at each moment of its existence. So, become like the sun, a unity in need of nothing but itself, acting in accordance with your essence.
Contemplate, see beauty, act beautifully. In this way you will live a life that allows true Life to shine forth. You will create the necessary space, that allows Beauty to shine forth. Like the sun cannot be seen when it is clouded, you must remove the clouds that are preventing your true, powerful, virtuous, and beautiful self to shine forth. At first you must disconnect, so that afterwards you might connect more deeply.
“You must first actually become wholly god-like and wholly beautiful if you intend to see god and Beauty.” (Plotinus, I.6.9.)
There is a certain megalomania or even arrogance in Plotinus’ conception of the good life. But never in any bad sense. You cannot give what you do not have. So become beautiful first, so that you can make the world more beautiful. Know the Ideas, so that you can produce better ideas yourself. Become more self-sufficient, so that you can aid others.
And it is this multi-faceted pursuit of contemplation and virtuous action, which will open the gates for you to ascend upwards along your divine lineage. First, towards Soul, then towards Intellect, and finally to the One.
It is not an easy task, as indeed, it is the “ultimate battle.”(Plotinus, I.6.7.) And it must take an in-human amount of discipline, not the discipline of this or that. The discipline to form this habit, the discipline to behave like this or that, the discipline to contemplate. Rather, it is a discipline that will pertain to every part of our being, “Self-Control enthroned on the holy seat.”(I.6.9.) Much like Justice, and Courage are Ideas, ‘Self-Control’ is an Idea too. And in this passage, Plotinus seems to portray it as the arch-virtue that will lead us to seeing God. For nothing can be achieved without self-control, and everything can be achieved if we are able to control ourselves, to refrain from looking outwardly, and to start looking inwardly. You cannot display discipline in anything, if you do not first learn how to discipline your soul. If you cannot control where your attention goes, then you cannot control your actions. This is what Plotinus is saying. In many senses, we are nothing but this energy that has the power to choose where it puts its energy. But if we cannot even control this choice, then of what worth are we? Control your self, and you will be able to control everything.
All battles are nothing, compared to the battle the soul wages with itself. Plotinus sometimes compares living to being exposed to sorcery. Each moment of our waking life, different things and ideas ask for our attention; a person asks us to talk with them, some bodily desire asks us to be fulfilled, some sad memory asks of us to delve into it. The news asks of us to be afraid about a virus or a war. And so on. Thus, living is being exposed to sorcery. And in many senses, virtue is nothing but having the Self-Control to choose what we put our attention to. To resist the sorcery, this is Self-Control. And if we can keep our attention entirely to ourselves, keep it from going outwards, Plotinus promises us, a door will open, and we will be led to the Intelligible. Only to then realize that we were there all along, only not knowing it because of our disorderly nature, our lack of discipline and control.
Bring order to your actions, bring beauty to your body. But before any of these things, bring order to your soul. Control your Self, or neither your actions nor you body will show anything of your true nature. For again, why do we value bodily beauty? And why do we value beautiful action? Because in both, we see shining through the Intelligible Beauty. Why do we value an orderly body? Or someone who shows order in their actions? Because in it, we see shining through the Self-Control of the person’s soul. Control your Self, and all that your Self comes into contact with through body and action will show control too.
Is it true, that something is then beautiful because it is expressive of an Idea? Schopenhauer believes this, when he writes that in calling a thing beautiful, we mean by this that “we recognise in the object, not the particular thing, but an Idea.”(Schopenhauer, The World as Will and Idea, III, §41, 131-132) This seems to be the case with Plotinus too:
“The soul in its ascent will reach Intellect, and in the intelligible world it will see all the beautiful Forms and will declare that these are what Beauty is.” (I.6.9.)
The Ideas or Forms, these are Beauty. But why? Because the Ideas, being the products of the activity of Intellect, possess Being (because Intellect = Being/Substantiality). And Being = Beauty. And thus, when we call something beautiful, this means that we sense the presence of an Idea. Why? Because it is through Ideas that the Intelligible makes itself manifest in this world. An action for example is beautiful, when it is in accordance with Ideas like Courage, Self-Control, Temperance, etc. Intellect = Beauty. But in this world of matter, Intellect is never seen with the common eye, it is invisible. But this invisible, can be made visible through the souls of those men who live in accordance with Ideas. Art does the same thing, it expresses Ideas through forming matter, and this is how it can be said to be beautiful.
This is then the ascent towards the beautiful. But we are not yet finished. We read:
“But we say that that which transcends Intellect is the Idea of the Good, a nature that holds Beauty in front of itself. So, roughly speaking, the Good is the primary Beauty. But if one distinguishes the intelligibles apart, one will say that the ‘place’ of the Forms is intelligible Beauty, whereas he Good transcends that and is the ‘source and principle’ of Beauty.” (I.6.9.)
