History of My Calamities & Works 3 part 6/9

For he who carries out what ought not to have been promised, doubles the effect of an evil work, since, namely, to a perverse promise he joins a perverse deed, and does not choose to correct his evil promise by ceasing from the work. What retribution is. Retribution is that constant affection through which a due penalty may be inflicted for evils committed. And in each of these four parts of justice, that which we set forth at the outset in the definition—namely 'the common good being preserved'—is established to be understood. For it is fitting, as we have also recalled above, that this be the end of our works, that each should seek not so much his own advantages as the common ones, and should live not so much for himself as for all, according to that, namely, which Lucan chants in praise of Cato:

For only the man free from hatred has leisure for noble pursuits, only he is free to mourn the human race. . . . Likewise: . . . Such were the manners, such the unbending creed of stern Cato: to keep due measure and hold to a limit, to follow Nature and to spend his life for his country, and to believe himself begotten not for himself but for the whole world. And after some lines: . . . He is a father to the city, a husband to the city, good in the common cause. For whoever attends to his own advantage belongs to a feeble nature, but whoever attends to that of others belongs to outstanding virtue. And he who, caring only for himself, is content with his own advantage and earns from others neither favor nor praise, ought to esteem his own life of little worth.

Each one ought, according to his own measure, to imitate God, who, although He needs nothing, takes the least care for Himself but cares for all, and ministers not what is needful to Himself but what is needful to all, as the steward of the whole fabric of the world, as though of one great commonwealth. There are some who, distinguishing the parts of justice by a larger number not of things but of names, mark off with several words many things that we comprehend under a single term, and divide into parts what was enclosed in the whole: namely piety toward parents; friendship, that is, goodwill toward those who love us, for their own sake rather than in hope of any advantage, with an equal disposition on their part toward us; and gratitude in the repayment of benefits.

But surely it is agreed that these three are subsumed under beneficence, by which the soul is ready to render all due kindness, namely both to parents and to others. Concerning natural or positive justice. Now in those things that pertain to justice one must not overstep the path not only of natural but also of positive justice. For one law is called natural, another positive. Natural law indeed is that which reason itself, which is naturally implanted in all, persuades us must be fulfilled in deed; and therefore it abides among all peoples, such as to worship God, to love one's parents, to punish the wicked, and the observance of all such things as is necessary for everyone, so that no merits ever suffice without them.

But positive justice is that which, instituted by men for the safer protection or the enlargement of utility or of honor, rests either on custom alone or on the authority of what is written: such as the penalties of punishments, or the verdicts of courts in examining accusations—seeing that among some peoples there is the rite of duels or of red-hot iron, while among others the end of every controversy is settled by oath and every dispute is committed to witnesses. Whence it comes about that, since we must live with whatever people, we are bound by their institutions also, of which we have spoken, just as by the natural laws.

Those very laws too, which you call divine—namely the Old and New Testament—hand down certain natural precepts, which you call moral, such as to love God or one's neighbor, not to commit adultery, not to steal, not to become a murderer; but certain others belong as it were to positive justice, which were adapted to certain people for a time, such as circumcision for the Jews and baptism for you, and very many others, whose precepts you call figurative.

The Roman pontiffs too, or synodal assemblies, daily frame new decrees or grant certain dispensations, by which you assert that things once lawful now become unlawful, or the reverse—as though God had placed it in their power that by their precepts or permissions they make good or evil things that were not so before, and that their authority can prejudge our law. It now remains, however, that after the consideration of justice we turn our pen to the two remaining kinds of virtue. Concerning the parts of fortitude. Fortitude, then, seems to us to be comprised under two parts, namely magnanimity and endurance. What magnanimity is.

