beings; nor can we discover any source from which men could derive
them, but from God. There is therefore a peculiar nature and power in
the soul, distinct from those natures which are more known and familiar
to us. Whatever, then, that is which thinks, and which has
understanding, and volition, and a principle of life, is heavenly and
divine, and on that account must necessarily be eternal; nor can God
himself, who is known to us, be conceived to be anything else except a
soul free and unembarrassed, distinct from all mortal concretion,
acquainted with everything, and giving motion to everything, and itself
endued with perpetual motion.

XXVIII. Of this kind and nature is the intellect of man. Where, then,
is this intellect seated, and of what character is it? where is your
own, and what is its character? Are you able to tell? If I have not
faculties for knowing all that I could desire to know, will you not
even allow me to make use of those which I have? The soul has not
sufficient capacity to comprehend itself; yet, the soul, like the eye,
though it has no distinct view of itself, sees other things: it does
not see (which is of least consequence) its own shape; perhaps not,
though it possibly may; but we will pass that by: but it certainly sees
that it has vigor, sagacity, memory, motion, and velocity; these are
all great, divine, eternal properties. What its appearance is, or where
it dwells, it is not necessary even to inquire. As when we behold,
first of all, the beauty and brilliant appearance of the heavens;
secondly, the vast velocity of its revolutions, beyond power of our
imagination to conceive; then the vicissitudes of nights and days, the
fourfold division of the seasons, so well adapted to the ripening of
the fruits of the earth, and the temperature of our bodies: and after
that we look up to the sun, the moderator and governor of all these
things; and view the moon, by the increase and decrease of its light,