Intellect is indeed Beauty. But before Intellect, there is the One Good. And being the source and principle of everything, this Good is also called the ‘primary Beauty’ by Plotinus. But strictly speaking, the beauty that we see, finds its source in Intellect, be it that its ultimate source is the One. And, just like in how we climb up the ladder of Beauty by first contemplating beautiful things, then seeing that there is a common ‘beauty’ to them, and finally ascending to that which is responsible for this beauty in the sensible world —Soul, and further, Intellect—, just in this way, when we have seen Intelligible Beauty, we can rise up to what is responsible for this Beauty, and there we encounter the One, the Good. And is this, being source and principle of Beauty, not true Beauty?
In the literature on Plotinus, there is this problem of ‘mysticism.’ You cannot understand what he is saying, and he tells you himself, if you have not had the vision. Will we then ever be able to understand Plotinus? Probably not. Is there then any point in reading Plotinus, if we know that we can never truly understand him? We could ask the same question concerning all great philosophers, is it truly worth reading these works, knowing that we will never be able to attain these heights? Much like we can perhaps never attain pure Self-Control understood as an Idea, there is still benefit in striving towards it. And this is the very function of an Idea for us, that it acts as an Ideal to strive towards. It will never be fully actualized, but we can grasp its presence, however vaguely, and this is enough to guide our actions. In this way, every great philosopher acts as an Ideal, a model for a depth of thought and life, that we must strive towards. This Ideal serves as an attractor towards a reality fully real, yet not yet actualized. Yet as the great Kant said:
“Nothing is more harmful or less worthy of a philosopher than the vulgar appeal to allegedly contrary experience, which would not have existed at all if institutions had been established at the right time according to the ideas, instead of frustrating all good intentions by using crude concepts in place of ideas, just because these concepts were drawn from experience.” (Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, A316-317/B373)
Our experience might seem to contradict the possibility of attaining the sight of the Beautiful. But our experience thereby does not contradict this possibility. Rather, our experience is only evidence that the Idea has not been attained, that we have not put in the work to attain the Ideal.
In his later years, the great scholar Pierre Hadot, who wrote a beautiful book on Plotinus and did some translations of him, became quite disillusioned as to Plotinus’ relevance for us. Plotinus speaks of these grand realities, ‘Intellect’, ‘Ideas,’ the ‘One’. But we, these things are so foreign to our experience, that we can never really relate to them. It is true, that we have fallen far, and in spiritual depth, most of us are nowhere near Plotinus’ experience. Yet I do not share this disillusion. It are only truly great Ideas that have the power to attract us, and perhaps our problem is that we have too little of these. Perhaps the problem is precisely that we seek for a philosophy to confirm our own petty experiences, and that we no longer raise ourselves upwards by these grand visions of reality. We think ourselves unworthy, and instead of straining ourselves to make ourselves worthy, we give up. We drag philosophy down to our own level, instead of making philosophy greater, so that it might raise us up in return.
Better to rationalize our weakness, than to attempt the harsh path of becoming strong. These visions of what a philosopher could be, offered to us by the Ancients. This strength of spirit, this discipline of soul, it is too much for us, and failing to achieve it, we renounce the mission. We give up on ‘the greatest battle’, and this is precisely, I feel, the problem with us. We give up, we comply, admitting defeat, accepting that philosophy can never again be this most valued of disciplines, concerned with the total formation of the individual, and eventually the ascent towards the Divine. So we comply. What Plotinus, or Pythagoras or Heraclitus or Plato or the Egyptians speak about, this does not accord with our own experience. So what do we do? We either say that they were wrong about their descriptions of reality, or we say that we can never achieve this again. In all of this, there is this aspect of ‘giving up’ that I lament. Why not try to strive for absolute Courage, absolute Self-Control, and a vision of pure Beauty? Why not? What have we to lose? I am not as arrogant as to believe that I could ever achieve the greatness that these philosophers expressed. Far from it. I am worth nothing, compared to the divine Plato. But perhaps, this is precisely the problem. That we accept our weakness, but do nothing with it. That we accept our position, so far away from the Ideas, but care not for striving to get closer. In a text on the pre-Socratic philosophers, Nietzsche writes concerning the purpose of his text:
“to bring to light what we must ever love and honour and what no subsequent enlightenment can take away: great individual human beings.”(Nietzsche, Philosophy in the Tragic Age of the Greeks)
It is precisely this that we must strive for, first in our reading, to get to know these great figures of philosophy. And secondly, in our own lives. To bring to light what we truly are. Is this impossible? In all likelihood, yes. But in the same reasoning, philosophy itself does not exist. For where have you ever seen a philosopher, who in all his being, expresses philosophy fully? You cannot find such a person, yet still, we do philosophy. Philosophy itself is this Idea, and every great philosopher is again an Idea related to this Idea, acting as an attractor, an inspiration, guiding us on the road to becoming a “great individual human being.” Like the Idea of the Good relates to the other Ideas, in precisely such a manner, the Idea of Philosophy relates to every great philosopher. Each one teaching us something about life, each one giving us an Idea, to attract us closer and closer to the essence of what we love most: Philosophy.
