Elements of Theology 6: On Motion

[sdi]

Dodds calls the next section of the Elements of Theology, running from XIV through XXIV, "Of the Grades of Reality." Once again I think his choice of sectioning is reasonable (and I continue to favor it over Taylor's and Johnson's), but once again I am going to break it up into smaller parts for the sake of my sanity.

The first of these parts is XIV through XVII, which is about motion. I would have found this nonsensical without having first read Sallustius (OTGATW VII) and Plotinus (Enneads II 2 and VI 3). The idea is that in the section on the Good, we talked about desire, and desire prompts motion; but, crucially, "motion" to the Greeks does not refer to a "change in position" like we mean it today; rather, it refers to a more general "change in state." So what we're really talking about, here, is whether or not things can change, and what the nature of those changes are; this is so that Proclus can build up to differentiating various levels of reality by comparing those natures.

On Motion: The first cause is unmoved (e.g. changeless). Below it are things that are self-moved (e.g. can initiate change); these are incorporeal and capable of returning to themselves (e.g. self-direction). Below those are things that are externally-moved (e.g. are subject to change); these are corporeal and incapable of returning to themselves.

XIV. Every thing is either unmoved, self-moved, or externally-moved; each is better than the next.

We see externally-moved things in the world around us. Since all effects have a first cause [XI], there must ultimately be an unmoved thing to move them. But suppose everything is initially at rest: what will be the first thing to move? It can't be the unmoved (since it doesn't move), and neither can it be the externally-moved (since nothing is yet moving to move it). So, we must suppose a middle rank of self-moved things, some one of which will be the first thing to move.

XV. Every thing capable of returning to itself is incorporeal.

For a thing to return means that it must be unified with that which it returns to. But a body has many separate parts: for it to return to itself (as a whole) would mean all those parts would be unified, but this is impossible since those parts must occupy different spatial locations.

XVI. Every thing capable of returning to itself has an essence separable from every body.

Suppose a thing was capable of returning to itself but was inseparable from a body. The thing's activity must be inseparable from the body's activity, since it's absurd to think that a thing is posterior to a body in existence but is prior to a body in action [VII]. But if the thing returned to itself, its body (acting inseparably from it) would also return to itself, which is impossible [XV]. So, if a thing is capable of returning to itself, it must be separable from every body.

XVII. Every self-moved thing is capable of returning to itself.

If a thing is self-moving as a whole, then the mover and the moved are one and the same. (If something is self-moving but not as a whole, presumably some part of it is self-moving and the rest is externally-moved.) If one and the same thing moves and is moved, then its activity is directed upon itself; but this is simply what we mean when we say "returning to itself."

I find XIV lacking, as it doesn't indicate why the first cause is unmoved (rather than, itself, self-moved). Plotinus' explains why in Enneads II 2: the Good lacks nothing, therefore the Good desires nothing; but motion is caused by desire; therefore the Good does not move. (As we'll see in the next section, Intellect also does not move: this is because It desires Itself, but It already has Itself, so no motion is necessary to attain Its desire.)

In XV, Proclus introduces the term epistrophe ("return"), but annoyingly, he defers defining it until XVII. It simply means for a thing to be self-directed, turned inwards. ("Return" is the whole idea behind Plotinus' mysticism: gathering oneself back up into a little, microcosmic One.) The proof of XV looks a little strange at first blush, but I always liked how Alan Watts put it: "What you are in your inmost being escapes your examination in rather the same way that you can't look directly into your own eyes without using a mirror, you can't bite your own teeth, your can't taste your own tongue, and you can't touch the tip of this finger with the tip of this finger. And that's why there's always an element of profound mystery in the problem of who we are." But a soul is not like a body: it has no sensory apparatus, no parts, and so no problem.