4 The One, the Henads, and the Principles*

When Proclus came to write his fully systematized version of Neoplatonism, the Neoplatonic school had spent more than 200 years chiselling and refining the initial basic assumptions laid down by Plotinus. Since Neoplatonism is buoyed by the acceptance of intelligible principles, and of a single ‘first’ principle in particular, it is to be expected that most of the chiselling work would have been invested in a further elucidation of these highest levels of reality. And, indeed, from Proclus’ own presentation of the evolution within the school (‘our common hearth’: Procl., Theol. plat. I 7, 31.7–14), or the debates concerning the overall interpretation of Plato’s Parmenides (Procl., in Parm. VI 1051.26–1064.14), it becomes clear that every generation, or indeed every single Neoplatonist, had a contribution to make to the speculation about the highest principles. Nevertheless from those surveys also emerges a clear view on what was considered to be (Neo-)Platonic orthodoxy, whereby Proclus took on the task of providing a well-founded analysis of all aspects of the system.¹

Throughout these discussions and refinements, the basic ideas remained intact. All Neoplatonists remained true to the Plotinian insight that the first principle of reality was to be described using two Platonic notions: the ‘One’ as analysed in Plato’s Parmenides (from 137c onwards), and the ‘Good’, as laid down by Plato in the Republic (VI 508e–509c). On the other hand, one specific element came to the fore in post-Plotinian Neoplatonism that was to change the nature of the speculation. Plotinus had notoriously stated that there are no more or less than three principles (archai) or hypostases: the One, the Intellect, and the Soul. According to him, the account of the principles is thereby fixed (Plot., Enn. II 9 [33] 1.12–16). Yet, almost immediately after Plotinus, the Neoplatonists came to realize that, as ‘the procession of reality does not allow for empty places’,² there was a need to refine the account of the principles by arguing for intermediary stages through which the unity of the principle gradually develops into a multiplicity. This endeavour began with Iamblichus, who made a distinction on the level of the Intellect, between the intelligible (the intellect as contemplated) and the intellective (the intellect as contemplating), and also introduced a distinction on the level of the One, between the first principle as Ineffable (as transcendent vis-à-vis all reality), and the first principle as the One (as the true first cause of the universe). At the same time, because the school had moved towards the genre of the commentary as the main vehicle for philosophical investigation, the hierarchy of the principles was linked to a thoroughly systematized reading of the Parmenides. With Syrianus (Proclus’ teacher), the Neoplatonic school came to the insight that the structure of the intelligible world could be deduced from what was known as the Parmenides’ second hypothesis (supposing that the one is, what follows for things other than the one? Parm. 142b–155e). The idea was that any deduction (and the second hypothesis of the Parmenides contains fourteen deductions) constitutes a specific level of intelligible reality. The unity of the intelligible was now broken up into a succession of fourteen subsequent levels in which reality smoothly develops itself.

This was, in broad outline, the situation when Proclus took up the analysis of the first principles. In his Theologia platonica III 7, he presents a synthesis that is worth quoting as an introduction to the matter:

Prior to all things and even to the gods who produce the things, [Plato] posited one single transcendent and unparticipated cause (ἀμέθεκτος αἰτία), unsayable to all discourse and unspeakable, unknowable to all knowledge and ungraspable; it reveals all things out of itself, it precedes all things in an ineffable way, it turns all things towards itself, and is the best goal for all things. This cause, then, that really surpasses all things by being separate from them, and produces, in a unitary way, all the henads of the divine things, all the classes of being, and their processions, this cause is called ‘the Good’ by Socrates in the Republic: on the basis of the analogy with the sun, he reveals its wondrous and unknowable transcendence towards all intelligible things. Parmenides, on the other hand, calls it ‘One’: on the basis of the negations he indicates the transcendent and ineffable existence of this One as the cause of all being. The discourse in the Letter to Dionysius,³ which proceeds in riddles, praises it as the cause ‘around which all things exist’ and as ‘the cause of all things beautiful’. In the Philebus, Socrates speaks well of it as the ‘generatrix’ (ὑπόστατις) of all things, because it is the cause of all divinity, for indeed, all gods owe their being god to this first god. (Procl., Theol. plat. III 7, 29.10–30.2)⁴

This text provides the entire framework for the discussion of the principles. The first principle in itself remains fully transcendent and ineffable, unattainable through our notions and thought. As Proclus adds:

we must honour this cause by silence, and by the unity that precedes silence, so that it may shine upon our souls the appropriate share of the mystic goal. (Procl., Theol. plat. III 7, 30.7–10)

Yet Plato handed down to us a certain discourse by which we can somehow reveal the nature of this first principle: as ‘One’, ‘Good’, the ‘Cause’, or ‘the cause of divinity’. The first two concepts especially, the One and the Good, prove fruitful in this paradoxical endeavour to thematize the unspeakable. As J. Trouillard (1972: 86–7) characterizes them, the One and the Good are functional names (‘des noms fonctionnels’) that reveal the articulation of our concepts rather than that of the reality we use them to speak about. Proclus himself indicates this in the following way:

Given that the unknowability of things exists according to their union with the First, we do not attempt to know it or to clarify it by using a name. Yet, since we are more capable of looking at their procession and their return, we attribute two names to the first, taking them as images (ἀγάλματα) from its effects, and we define two modes of ascending to the First: on the one hand, by the name of ‘the Good’, we apply the mode of analogy, on the other, by the name of ‘the One’, we apply the mode of negation. (Procl., Theol. plat. II 6, 42.16–24)

With the notion of the ‘One’, we enter the stage of a negative theology as founded, or so the Neoplatonists maintain, by Plato in the first hypothesis of the Parmenides. Here Plato asks, if the one is one, then what can we deduce about this one? (Parm. 137c–142a). The final consequence, as Plato himself indicates, is that we cannot even call this one a ‘One’, because this would introduce some kind of positive attribution of a name, setting apart this one from other things, and thus, introducing some kind of relation to those other things. This would in the end jeopardize the uniqueness of this principle and destroy its transcendence. Hence, the first hypothesis ends in a desperate negation, the acknowledgement of the impossibility of pursuing this kind of discourse:

Therefore it is not named or spoken of, nor is it the object of opinion or knowledge, nor does anything that is perceive it. – It seems not. – Is it possible that these things are so for the one? – I certainly don’t think so. (Plato, Parm. 142a4–8; tr. Gill and Ryan)

To the Neoplatonists, this negation is not an absurdity but rather the final recognition of the insufficient nature of any kind of determination of the absolute one. Hence, the best way to speak about this principle is indeed the via negationis. Taken in its final sense, the ‘One’ is a negative determination of this principle: absolute unity requires the removal of all plurality and, hence, of all positive determination.⁵ The difficulty of this position lies in the paradoxical claim that the first principle of reality is one and not one at the same time. For that reason, some Neoplatonists, like a certain Origen (whose position is discussed by Proclus at Theol. plat. II 4), concluded that this principle should be seen as ‘inexistent’ (ἀνύπαρκτον τὸ ἓν καὶ ἀνυπόστατον; Theol. plat. II 4, 31.15–16) and that, consequently, the Intellect should be taken as the highest principle and as the first ‘one’. Yet, Proclus replies, if the Intellect is a unity—which it is—then this can only mean that the One transcends the Intellect since Intellect in itself would require a principle to be unified. And even though that first principle cannot be determined any further, it should be seen as constitutive of all reality, as all that is can only exist as a unity.

We are facing a classic dilemma here of rendering an incomplete (but as such the only possible) description of the highest principle on the basis of its effects, versus a complete (but impossible) description of the highest principle in itself. All Neoplatonists had to face this dilemma, and if Origen took the simple way out by deleting the highest principle, others, like Iamblichus and Damascius, tried to escape by introducing a sophisticated twist to the system. Instead of leaving open the double nature of the ‘One’ as a cause and as an ineffable unit, they distinguished between the First (the Ineffable) and the One as two separate principles. The One is then ‘freed’ from this completely ungraspable nature, and becomes the first true cause, or the first genuine ‘principle’ of reality, whereas the First remains totally ineffable, as that which grounds the One but cannot be determined any further. Proclus’ position is, in a sense, more precarious and more difficult to maintain. He combines ineffability and causality within one single principle and thus forces himself to express contradictory claims about the One.

Yet there are reasons to believe that, philosophically speaking, Proclus’ solution is the stronger one. First, one could wonder what the ‘Ineffable’ as a principle adds to the analysis. In fact, even though Damascius would avoid this, it tends to reify the Ineffable into being a separate unity, or a ‘principle’ beyond the One. When looked at from this angle, the contribution delivered by this additional principle is in fact a reinforcement of the problem: instead of safeguarding the Ineffable from determination, one adds the need to determine it as a separate entity. Second, the problem to which this solution is supposed to give an answer will return after all: Damascius’ treatise on Problems and Solutions about the Principles opens with a discussion of the paradox that the first principle of all things cannot be called a principle since that would co-ordinate it with reality. Calling it ‘Ineffable’ detaches it from this determination as a principle. But a few pages further, Damascius has to admit that even calling it ‘Ineffable’ is attributing too much of a determination to it (Dam., De princ. I 8.12–20). That is to say, detaching the First from the One opens the way to an infinite regress in which the ineffability of the principle should always lead to dissatisfaction about even calling it ‘ineffable’. If that means that one has to posit a principle beyond the one that is discovered to be ineffable, there is no limit to the exercise (the problem will return at every additional level). Proclus’ answer has the advantage of putting this infinite regress to a stop before even yielding to it. To him, the recognition of the One’s ineffability suffices to indicate the limits of speculation, even though this means that the One as a cause and the One as ineffable are held together in a difficult tension. The best way of dealing with the dilemma is by maintaining the viewpoint that the ‘One’ is in itself a negative determination, escaping any characterization but that, as a principle, it causes unity. That is, it is not really a cause since it basically only repeats itself. But even then, calling it ‘a cause’ would imply some kind of relationship to other things (which is impossible in the case of the One). The only fruitful way to call it ‘a cause’ is to look at it from below, as that on which all things depend for their (unitary) existence. As already indicated, this is not a description of the One per se but ex effectibus.

Proclus is going to make broad use of this distinction by applying the Platonic scheme of viewing intelligible things as unparticipated (i.e. per se), which return at a subsequent level as participated entities (i.e. in their effects). The subsequent level thus participates in the former one, whereby the participating being now posits itself as an unparticipated existence, to be participated in at the next level, and so on. We shall return to this scheme later on.

After all, because the name of ‘the One’ is primordially negative, it suffices to suggest the One’s transcendent nature:

It is better, as Plato did, to stick to the negations and to indicate through them the transcendent superiority of the One, namely, that it is not intelligible nor intellective nor any other of those things that we cognize by our pluralized conceptualization (δι’ἐπιβολῆς μεριστῆς). For, since the One is the cause of all things, it is nothing of all things. (Procl., in Parm. VI 1108.16–20)

The same holds true, mutatis mutandis, for that other ‘functional name’ attributed to the first principle: the ‘Good’. This name is not inspired by negations but by analogy and, more precisely, by Plato’s analogy of the sun, which eventually leads to the famous recognition that ‘the Good transcends being’ (Resp. VI 509b9). Unlike the way of negation, the way of analogy proceeds by emphasizing a certain kind of kinship between the effect and its cause. Starting from every being’s natural desire for the good, we gain the notion of the absolute Good, and hence, we come to a characterization of the cause of all things as ‘the Good’.