There is indeed a certain arrogance, to even think that we are worthy of having such high Ideals. Yet at the same time, a humility, in bowing down before them. For what is truly arrogant, to think that one can live in accordance with grand Ideals? Or to think that we know better than the Ancients, that we have surpassed them in cognitive strength, and now know that there are no Ideas, that there is no Intellect and no Beauty, but only the here and now of matter?
My name here —tólma (τόλμα)— means as much as audacity or daring. A certain boldness, used by Plotinus to describe Intellect’s daring in having first departed from the One. Humanity’s hubristic departure from nature, this is tólma too. Yet also, it stands for this greatness of spirit, needed to dare and revert back to the one. Or the audacity needed to show courage in battle. The daring needed, to pursue virtue in a society that knows none. This is all tólma. And to me, this concept too acts as an Ideal. I have no arrogance in choosing this as my name, thinking myself an especially daring individual. Rather, I use this name as an attractor, and Ideal. Something to strive towards, but which I can perhaps never attain. It is precisely because of our humility, that we must posit great Ideals. We have fallen so low, that only the greatest Ideas will be able to pull us back up.
Because we are so depraved, we often feel ourselves unworthy of having grand ideals and promises. Understandably, for an Ideal is also a judge. If you take courage as an Ideal, your very soul will judge you when you show yourself to be a coward. We are afraid of being judged by our Selves, and afraid of being shamed by those who speak of our supposed arrogance. But I think that precisely this is the problem, that we lack this healthy confidence, this healthy ‘tólma’, needed to achieve anything whatsoever. How can one ever reach anything, if one doesn’t have a goal. So why not choose the loftiest and most praiseworthy goals. Why not read the greatest of philosophers. ‘Why not?’, this very expression gives us something of what Plotinus means when he uses tólma to express Intellect’s reason for departing from the One. And why he uses it to express the soul’s daring to revert back to its Divine lineage. With the One, reality concentrated entirely within itself, everything is perfect. So why this departure, why all this emanation of matter and all the suffering that comes with it, all the ugliness. Why? Well, why not? God wants to experience what it is like, to be other than itself, to be everything that he can be. Like the child who knows full well it should listen to its parents’ rules, but decides to go out at night to play anyway. Why? Well, why not. What is there to lose? And what is there to gain? Experience, and with it, as contrary is known by contrary, a greater knowledge of why one should have listened in the first place. Why all this evil? To gain greater knowledge of the Good, Plotinus says. Like the prodigal son, leaving home, only to return, but now knowing why home is best. All very negative. But also, in a more positive voice, why not? We are stuck here anyway, in this depraved world. So why not aim for something higher? If nothing else, it will feed our souls with hope. If nothing else.
This tólma of Intellect, it is all part of this cosmic game. The One is perfect as it is, so why depart? Like the Nietzschean image of the child building up a castle in sand, only to afterwards destroy it. All with a smile on its face. Why not? This is the joy of creation.
In many senses, everything is always perfect as it is. In our deepest essence, we are already in touch with the Divine. And when it comes to the world, history will go its course, nature has its laws. So why do anything, if everything is how it is and can not be otherwise? Well, why not? Why not, seek Beauty? If we are to live anyway, why not live in accordance with Beauty? If things must go as they go, why not force them along the path of the Beautiful? If we are to struggle through this existence anyway, why not take on the “greatest and ultimate battle”, with the Good as the prize?
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With this, we have concluded our series on Plotinus’ treatise on Beauty. I thank you for reading, and I hope to see you again. Feel free to reach out to me in the comments or by sending me a message on twitter @_tolma
All the best,
-Tólma
Sources:
Plato. Complete Works. Edited by John M. Cooper. Cambridge: Hackett, 1997.
Plotinus, The Enneads. Edited by Lloyd P. Gerson. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018.
Xenophon. Memorabilia. Translated by Amy L. Bonnette. Cornell University Press, 1994.
Schopenhauer. The World as Will and Idea. Translated by Jill Berman. London: Everyman Library, 1995.
Nietzsche. Philosophy in the Tragic Age of the Greeks.
Kant. Critique of Pure Reason. Translated by Paul Guyer and Allen W. Wood. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998.