Return to the One (16 page)

Form Is Foundation

I
F WE TRIED
to reduce life’s manifold mysteries to two central enigmas, they could well be these: Why does existence exist at all? And how is it that particular things exist within existence?

Both questions lead to the edge of a conceptual abyss. In these depths lie hidden from man’s cogitation all that is real but imponderable. When we attempt to imagine the source of everything that is, we may succeed for a moment. Possible answers come: “God,” “original potential energy,” “the One.” But then we must ask, “From what did that source spring?”

It seems, then, that existence must be accepted as an eternally present given. For if at some point nothing existed, not even existence itself, it seems impossible that our present reality could have come from that absolute nothingness. There must be some irreducible, immutable, rock-solid foundation to the cosmos. This is raw existence, unexplained and unexplainable.

In everyday life, however, we are not conscious of existence pure and simple. Instead, the foundation of each person’s being is the wondrous variety of forms that have somehow manifested within existence. Everywhere we see distinct objects. Some are natural, others man-made; some are living, others inanimate. Regardless of their nature, we understandably cling to these entities as if our lives depended on them (for so they do).

“No man,” the saying goes, “is an island.” Every individual is a form that needs the support of other forms to survive. Our physical survival depends on our ability to find food, water, and shelter; our emotional survival depends on the love and nurturance of other living beings; our psychological survival (a capacity to derive meaning from life) depends upon a web of beliefs and concepts, mental forms, about how the world works and what, if anything, lies beyond appearances.

Our trust is fully in forms, for we know no other support. This includes our spiritual or philosophical conceptions, for conceptions almost always enter our minds in the form of written or spoken words. Even if an image is the foundation of faith (a divine vision, for example), it clearly is a form, not nothing at all. But Plotinus warns that the forms appearing in matter are not to be counted on.

Now, first of all, matter does not hold or grasp form as its life or its activity, but form comes upon it from elsewhere and is not one of matter’s possessions.
[VI-3-2]

Isn’t it true that the amount of pleasure derived from something material—a possession, a person, a pet, a place—usually turns out to be less than expected rather than more? And when that thing does provide us with lasting satisfaction, is it the outward materiality that is so enjoyable or some inner form that is utterly real yet physically insensible?

From what source did the beauty of that Helen shine forth, over whom men fought so much, or of those women who rival Aphrodite in beauty? … Isn’t it always a Form which moves us? … Beauty influences us once it comes to be inside us, but it comes in through the eyes as Form alone.
[V-8-2]
¹

Form, in other words, is what we truly love in someone or something, not the physical matter in which the form is reflected. Matter is just a means of imperfectly communicating a spiritual form to the physical senses.

Recall Plato’s parable of the cave. The unseen objects being carried along the wall that the prisoners have their backs to are forms. A fire casts the shadows of these objects onto the cave wall that the prisoners can see. The firelight is the radiant power of spirit and the Soul of the All; the shadows are everything in this physical universe; we are the prisoners.

When we try to fully possess something that appears beautiful, good, or true, we can’t. This is impossible because the form we’re attempting to grasp isn’t here on earth. It’s there in the spiritual world. This is why nothing material satisfies for long. When the foundation of our satisfaction is a shadow, it isn’t surprising that well-being continually slips away just when we think we’ve made it our own.

So Plotinus teaches that our aim should be to experience the reality of form unmixed with matter. If you’re unclear about what this reality consists of, don’t worry. It is difficult, if not impossible, to rationally understand the nature of the Platonic forms. For we are used to describing things, whether material or immaterial, in terms of something else.

Take the statements, “The dog is brown” and “Love is good.” For Plotinus and Plato, “Dog,” “Brown,” “Love,” and “Good” are each forms. The form “Dog” isn’t any more brown than it is white; it is simply itself, “Dog.” The same applies to the form “Love,” which isn’t good or beauty or truth, or anything else. It is just “Love,” neither more nor less.