This procedure of analogy still presupposes the transcendence of the principle as laid out by the way of negation (which explains why the way of negation, and the name of ‘the One’, has priority): the kinship of the effect to the cause can only be truly acknowledged if one recognizes the ‘higher’ status (or the transcendence) of the cause over against the effect. This coincidence of transcendence and kinship underlies any causal relationship. Proclus brings this up by referring to the scheme of ‘procession’ (proodos) and ‘remaining’ (monê)—procession being the element that presupposes the transcendence of the cause, and remaining referring to the kinship: ‘All that is immediately produced by any cause both remains in it and proceeds from it’ (Procl., El. theol. § 30, 34.12–13).⁶

This may seem to entail that, to the Neoplatonists, when one refers to the three traditional approaches to the conception of god, a true via eminentiae (way of eminence) is not conceivable as a third option apart from the via negationis (way of negation) and the via analogiae (way of analogy). As H. D. Saffrey points out, this third way, which consists in pointing out the eminence of a certain characteristic and attributing it to the highest one, requires an ousiology, a real way of talking about a principle that is and to which characteristics can be attributed in a meaningful way. Since this is not the case with the Neoplatonic first principle, this way seems to be closed indeed.⁷

Yet there is a certain validity in a way of eminence in the case of the Neoplatonists, which is closely linked to the way of negation. The names of ‘One’ and ‘Good’ are defective ways of saying the unsayable. At the same time, however, saying that the ultimate principle is ‘not One’ or ‘not Good’ suggests, at the very least, that goodness and unity are reliable tokens or signals under way that point in the direction of where the highest principle is to be found. Saying that the principle is ‘higher than evil’ or ‘higher than quantitative bulk’ would be pointless from this perspective, as this does not give any relevant information about how to find this ‘higher’ reality. Yet, in the case of ‘higher than One’ or ‘higher than Good’, the qualification does become relevant. That which is denied then becomes a meaningful landmark in our quest for the principle.

This insight has important repercussions. In the first place, it indicates that the highest principle is, in a certain mysterious way, the transcendent source of goodness and unity, just as the via eminentiae of Christian theologians would have it. Proclus often uses this type of vocabulary, combining analogy and negation (see e.g. Procl., Theol. plat. III 2, 7.21–7). Every being is caused by its ‘source’ (pêgê). If, for instance, we ascend from the particular and dissipated instantiations of beauty or likeness towards the Beautiful in itself or the Like in itself, we do not need to know what the latter are in themselves: it suffices if we can indicate them as sources of the beautiful or of likeness (Procl., in Parm. VI 1108.23–8). The way to that source is the same as the way of negation, for the cause is not part of the things it produces. This holds true particularly for the first cause. One can indicate it as ‘divinity in itself’ (autotheos) since every single divinity proceeds from it, but even that name contains too much of an affirmation: ‘If at all we need to say something affirmative about the First principle, I think it is better to follow Plato’s preference, by calling it “the source of all divinity”, than to call it otherwise’ (Procl., in Parm. VI 1109.4–6). This does not entail any positive denotation of the principle’s nature but allows one to discuss it ‘as the principle and cause of all things, as the goal of all things and the object of desire for all’ (in Parm. VI 1109.7–8). Elsewhere, Proclus quotes the Chaldaean formula of ‘source of sources’ (pêgê pêgôn; in Tim. I 451.17–18; Theol. plat. III 7, 30.3–10), which stresses even more the ascent from effects to cause without ever grasping the cause in itself.

Thus, the denotation of the First as the ‘source’ or the ‘cause’ reveals a certain via eminentiae, presenting the First principle as the transcendent origin of all things. Its effects display the characteristics that the cause has in an eminent way, even though these characteristics are only indirect and less austere manifestations of the highest principle. In that sense, the Neoplatonic via eminentiae is based on the via negationis. Typically, a cause is nothing of the things it produces (see Procl., in Parm. VI 1075.23), and the eminence of the cause can only be shown by way of negation (αἰτίας δηλοῦσιν ὑπεροχήν: in Parm. VI 1076.8–9). The thesis that the One is the ‘Cause’ is interchangeable with the characterization of the One as ‘Nothing’.⁸ As Proclus himself says:

As far as I am concerned, I have the impression that, by this second mode [i.e. the way of negation], Plato reveals the procession of all other things out of the First, and primordially the procession of the divine realms. On the basis of that, the First is transcendent to all the things it produces because a cause always surpasses its effects. And on the basis of that, it is nothing of all things, as everything proceeds from it. (Procl., Theol. plat. II 5, 37.19–25)

Even though this connection between the negations and the order of procession may be a token of the transcendence of the First, it also gives another important clue concerning the via negationis. The order of the negations is not random; to the contrary, it reveals the order of procession. The nothingness of the First requires that we deny all characteristics, yet denying them affirms each of them as a characteristic. In other words: one can only deny that which presents itself as a valid candidate for denial. The later something is denied the better or more worthy its position in the order of things, and the final negations bring us closest to the First. Thus, the affirmations about the principle (which form the subject matter of the second hypothesis of the Parmenides) are in fact generated by the negations: ‘As the One is the cause of everything, so are the negations the cause of the affirmations.’⁹ Hence, the discourse that tries to grasp this transcendent cause is engaged in a constant conflict with itself:

It does not come as a surprise, then, that those who want to know the ineffable by reason render reason itself impossible: any knowledge that tries to grasp an object to which it is not connected, destroys its own power. If, for example, we were to say about sense-perception that it connects to the object of knowledge, it would make itself impossible, and [the same would happen to] knowledge if [we were to say that] it connects to the intelligible, and likewise with all other forms of cognition. So, if there would be a rational account of the ineffable, it would constantly undermine itself and be in conflict with itself. (Procl., Theol. plat. II 10, 64.2–9)

On the one hand, one needs to recognize that this First principle transcends all discourse and all concepts. On the other hand, however, reason cannot but consider this principle to be the first and eminent source of all reality. Despite the enormously heavy emphasis that Proclus lays on the unknowability and transcendence of the One as discussed in the first hypothesis of the Parmenides, he can still maintain that this hypothesis is about the first god and specifically about ‘how this god produces and sets in order (διακοσμεῖ) all classes of gods’ (Procl., in Parm. VI 1063.16–17).

