“Neither, therefore, does the pentad consist of substance and accident, as a white man; nor of genus and difference, as man of animal and biped; nor of five monads mutually touching each other, like a bundle of wood; nor of things mingled, like a drink made from wine and honey; nor of things sustaining position, as stones by their position complete the house; nor lastly, as things numerable, for these are nothing else than particulars. But it does not follow that numbers themselves, because they consist of indivisible monads, have nothing else besides monads, (for the multitude of points in continued quantity is an indivisible multitude, yet it is not on this account that there is a completion of something else from the points themselves); but this takes place because there is something in them which corresponds to matter, and something which corresponds to form. Lastly, when we unite the triad with the tetrad, we say that we make seven. The assertion, however, is not true: for monads conjoined with monads, produce indeed the subject of the number 7, but nothing more. Who then imparts the heptadic form to these monads? Who is it also that gives the form of a bed to a certain number of pieces of wood? Shall we not say that the soul of the carpenter, from the art which he possesses, fashions the wood, so as to receive the form of a bed, and that the numerative soul, from possessing in herself a monad which has the relation of a principle, gives form and subsistence to all numbers? But in this only consists the difference, that the carpenter’s art is not naturally inherent in us, and requires manual operation, because it is conversant with sensible matter; but the numerative art is naturally present with us, and is therefore possessed by all men, and has an intellectual matter which it instantaneously invests with form. And this is that which deceives the multitude, who think that the heptad is nothing besides seven monads. For the imagination of the vulgar, unless it first sees a thing unadorned, afterwards the supervening energy of the adorner, and lastly, above all the thing itself, perfect and formed, cannot be persuaded that it has two natures, one formless, the other formal, and still further, that which beyond these imparts form; but asserts, that the subject is one, and without generation. Hence, perhaps, the ancient theologists and Plato ascribed temporal generations to things without generation, and to things which are perpetually adorned, and regularly disposed, privation of order and ornament, the erroneous and the boundless, that they might lead men to the knowledge of a formal and effective cause. It is, therefore, by no means wonderful, that though seven sensible monads are never without the heptad, these should be distinguished by science, and that the former should have the relation of a subject, and be analogous to matter, but the latter should correspond to species and form.