J.M. Rist says, “When Plato talks about a Form of Justice, he does not mean a concept of Justice, nor does he regard Justice as a universal which can only exist in the mind of a thinker, nor does he mean the essence of Justice; he means Justice and nothing else, Justice regarded as an actually existent thing…. The Forms are the only permanent existents because they are not liable to change and destruction.”
²
We can’t imagine what the forms could be like, because all that we know is changeable and particularized.

What we observe in this world is the result of spiritual forms impressing themselves upon matter, much as a seal makes an impression upon wax. Just as one seal can make many separate impressions, so can a universal form appear in many particular instances.

The form of Dog can manifest as a white toy poodle or a brown mastiff. These animals look very different but share the form of dog-ness that is as indefinable as it is readily apparent. It is
this,
Plotinus tells us, that dog lovers truly love. If they find dogs so adorable in their earthly guises with their dogness all mixed up with other forms (such as color and shape), then what a delight it would be for a canine connoisseur to encounter the pure form of Dog, the universal Dog that underlies every particular dog.

All that is here below comes from there, and exists in greater beauty there. For here it is adulterated, but there it is pure.
[V-8-7]

The adulteration of truth, goodness, and beauty in this physical universe is partly the result of the number of separate forms needed to produce all but the simplest objects. Reality here is layered, form upon form, so that everything is a mixture rather than being one thing only. This means that it is impossible to be a pure materialist, because visible matter too is a form covered by other forms.

All this universe is held fast by forms from beginning to end: matter first of all by the forms of the elements, and then other forms upon these, and then again others.
[V-8-7]

Matter, we might say, is the most formless of forms. Interestingly, the top and bottom of the cosmos, the One and matter, are both formless. The One’s formlessness is founded in an excess of existence; as All, it cannot be any particular thing. Matter, on the other hand, is the ultimate cipher; since it is as much a nothing as anything existent can be, it can take on the impression of any form. And these impressions, as Plotinus points out, can be layered in amazingly complex and variegated patterns.

The hundreds of known atomic and subatomic particles can be reduced to a handful of fundamental building blocks: three quarks and three antiquarks, leptons (such as the electron and neutrino), and photons. From various combinations of quarks (which form neutrons and protons) and electrons arise the ninety-two natural elements; from this small number of elements come the myriad chemical compounds; and from such compounds all else is made.

Forms upon forms upon forms upon forms, forms without end. The innumerable combinations of all these forms produce the wondrous abundance of life and non-life that surrounds us. Whether we speak in terms of evolution or divine design, clearly the tree of the universe never ceases growing new limbs and buds, flowering in many marvelous ways. All of this complex, creative fervor flows from a single source: spirit.

Plotinus teaches that spirit is an unselfish giver. Spirit, or
nous,
continuously gives to matter all that matter is capable of receiving: the
logos,
or forming principle, that gives matter form and definition. Many non-material forms,
logoi,
exist within the
logos.

If it were not for this intelligent forming principle, physical creation would be simply primordial unformed matter, a sort of misty chaos. Just as Plotinus has told us that spirit emanates from the One because “all things when they come to perfection produce,” so is there a certain necessity to spirit’s production of the lower realms of creation from the higher spiritual realities, or intelligibles.

Those intelligibles existed and these things here necessarily followed upon them; for it was not possible to stop at the intelligibles there. For who could bring to a stop a power able both to abide and to go forward?
[VI-7-8]

As has already been observed, the forms appear in matter as a person’s reflection appears when he stands in front of a mirror: instantly, naturally, effortlessly. Form, then, is the true foundation of the material world. Without spirit’s forms, no reflection could be seen in matter’s mirror, nor would there be anyone to observe “there is nothing here.” For Plotinus taught that every soul is also a form, sometimes called an idea of an individual.

Is there an idea of each particular thing? Yes, if I and each one of us have a way of ascent and return to the intelligible, the principle of each of us is there.
[V-7-1]

Now, this subject may seem to be rather dry and abstract but it is actually as vibrant and immediate as our present experiences. For Plotinus’s question “Is there an idea of each individual thing?” is the same as each of us asking “Do I exist as me?”; that is, not just as a particular instance of a man or a woman (or more broadly, a human) but as a unique being whose essence is shared by none else.