When discussing the First principle, we need to confine ourselves to using negations. Yet despite themselves, the negations reveal a productive principle, in that they show the First as a transcendent cause of those things that are denied of it. As a consequence, the notion of ‘cause’ is infected with the same ambiguity. It is a reliable description insofar as it expresses the relation of the effects to the principle, but it is, nevertheless, still deficient: at Theol. plat. III 8 the First principle is said to be ‘transcending unity and the cause’.¹⁰ If, then, we attribute the name of ‘cause’ to the principle, we actually use this word to denote the absence of that which produces things. Yet the term does have positive connotations as well: all of reality is seen as the ‘effect’ of the First principle. But how can we say that the cause produces things? Proclus is very explicit in denying that the First principle would display any activity:

Some say it is necessary for the First to display an activity (ἐνεργεῖν) towards its effects. It gives unity to all things and is the cause of all participated unitary forms in beings. What, then, would prevent one from calling exactly this activity a ‘movement’? Well, I say one must not make activity (ἐνέργεια) precede being, nor ascribe any kind of activity to the First. (Procl., in Parm. VII 1167.12–17)

The reason why Proclus denies this so emphatically is not too farfetched. Not only would the introduction of energeia be doing away with the First’s unity; one should also realize that any activity presupposes a power (dunamis). This would not necessarily make the First principle potential in the Aristotelian sense—as we will see, the Neoplatonists introduced a notion of dunamis as active or generative power. But it would still mean that introducing an energeiaentails introducing a dunamis that would definitely be too much of a plurality to attribute to the First principle (cf. Procl., in Parm. VII 1167.17–21).

What way of producing, then, should we ascribe to this principle? Proclus conceives of a form of producing that is superior to the production by displaying an activity, namely, that of ‘producing by the mere fact of being’ (τὸ τῷ εἶναι μόνῳ παράγειν: Procl., in Parm. VII 1167.30). This means that the principle produces, without actually being occupied with production (ἄπραγμόν ἐστι ποιήσεως: in Parm. VII 1167.31). Without any preoccupation with lower reality, the First still brings forth this reality, by giving unity to every existing thing (cf. Trouillard 1958). Through its being one, all things get their unity—and, as we shall see, unity is the condition for separate existence (huparxis).¹¹

This brings Proclus close to the Aristotelian analysis of the first cause of motion, which does not interact with things but sets them into motion as the object of desire (Ar., Met. Λ, 1072b1–4). Proclus acknowledges this analysis of the first cause in terms of final causality, as this allows one to thematize production by attributing an activity not to the producer but to the produced. The scheme is thus reversed: the effects are the active pole in causality because they tend towards the First, rather than vice versa (Procl., in Parm. VII 1169.4–11). That is to say, final causality is not so much the explanation of procession as it is the explanation of the universal reversion of things towards the principle. Yet, since reversion follows the same stages as procession, one can deduce the levels of procession from this causal scheme.

This Aristotelian theme of final causality is not the only way of speaking about the productivity of the First principle, however. Since all Platonism implies that intelligible principles are true causes, the Neoplatonists could not describe any principle without attributing efficient causality to it. So, despite the lack of activity of the First, there must be some way of explaining its efficient nature. In order to do this, the Neoplatonists used the metaphor of the superabundance of the principle by which it produces without any voluntary act. The final cause, in its completeness, perfection, and fullness, that is, in its Goodness, is, as it were, overflowing. Goodness is always productive: if something is not productive, it cannot be good:

It is the mark of goodness to bestow on all that can receive, and the highest is not that which has the form of goodness but that which does good (τὸ μέγιστόν ἐστιν οὐ τὸ ἀγαθοειδές, ἀλλὰ τὸ ἀγαθουργόν). (Procl., El. theol. § 122, 108.19–21)

Indeed, the ‘Good’ is the name we attribute to that which gives its gifts to lower reality. The entire procession of reality starts from this diffusivum sui of the Good in a specific way: every level of reality is the unfolding of something that was present at the higher level in a hidden way (kruphiôs). This means that that which is unfolded lies, as it were, compressed within the higher unity and returns in a decompressed way at the subsequent level:

The manifold exists in a hidden and undistinguished way in the first principles, but in a distinct way in the lower things. The more a being is related to the one, the more it hides multiplicity and the more it is defined according to unity only. (Procl., Theol. plat. III 9, 39.20–4)

Proclus uses the language of ‘manifesting’ or ‘revealing’ that which was hidden higher up: he sees the lower as an ekphansis (manifestation) of the higher, and the verb ekphainein (lit. ‘to manifest’) is often used in the sense of ‘to produce’.¹² The transition from hidden multiplicity to genuine distinction takes place in the procession from the intelligible to the intellective world. At this level, the multiplicity of the Platonic Forms reveals itself (Procl., in Parm. IV 973.14–16), and before it (i.e. in the intelligible world and the First principle) there was no real distinction (Procl., Theol. plat. III 3, 12.23–13.1). Yet even the intellective realm does not display a totally distinct plurality. The Forms present themselves first as one whole: the World of Forms as a totality where the Forms do not yet exist separately. The true distinction of the Forms occurs only at the level of the human soul (Procl., in Parm. III 808.4–10). Proclus nicely summarizes the different stages of unity: the first One is only one (hen monon esti) and transcends thinking; the Intellect thinks everything as a unity (hôs hen), and the soul views all things one by one (kath’hen; Procl., in Parm. III 808.10–17). That is to say, our soul will never ascend to total unity; we are destined to envisage the different forms in a discursive way.¹³

To explain how this process of multiplication takes place, Iamblichus introduced a pair of principles: Limit (peras) and the Unlimited (apeiron), derived from Plato’s Philebus (and taken up in the Pythagoreanizing reading of Plato to which Iamblichus subscribed; cf. O’Meara 1989). Proclus shares these views, starting from the premise that the First principle does not actually ‘produce’ things (as we have seen earlier). So, to explain the existence of plurality, one needs an account of principles that govern the procession. The ‘Limit’ and the ‘Unlimited’ are, or so Proclus believes, well designed to fulfil this task.

