he soul is every virtue, and this species of the beautiful
possesses far greater reality than any of the superior we have
mentioned. But after what manner in this is commensuration to be
found? For it is neither like the symmetry in magnitude nor in
numbers. And since the parts of the soul are many, in what
proportion and synthesis, in what temperament of parts or concord
of speculations, does beauty consist? Lastly, of what kind is the
beauty of intellect itself, abstracted from every corporeal concern,
and intimately conversing with itself alone?

We still, therefore, repeat the question, What is the beauty of bodies?
It is something which at first view presents itself to sense, and which
the soul familiarly apprehends and eagerly embraces, as if it were
allied to itself. But when it meets with the deformed, it hastily starts
from the view and retires abhorrent from its discordant nature. For
since the soul in its proper state ranks according to the most
excellent essence in the order of things, when it perceives any object
related to itself, or the mere vestige of a relation, it congratulates
itself on the pleasing event, and astonished with the striking
resemblance[5] enters deep into its essence, and, by rousing its
dormant powers, at length perfectly recollects its kindred and allies.
What is the similitude then between the beauties of sense and that
beauty which is divine? For if there be any similitude the respective
objects must be similar. But after what manner are the two beautiful?
For it is by participation of species that we call every sensible object
beautiful. Thus, since everything void of form is by nature fitted for
its reception, as far as it is destitute of reason and form it is base and
separate from the divine reason, the great fountain of forms; and
whatever is entirely remote from this immortal source is perfectly
base and deformed.[6] And such is matter, which my its nature is
ever averse from the supervening irradiations of form. Whenever,
therefore, form accedes, it conciliates in amicable unity the parts
which are about to compose a whole; for being itself one it is not
wonderful that the subject of its power should tend to unity, as far as
the nature of a compound will admit. Hence beauty is established in
multitude when the many is reduced into one, and in this case it
communicates itself both to the parts and to the whole. But when a
particular one, composed from similar parts, is receive