In the quotation above, Plotinus says that when a person is able to return to the spiritual realm, his or her true self will be discovered as eternal form, a self that always exists. This will not be the person’s present body and personality, but an enduring soul-essence that has inhabited many bodies and many personalities during its lengthy sojourn in the physical universe. In the spiritual world we cast off these coverings, all the layers of superfluous form, and know ourselves as we truly are.

As is stressed over and over in the
Enneads,
spiritual realities always are more substantial than material realities. So we need to clearly understand what Plotinus means by an idea of each particular thing, which includes you and me. This doesn’t mean that each of us is merely a thought in spirit’s consciousness—at least not a thought that bears any resemblance to our own thinking. Our thoughts come and go and are not part of our essential selves, while spirit’s forms are part and parcel of its being.

The forms are as eternal and changeless as spirit itself because they are not separate from spirit. This means, of course, that you and I are eternal and changeless, since the true nature of the soul that is reading or writing these words is a form within spirit.

Right now, don’t you feel absolutely real? I’m not speaking of the changeable bodily or mental part of you but the “you” that is the center of your consciousness. This sensation of “Yes, I am” is not an illusion, regardless of claims by neuroscientists that our feelings of selfhood are a chimera produced by purely physical goings-on in the brain.

In truth, each of us is much more than just “I,” since Plotinus teaches that all forms are unified in the spiritual realm. The simple yet astounding conclusion is that since every individual is a form, and all forms are one, everything in creation is within each of us.

And we do say that each soul possesses all the forming principles in the universe.
[V-7-1]

Why, then, do we feel so limited, separate, and alone? Because at the moment we are not solely ourselves. In Plotinus’s mystical philosophy, I am most intimately connected to the cosmos when I am most intimately in touch with my true self, the form of “me” that contains all the other forms. So, in an apparent paradox, the more I am immersed within myself, the self beyond matter and mind, the greater is my connection with all that is not my self.

Thus we find that Plotinus’s seemingly intellectual doctrine of the forms is central to appreciating the grandeur of his spiritual vision. His mysticism is aimed at removing the barriers that prevent us from knowing ourselves as pure soul, one with all of creation.

The main obstacle that must be surmounted is our infatuation with matter. If material things are beautiful and desirable, it is due to the forms that impress themselves upon matter. If we love the beauty of a shadowy reflection, imagine what it would be like to behold the pristine glory of the original.

Intelligence Is Intuitive

F
ORTUNATELY
, to understand Plotinus’s teaching about the nature of intelligence we need only think clearly, not complexly. In fact, perhaps it is not necessary to think at all, as Plotinus taught that genuine intelligence is beyond thought.

He wouldn’t have agreed with a noted biologist I saw on television recently who said there is only one intelligent species on earth,
Homo sapiens,
because we are the only animals capable of communicating sophisticated concepts through language, and of engaging in self-referential intellection (thinking about our thinking).

However, this scientist did admit that his conception of intelligence isn’t related to a species’ survival, since cockroaches (as one example among many) have been around much longer than people. If I was asked to bet on which species is more likely to inhabit our planet 10,000 years from now, I’d place my money on the insect.

So there is an intelligence involved in knowing how to exist that is separate from the abstract reasoning normally associated with being smart. Other forms of intelligence—emotional, creative, interpersonal, and so on—also have been identified by researchers. Thus intelligence must be something that manifests in many ways, a common ground that unites phenomena as disparate as the weaving of a spider web and the solving of a mathematical equation.

What, then, is the essence of intelligence?

Plotinus answers: simply knowing.

Faith and reason often are considered to be different ways of realizing truth. True enough, but neither faith nor reason is simply knowing. We might say that faith is an unconfirmed belief that such and such is true, while reason believes that the truth of such and such can be confirmed. Intelligence lies at the end of the road on which believers travel. It is the destination, actually knowing the truth about something.