The principle of the Limit is that which isolates every being, circumscribes it, and places it within its proper boundaries (Procl., in Crat. § 42, 13.21–6). Thus, it is the first principle that really bestows this demarcation upon beings (the First remaining transcendent). In that sense, it allows things to exist separately and thus causes the separate existence (huparxis) of things (Procl., in Tim. III 176.1).¹⁴ Without boundaries or limit, a thing cannot exist. That means that peras is a unifying principle—in fact, peras is the first true one, the first principle that actually brings forth unity (or rather: transmits the unity from the transcendent principle onto beings). The name of ‘One’, which could not be attributed to the First principle unless in a defective and metaphorical way, can now be genuinely predicated of this principle of Limit, and the negations regarding the First principle can now be turned into affirmations. In this respect, the following text is of crucial importance for a good understanding of the ‘Limit’ as well as of the ‘Unlimited’:

For the First is not really one, as it transcends even the One. Where is the One in the genuine sense of the word to be located? There is a one before being, which brings forth being and which is its cause in a primordial sense—for the principle beyond that was transcendent, it transcended unity as well as the cause; it did not have any relationship to the universe, and it was unparticipated, elevated above all things. If, then, this one is the cause and producer of being, there must be a power in it that is generative of being. For every productive principle produces in accordance with its proper force, which is to be situated in between the producer and the produced as the former’s procession and as it were extension, and the latter’s presiding generative cause. For, indeed, being, which is produced by those principles and is not the one-in-itself but bears the one in itself as a form, has received its procession out of the one from the power (which produces being and reveals it from the One), and it has its hidden unity from the existence of the One. Well then, this One, which precedes the power, and which comes to be as the first pre-existent effect of the unparticipated and unknowable cause of all things, is what Socrates in the Philebus calls ‘the Limit’, whereas the power that is generative of being is called ‘the Unlimited’. (Theol. plat. III 8, 31.12–32.5)

Hence, Limit (peras) is the first genuine One, which by its presence delineates the separate existence of beings.¹⁵ It provides beings with a ‘remaining identity’ (monimos idiotês)¹⁶ and thus guarantees that the effect will remain in its cause (monê): the conservation of unity within multiplicity at all levels of reality (Theol. plat. III 8, 32.15–16 and 23–5).

Yet, again, this One-Limit is not productive in itself. The procession (proodos) is a process of differentiation, whereas it is only the principle of identity that we have discovered thus far. The explanation of the procession requires a new principle, a generative power that will work along with the Limit in the constitution of the universe. This is the task of the Unlimited (apeiron), interpreted as the generative power (gennêtikê dunamis) that makes things productive.

The connection between apeiron and dunamis is occasioned by the Chaldaean Oracles,¹⁷ but there is also a more genuinely philosophical reason for this link. The Neoplatonists interpreted the term dunamis in a kind of reversed Aristotelian scheme: whereas in Aristotle dunamis (potentiality) refers to sheer receptivity or passivity, the Neoplatonists took the passive dunamis (which is inherent in matter) to be a mirrored shadowing of the dunamis at the level of the principles, where an active dunamis is present as the principles’ productive power. Thus, the dunamis at the highest level implies the potential presence of plurality, which we thematized earlier on as the ‘hidden’ plurality. In that sense, the new interpretation has conserved an aspect of Aristotelian potentiality but from a reversed angle: in the case of plurality, potentiality is in fact more elevated (because of its unitary nature) than actuality.¹⁸

In the Philebus, limit and the unlimited function within a quadripartite scheme in which the ‘cause’ produces a ‘combination’ (mikton) of the two opposite principles. Since the cause is identified as the First principle, with the opposite principles below it, it is logical to say that ‘being’ (the monad of Being, i.e. the highest level of the intelligible world)¹⁹ is the first mikton. Yet in Proclus’ system, the operation of the two opposite principles does not stop there. In fact, any being, every level of being, is a mikton of Limit and the Unlimited. Hence, all levels in reality, from the very top to the very bottom, display a duality of Limit and the Unlimited. Put differently, Limit and the Unlimited both have their proper series (seira or sustoichia), the limit-like characteristics (i.e. unity, proper existence, determination) of any being belonging to the series of Limit, and the characteristics of the unlimited (i.e. power, potency, lack of determination) belonging to the series of the Unlimited.²⁰

Thus, the unity of the highest goes together with potential plurality. This dunamis is most prominent at the highest level. Therefore, the higher levels can be said to be ‘more dynamic’ and even ‘more infinite (unlimited)’ than the lower ones: ‘A more unified power is always more infinite (apeirotera) than a power that pluralizes itself’ (Procl., El. theol. § 95, 84.28–9). The arguments adduced in support of this proposition are a reminder of El. theol. § 86, which points out that, when something is divided or multiplied, the dunamis is multiplied across the different members. When divided, the dunamis is enfeebled; when multiplied, it loses its unity. Yet how can something be ‘more infinite’ than something else? The explanation lies in the hierarchical structure of the universe: ‘All unlimitedness (to apeiron) in things that have being is unlimited neither to the superior orders nor to itself’ (Procl., El. theol. § 93, 84.1–2, tr. Dodds, modified). This relative infinity follows immediately from the explanation of the procession: the higher produces the lower, not out of any ‘will’ to produce but because of the superabundance of its power (dunameôs periousia or dunameôs huperbolê).²¹ This superabundant power of a higher level is impervious to the lower levels, as the lower always displays an increasing actual multiplicity that prevents it from grasping the comprehensive potency of the higher all at once. Hence, the higher is more infinite than the lower, and the highest stages of the procession consist of a chain of successive infinite powers. Every being is brought about by the infinite power of the higher and posits itself as an infinite power with respect to the subsequent stages.