But perhaps someone might say that … the intelligence which is in the All should have calculations and memories. This is a statement of men who assume that unintelligence is intelligence, and have come to the conclusion that to seek to be intelligent is the same thing as being intelligent.
[IV-4-12]

Reasoning is to intelligence as driving a car is to having a vision of the Grand Canyon. By driving a car we indeed can get to the rim of the Grand Canyon. And once there we can enjoy the vision that was the purpose of the drive. But it also is possible to walk, bike, or take a helicopter to the Grand Canyon. And no matter how we get there, the means of travel has nothing to do with the final destination.

Both of these statements are equally nonsensical: “I’m driving to the Grand Canyon; I see its splendor” and “I’m trying to figure something out; I know it.” Just as it is only when we actually are at the Grand Canyon that we perceive its grandeur, so it is only when we have succeeded in knowing something that we are intelligent. Genuine intelligence, says Plotinus, possesses a truth directly and entirely. And the highest intelligence, spiritual intelligence, eternally possesses wisdom in the same fashion:

…
not acquired by calculations, since it has always been present as a whole; because it lacks nothing, it does not need to be sought after.
[V-8-4]
¹

Imagine two people being asked what
3
³
(
3
×
3
×
3
) equals. One person takes a few seconds to reason out the answer: “Three times three is nine, and nine times three is twenty-seven.” The other person immediately says, “Twenty-seven.” Even though one took longer than the other to solve the problem, each arrived at the same conclusion. Thus Plotinus observes that someone engages in calculations to find the right answer. When the answer is obtained, the calculations end; reason is motion, and intelligence is rest.

For the man who is calculating seeks to learn that which if someone already possesses, he is intelligent: so that intelligence is in one who has come to rest.
[IV-4-12]

Qualitatively, there is no difference between our intelligence and spirit’s intelligence. Each is an immediate and intuitive knowing. But there is a quantitative difference in that our knowing proceeds sequentially. Bits and pieces of reality unfold before us in the present moment, then recede into memory. In contrast, Plotinus teaches that spirit is always perfectly intelligent, for the forms that comprise all of creation are inseparable from spirit’s very being. Nothing is hidden; nothing remains to be revealed.

Our efforts to act intelligently necessarily involve a struggle to fill some void in our knowledge. We are always laboring to make our mental maps of the world conform, more or less, to the actual geography of reality. This is hard work. Like an explorer trying to get through a thick jungle, we’re incessantly hacking at briars of ignorance and tendrils of illusion with our machetes of reason. Spiritual intelligence, by contrast, doesn’t have to exert any effort to know what can be known.

A common modern view, says Raoul Mortley, is that “thought somehow runs parallel to reality, responding to it in its own entirely separate way, following its own path, but somehow mimeographing reality in its own terms. Thought is seen as reality in code. For Plotinus, however, the true way is ‘to be, our very selves, that we are to see.’ Intellect and its objects are therefore held to merge in some way.”
²

As we’ve already learned, spirit and the Soul of the All are in complete control of the lower regions of creation because what they know and do is not separate from what they are. This is obviously different from what we experience in everyday life. Few people are in firm control of even their own bodies and minds, much less the body and mind of anyone else. Our mastery of the non-living material world is even less certain. This is why higher beings, and especially spirit itself, don’t encounter the same sorts of problems in managing their affairs as we do.

So the maker is in no way compelled to be in doubt or perplexity or to have difficulties, as some people have thought who considered the administration of the universe to be a burden…. So a being like this needs nothing for its making, since its intelligence does not belong to someone else but is itself, using nothing brought in from outside.
[IV-4-12]

Plotinus presents us with a compelling view of intelligence: a completely natural and unforced quality of those whose being, knowing, and doing is a harmonious union. What they are and know, they do; what they are and do, they know; what they know and do, they are.

If only we could say this about ourselves, we whose actions are so often out of sync with what we purport to know, and who frequently observe “I can’t believe I did that.” It is difficult to imagine living without calculation or memory but wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could, still remaining intelligent? For whenever we strain to think about or recall something, we introduce an unnatural duality into what is in truth a unified world. Reality is not what it is reasoned out to be or remembered to be, but what truly is
—
separate from the artificial constructs of thought and memory

If the foundation of a person’s consciousness wasn’t the personal subjective self, but the universal objective cosmos, then he or she would spontaneously react to every situation with just the right response, saying, doing, or thinking precisely what should be said, done, or thought. In every age there have been some men and women who have exhibited this capacity for living so harmoniously. We call them saints, enlightened ones, realized souls. What they have realized, it seems, is the intuitive intelligence that is natural to spirit and the Soul of the All but which we must labor to reclaim.

In the soul of the good and wise man the objects known tend to become identical with the knowing subject, since they are pressing on towards intellect.
[III-8-8]

This applies to knowing the world outside and inside of us. We are better able to attain unity in self-knowledge since there is no material barrier standing between us and what we want to know. I can contemplate a flower until the sun goes down and there always will remain two entities: the flower and me. This is not the case with spirit, where the form of Flower is part of spirit’s very being. And this is not the case when I properly contemplate myself, for I am, quite obviously, me. We thus are able to know ourselves by emulating spirit’s intuitive intelligence.

When [the Intellect] sees being, it sees itself…. It does not see one part of itself with another part of itself, but all of itself by means of the totality of itself.
[V-3-6]
³

Here Plotinus zeros in on the central distinction between true intelligence and all other forms of knowledge. When we have an “intelligent” understanding of something that is one, whether this be God, spirit, soul, or anything else, there is no division of the intellectual vision into parts. For if I see as
many
an entity that is
single,
I haven’t seen it truly. And if I see my own self with another part of my self, then I will only know the part that is seen, not the part that is doing the seeing.

Complete self-knowledge thus is impossible so long as we try to analyze or delve into ourselves as if we were cadavers on a dissecting table. We may learn something about what we are not—matter, memories, imagination, and such—but not what we are—conscious soul—for consciousness is what is doing the probing, and so cannot be probed by itself

Does he then see himself with another part of himself ? But in this way one would be the seer, and the other the seen; but this is not “self-knowledge.”
[V-3-5]

We are advised, then, to cultivate a sort of un-self-consciousness so that we may better know ourselves. This may seem paradoxical but it makes sense if our goal is to unify the splintered pieces of ourselves. If I truly am a single being, not many, then how could it ever be possible to know myself as I know other things?

I can know the square root of
16
or the date of D-day because these objects of knowledge are outside of my essential being. But if I am to know myself, then the part of me seeking that knowledge and the part of me that is the knowledge being sought somehow have to be brought into the grasp of an intuitive intelligence that is me, not part of me.

Plotinus suggests that both the activities of everyday life and the pursuit of spiritual wisdom will go better when we are conscious, but not unnecessarily self-conscious. To a mystic, one is always better than two, especially inside our own heads.

Even when we are awake, we can find a great many fine activities, meditations, and actions which are not accompanied by consciousness at the very moment when we are meditating or acting

A person who is reading, for example, is not necessarily aware that he is reading, especially if he is reading attentively. Likewise, a person who performs a courageous act is not aware, at the moment that he performs the act, that he is acting courageously.
[I-4-10]
⁴

This is the mystery of the wisdom of not-knowing. Since intelligence is intuitive, the height of wisdom is to know but not to know that we know. When we introduce a duality into our knowing and think to ourselves, “I’m reading” or “I’m brave,” it doesn’t help us read or make us more brave. Quite the opposite. As we move from being conscious to self-conscious, a split develops between our doing and our being that makes us weaker, not stronger.

The pure intelligence of spiritual contemplation, says Plotinus, is what really satisfies. So we need to learn how to bring this unreasoning intuitive intelligence into play, both in the stillness of meditation and the activity of everyday life. Reasoning, a form of self-consciousness, is necessary only when we are confused by a lack of intelligence. Those who know the most, think the least.

Does the soul use discursive reasoning before it comes and again after it goes out of the body? No, discursive reasoning comes into it here below, when it is already in perplexity and full of care, and in a state of greater weakness.
[IV-3-18]