In this way, Proclus can argue for the coexistence of unity and multiplicity in the procession, which gradually develops itself without ruptures or sudden multiplications. Yet the opposition of principles at this high a stage of reality will elicit a severe critique from Damascius, who cannot accept this kind of multiplicity immediately below the First principle. It is not clear how the principle of Unity would lack the power to unite the opposite principles. As a consequence, in Damascius’ view, Limit and the Unlimited cannot be opposed to one another on the same level, as simultaneously coexistent and yet opposed. Rather, he wants to view the operation of these principles as a self-development of the One in a vertical hierarchy of principles (Dam., De princ. II 15.1–31.6). This critique may be justified, but it should not obscure the fact that Proclus has obviously raised this question himself and that his answer is more nuanced than what Damascius allows to be seen. The key to this nuance lies in Proclus’ statement that the unlimited power is always inherent in the existence delimited by Limit. One could refer to a number of passages where Proclus argues for the ontological priority of Limit over against dunamis.²² The Unlimited presupposes the determined existence of a thing (i.e. Limit) as its bearer:

Such is, then, the first triad of intelligible things, according to Socrates in the Philebus: Limit, the Unlimited <and the Mixture>. Of those, the Limit is a god who proceeds at the head of the intelligible from the unparticipated and first god; it gives measure and determination to all things.…The Unlimited is the inexhaustible power (δύναμις ἀνέκλειτπος) of that god. (Procl., Theol. plat. III 12, 44.22–45.4)

This means, then, that the opposition between the principles is more subtle than one might suppose at first glance. The Unlimited is the inherent power that lies encompassed within the existence demarcated by Limit. Moreover, at the intelligible level, those principles are not really distinct: since there are no distinctions yet at this level, the unlimited power should be seen as identical with the existence of intelligible beings. Our reason tears things apart in opposed terms since we need to proceed on the basis of distinct concepts.

With that caveat, all beings can be seen as triadic (peras/huparxis—apeiron/dunamis—mikton/on). A typical feature of this explanation is that, unlike Plato’s suggestion in the Philebus, Proclus does not consider the mixture (mikton) to be a principle of its own: the principle of the combination is always the ‘cause’, and there is no need for a further principle of mixture. That is, at all levels, the mixture is the effect of the operation of the principles: it is ‘made by’ the One, whereas the two opposite principles are ‘manifestations of’ the One:

To the extent that ‘making’ (ποιεῖν) is inferior to ‘manifesting’ (ἐκφαίνειν), and that ‘generation’ (γέννησις) is inferior to ‘revelation’ (ἔκφανσις), to that extent the mixture has received an inferior procession in comparison to that of the two principles. (Procl., Theol. plat. III 9, 36.16–19)

This indicates an essential difference between the mixture and the principles: the two principles are virtually identical with the First principle, manifesting its presence through their operation, whereas the mixture is a product of the principles. The inference is clearly that the mixture does not possess its own operation as a principle that would set forth the combination of the two principles. Rather, this combination is reinstalled at all levels by the cause, the limit, and the unlimited themselves. As a corollary to this, Proclus holds that limit and unlimited exist in a twofold way: as principles before the mixture and as ingredients within the mixture (Procl., Theol. plat. III 10, 42.13–26).

Even though the mixture is the effect of the principles and not a principle itself, every mixture acts nonetheless as a cause upon lower reality. The intelligible mixture, for instance, ‘causes the world of genesis and its mixed nature’ (Theol. plat. III 10, 41.16–17). This causality rests on the central claim that every level contains in itself, in a more unified way, all that will subsequently develop. Porphyry had already applied the Anaxagorean principle of ‘All things are in everything’ (panta en pasin) to the Neoplatonic universe, by adding the qualification ‘though in a way that is appropriate to each thing’ (oikeiôs de en hekastôi) (Porph., Sent. 10.1): all things contain in themselves everything in accordance with the characteristics that prevail at that level of reality (cf. Procl., El. theol. § 103, 92.13).²³ Thus, the first Being will contain everything in the most unified way, which will then be decompressed at the following stages. At the highest levels of the intelligible, this triadic procession reveals itself in a structure that is derived from Plato’s Sophist (248e): the first mixture is Being as such (ousia), the second is Life (zôê), and the third is Intellect (nous). This can be schematized as follows:²⁴

Throughout this procession, every mixture (mikton) displays its own typical mode of being as a new combination of limit and the unlimited, and this mode of being will determine the development of the subsequent level. In that sense, the mixture does have a causal role to play.

The triadic account of the procession of beings brings us to the interpretation of the second hypothesis of Plato’s Parmenides on the deductions from the supposition that the One is. In this hypothesis, the negations of the first hypothesis are taken up again, but they now return as attributes that can effectively be affirmed of the one. In Proclus’ interpretation (which closely follows Syrianus’ account), this hypothesis concerns the one-that-is (to hen on),²⁵ i.e. not the First principle but the realm of Being, which is ‘one’ in the sense that it takes its unity from the First cause. This realm of Being can be unravelled on the basis of the different conclusions (discussing different affirmations) of the second hypothesis, that is to say: the sequence of affirmations is a sequence of specific levels of being, through which the procession is realized by gradually adding more specificity (and thus plurality) to being. In this sequence, every level presupposes the preceding ones as the accumulated determination to which another step will be added. This procedure can be explained by stating that, at every stage, the newly reached characteristic posits itself as unparticipated (amethekton), i.e. as an absolute characteristic that determines the whole level. At the next stage, this characteristic returns as participated (metechomenon), which it will remain at all subsequent (cumulative) stages.

All of this can be schematized as follows:²⁶

The order of the affirmations stands in strict parallel with the order of the negations of the first hypothesis (Theol. plat. II 10, 61.19–62.18), with one notable exception: whereas being is the last predicate to be denied, it is the first to be affirmed. Plato has kept, or so Proclus explains, the most important negation to the end: it denies all things, and summarizes the entire hypothesis. In the second hypothesis, being returns immediately as the highest predicate to be affirmed (Procl., in Parm. VII 516.22–517.22). The overall parallelism between the two orders has a specific reason: ‘the negations do not undo what is present in the underlying reality but generate their counterparts’ (Procl., Theol. plat. II 10, 63.9–10). Thus, the negations generate the affirmations.

A specific problem for an interpreter like Proclus lies in the fact that the triadic structure of the One-Being (hen on) is not present as such in the Parmenides.²⁷ Following the latter account, the combination of One and Being results in a bipartite structure, whereas the triadic structure is derived from the Philebus. Yet Proclus sets his hermeneutical skills to reconciling the two. At the end of Theol. plat. III (chs 23–8), Proclus argues that in the One-Being, the One has a supra-essential existence (huperousios huparxis: Procl., Theol. plat. III 24, 84.8), i.e. that it exists in itself before Being. Yet it has a certain relation (schesis) to the being with which it is combined at this level. So, the dual scheme in fact presupposes a middle term (meson) that lies hidden between the two components. This middle is the One’s dunamis, ‘through which and with which the One is productive and perfective vis-a-vis Being’ (Procl., Theol. plat. III 24, 84.9–14). In that way, Proclus succeeds in linking together the analysis taken from the Philebus with the theological doctrines of the Parmenides. The question remains, though, why Plato kept silent about this middle term in the Parmenides. According to Proclus, this mesê dunamis is certainly not inexistent (anhuparktos): the relation between the two terms is a real one. Yet this dunamis is hidden: it is not yet really distinct from the One since multiplicity is not yet truly distinguished at the level of the intelligible (Procl., Theol. plat. III 24, 84.21 and 28: ἡ δύναμις ἐνταῦθα κρυφίως ἐστιν).

With all the analyses in this chapter, we are now prepared to face one of the most difficult and mysterious elements of the Proclean system: the doctrine of the Henads: separate units that are all one (and thus coincide) while at the same time being different, as different gods. This doctrine has time and again been described as a kind of obscurantist attempt to introduce pagan polytheism in a thoroughly monistic system,²⁸ and for that matter, it has often been dismissed as an unintelligible and inconsistent (because of the introduction of multiple gods immediately below the One) addition to the speculation.²⁹ Of course, it is true that the Henads represent the pagan gods. But that should not exempt us from the task of finding a hermeneutic by which the Henads can be integrated as smoothly as possible into Proclus’ rational system. Our interpretation will therefore rest on the assumption that a systematic thinker like Proclus would not satisfy himself with the sudden inconsistency of introducing a multiplicity immediately below the One. In fact, we believe that the doctrine of the Henads does not have to constitute a rupture with either the rational endeavours of Proclus nor with the monism or monotheism he installs.

Going back to the second hypothesis of the Parmenides, we can review Proclus’ interpretation as a survey of fourteen processions of the One-Being, that is, fourteen stages on which a form of unity is combined with a specific (kind of) being. In these combinations, the ‘One’ obviously takes pride of place: ‘the One illumines, fulfils and divinizes Being (καταλάμπον καὶ ἐκπληροῦν καὶ ἐκθεοῦν τὸ ὄν), whereas Being depends on the One and is divinized by it’ (Procl., Theol. plat. III 24, 85.1–4). The One uses Being as a kind of vehicle and even ‘steps on it’,³⁰ thus displaying, as we have already seen, a transcendent existence (huperousios huparxis) over against the being with which it is combined. As shown by the scheme, these unities are instances in which the One (that posited itself as unparticipated in the First principle) is present as participated.

These fourteen classes of ‘one’ (hen) that combine with beings are called (classes of) Henads. They are instantiations of the first One, with a precise (and cumulative) addition (prosthesis or pleonasmos: Procl., Theol. plat. III 4, 14.16–15.5) in every single case, which makes them different from the absolute unity of the One.

Proclus’ insistence on the Henads’ existing beyond being and on their pluralized existence, has led most commentators to believe that the Henads constitute a separate level in reality, below the First and above Being. There, the traditional gods would reside in close connection to the First principle. This view, however, entails at least two inconsistencies: (1) in opposition to his own principles, Proclus would thus posit a large multiplicity immediately below the One where it would, moreover, rival the two principles of Limit and Unlimited; (2) if, as Proclus says, a lower level always displays a larger (actual) multiplicity than a higher one (see e.g. Procl., El. theol. § 62, 58.22–3), then the relation between the Henads and Being would be an exception to this rule: the classes of being that participate in the Henads are of the exact same number as the Henads themselves (Procl., El. theol. § 135, 120.3–4).

These inconsistencies (which it is hard to believe that Proclus would not have spotted himself) can be solved only by accepting that the Henads do not occupy a separate level in reality, as is shown by H. D. Saffrey and L. G. Westerink in their edition of Theol. plat. III. The mode of existence of the Henads (and their relation to the First One) needs to be reconsidered. They do not occupy a ‘horizontal’ plain between the First and Being, but they are, rather, coextensive with the different stages of being in the second hypothesis of the Parmenides. That is to say: the Henads exist at every single level of the One-Being. The One is always the Henad, present as the top of the combination, and thus there are fourteen classes of Henads. They all have two common characteristics: they have a typicality (idiotês), which is expressed by the affirmations of the second hypothesis (Procl., Theol. plat. I 10, 43.15–16); at the same time they are all one, and in that sense identical with one another and with the One itself.

At in Parm. VI 1047.20–1051.25, Proclus explains this ‘unity with the One, without merging together’ (πρὸς τὸ ἓν ἀσύγχυτος ἕνωσις: 1050.12). He first shows an analogy with the interrelation of the Forms at the level of the World of Ideas: all Ideas participate in each other, which is another level at which one can see the involvement of separate entities in each other. Yet the case of the Henads is different: the Henads do not just participate in each other, but qua hen, they are fully identical with one another. They fully coincide since any kind of ‘participation’ or other qualifications of the relation between the Henads would do away with their unitary existence. Of course, this means that the problem rebounds: if they are identical, then how can the Henads be distinct? Proclus emphasizes the purity of the Henads as displaying one single characteristic that distinguishes them from one another (the characteristics as described in schema 4.2), without affecting their unity. In fact, the difficult conciliation between the Henads’ unity and difference is due to our conceptualization, which describes the Henads as seen from below. We ascribe certain qualities to them on the basis of their effects, i.e. the things we find existing in the beings that depend on every single Henad: ‘we know their unity and their typicality from secondary things that depend on them’ (Procl., in Parm. VI 1049.2–3). Thus, our difficult description of the Henads is due to indirect knowledge that teaches us that the Henads, as the top of the series of beings, have the pure characteristic of these beings, while at the same time being the unity that cannot be differentiated. On the other hand, this indirect knowledge is the best we can obtain, as we have no access to the undifferentiated and unknowable realm in which the Henads exist in their own right. In other words, the gods get their names from the effects they produce, even though, in their separate existence, they all coincide and are not affected by their effects (cf. Procl., El. theol. § 162, 140.28–142.3).

From this angle, our conceptualization of the Henads reveals them to be principles of order: their typicality is transmitted to the entire class of beings that depends on every single Henad. We then get different series of beings, headed up by the Henad, which in itself remains unparticipated and unknowable but whose characteristic is present at all levels of the series.³¹ This bond between the Henad and the beings that depend on it is realized by the Henad’s creative power (Procl., El. theol. § 152, 134.6–22), by which it is capable of bringing forth its proper class of beings.

Thus, I believe it is safe to say that the Henads are the unknowable and unparticipated top level of every class of intelligible beings; they are the One that combines itself with Being and through this combination obtains its own typicality. Yet, in their quality of being one, they all coincide and are literally identical.

This may answer the question where to situate the Henads in the system, but it does not yet provide an answer to another, even more difficult, question: how the doctrine of the Henads can be reconciled with the two opposite principles, Limit and Unlimited? At El. theol. § 159, Proclus says:

Every class of gods stems from the first principles: Limit and Unlimitedness; some are more dependent on the cause of Limit, and others more on the Unlimited. (Procl., El. theol. § 159, 138.30–2)³²

On the other hand, in the same work he states the opposite: ‘all that is divine is primordially and eminently simple’ (Procl., El. theol. § 127, 112.25). How can the composite nature of the Henads then be reconciled with their absolute simplicity or unity? E. R. Dodds was puzzled by this problem, which had been raised already by Nicholas of Methone in the twelfth century, in his fierce refutation of Proclus’ Elements of Theology:

It is somewhat surprising that the henads, which are ἑνικώταται and ἁπλούσταται (Procl. 127), should be infected by this radical duality: πῶς σύνθετοι οἱ θεοί;? asks Nicolaus à propos of the present passage, and I confess I do not know the answer. (Dodds 1963: 281, commenting on El. theol. § 159)

How, then, is the doctrine of the Henads to be reconciled with the analysis of the procession of the principles? The question is too fundamental to be left open, and it is hardly conceivable that Proclus—even though we have no direct answer in the extant works—would not have an answer (cf. Van Riel 2001a).

An important clue to finding an answer is that Proclus does sometimes bring those two aspects of his system together. At Theol. plat. III 12, he calls the principle of Limit a god who proceeds, at the head of the intelligible world, from the unparticipated god, while Unlimitedness (apeiria) is the bottomless power of this unparticipated god (Procl., Theol. plat. III 12, 44.23–45.6). And there is also the text from Theol. plat. III 8, already quoted, where Proclus asserts that there is a one (ti hen) that precedes being, as its productive cause, and possesses the generative power to produce—adding that this one is what Plato calls peras (Procl., Theol. plat. III 8, 31.14–32.7). This is the terminology of the Henads: a ‘certain one’ (ti hen), connected to being, as opposed to the unparticipated absolute One. The ti refers to the typicality (idiotês) of the Henad, and the relation with being is one of a generative dunamis. One may safely say that Limit and the Unlimited are, indeed, applied to the case of the Henads here, whereby Limit refers to the existence (huparxis) of the Henad,³³ and the Unlimited is the generative power proper to every single Henad. In a general statement on the intelligible triads, Proclus says the following:

The first member of every intelligible triad is Limit, Henad, and existence (πέρας καὶ ἕνας καὶ ὕπαρξις), the second is Unlimitedness and power (ἀπειρία καὶ δύναμις), and the third is Mixture (μικτόν), i.e., Being [ούσὶα, in the first triad], Life [ζωή, in the second] and intelligible Intellect [νοῦς νοητός, in the third]. (Procl., Theol. plat. III 14, 51.6–7)³⁴

All of this suggests that the first Limit (the principle itself), which we have detected previously as the first ‘real One’, in which being participates, is the first Henad. It constitutes the pinnacle of the first One-Being, characterized as Being itself. Thus, the analysis of the One-Being as a triadic structure (hen/peras—dunamis/apeiria—on/mikton) is in fact an analysis of the way in which a Henad functions towards the being that depends on it. It poses itself as the one that ‘rides upon’ being, and produces being by its hidden apeiria or generative power. In that sense, the Henad maintains its supra-essential existence (huperousios huparxis) while at the same time heading a series of beings that depend on it through its productive power (paraktikê dunamis).

If this is true, then we can broaden the scheme by inferring that the one within every one-being refers to a Henad, which sets itself as the first element of the triad (the limit or peras) at each separate level and contains in itself the hidden power to produce its proper class of beings.

In that sense, the Henads are supra-essential without constituting a separate level of all Henads between the One and Being. They are, rather, the self-identical repetition of the one beyond a specific class of beings, characterized by the typicality of every single Henad, which typicality we deduce from the characteristics of the beings that depend on that Henad. In themselves, the Henads are not differentiated: they are nothing but ‘one’, just like the First One, but with this difference: the Henads are participated forms of unity—and it is this participation that differentiates them ex effectibus.

On the basis of this analysis, we can now refine the scheme of the fourteen stages of the one-being as in Schema 4.3 on the next page.

In this way, the theology or henadology taken from the second hypothesis of the Parmenides can be reconciled with the overall structure of the principles. The exegesis of the second hypothesis (the intelligible realm) is one specific instance of the way in which the First principle, the Limit, and the Unlimited produce being. The operation of these principles is broader than this: it continues at all levels below the Intelligible, down to matter as the sheer receptivity (or passive dunamis) that inverts the generative power of the higher realms. Because, however, the account of Limit—Unlimited—Mixture is only a schematism that does not explain what the specific typicality of a certain level of being looks like, we still need the theology of the Parmenides and the physics of the Timaeus to explain the difference and sequence of the procession of all beings. In that sense, one can say that the triadic structure, which, as Damascius points out, deviates from the exegesis of the Parmenides,³⁵ is broader than what one finds in both the Parmenides and the Timaeus,³⁶ but it only offers the frame or the skeleton of the system. The contents of the doctrine need to be derived from the two dialogues that close the Platonic curriculum: Timaeus and, above all, Parmenides.