Magnanimity is that by which, when a reasonable cause underlies our care, we are prepared to undertake any arduous thing. What endurance is. Endurance, on the other hand, is that by which we steadfastly persevere in the undertaking of this purpose. Concerning the parts of temperance. The parts of temperance, as far as I can see—and I think you will not disapprove—are these: humility, frugality, gentleness, chastity, sobriety. What humility is. Humility is that by which we so restrain ourselves from the appetite for empty glory that we do not seek to appear greater than we are. What frugality is. Frugality is the bridle of excessive lavishness, by which we refuse to possess beyond what is necessary.

So too gentleness is the bridle of anger, chastity of lust, and sobriety of gluttony. And it must be noted that, since justice is the constant will of the soul which preserves to each one what is his own, fortitude and temperance are certain powers and a strength of the soul by which, as we mentioned above, the good will of justice is confirmed. For since their contraries are weaknesses, they themselves are surely established to be powers. But the feebleness of the soul which is contrary to fortitude is a certain infirmity and powerlessness of it, which we may call cowardice or faintheartedness.

Intemperance too, the opposite of temperance, is a certain weakness and powerlessness of the soul that is unable to resist the impulses of its irrational movements, by which, as if by certain henchmen, the feeble mind is dragged into the wretched captivity of the vices, and becomes the handmaid of those over which it ought to have ruled. But just as justice is that good will of which we have spoken, so injustice is the contrary will. And justice indeed makes a man good, while fortitude and temperance make him upright, because what we will from the former, by the latter we have the strength to accomplish.

I think, then, that I have for the present distinguished the kinds or parts of virtue, so that in them are included all the steps by which one attains to blessedness and lays hold of the highest good according to one's merits. Now, if it seem good to your prudence, we are prepared to receive whatever you have decided to approve or disapprove in these matters, or if perhaps you judge that something should be added for completeness. The Christian: So indeed it is fitting.

But before we come to those steps of the highest good which you have set forth, let us return to the dispute about the highest good or the highest evil—a dispute interrupted, not abandoned—and let it be determined what is called simply the highest good or the highest evil, and whether the highest good is anything other than the highest good of man, or the highest evil other than the highest evil of man. A return to the interrupted inquiry concerning the highest good. The Philosopher: It is agreed and believed among all who philosophize rightly that the highest good is called nothing other than God, whose incorporeal and ineffable blessedness, ignorant of both beginning and end, can neither be increased nor diminished.

But the highest evil I declare to be the highest misery or torment of punishment of whatever creature it may be, whether of man or of another; while the highest good or highest evil of man—as I have already noted and determined above—I understand to be the rest of the life to come or its perpetual punishment. This, then, I judge to be the difference between the highest good and the highest good of man: that, as is clear from what has been premised, the highest good is God Himself, or the supreme tranquillity of His blessedness, which we nonetheless reckon to be nothing other than Himself, who is blessed of Himself and not from any other source:

But the highest good of man is that perpetual rest or joy which each one receives after this life according to his merits, whether in the very vision or knowledge of God, as you say, or in whatever other way it may come about. The highest evil, however, is, as I have said, the highest misery or punishment of whatever creature, undergone according to its merits. And the highest evil of man we call whatever torments men undergo there according to their merits. Concerning the highest evil. The Christian: As far as I perceive, you understand both the highest evil and the highest evil of man to be nothing but the punishments of the age to come, rendered according to merits. The Philosopher: Just so indeed. The Christian:

But surely those punishments imposed according to merits are just, because it is just thus to punish those who have deserved it. And whatever is just is agreed to be good. Therefore those punishments which you call the highest evil or the highest evil of man are without doubt good. See, then, whether you seem to grant that to be the highest evil which is good rather than evil. For I do not see by what reasoning you call that the highest evil, or the highest evil of man, which is in no way evil. The Philosopher: You must remember that it was shown above by you yourself, by the testimonies both of our authors and of yours, that every affliction too is evil rather than good. Yet I do not think it must therefore be granted that every affliction is an evil thing;

for frequently a change of gender in adjectival words varies the sense, so that it is one thing to say that a punishment is good (bonam), and another to say that a punishment is a good thing (bonum), that is, a good object. Just as it is one thing to say that this bronze statue is everlasting (perpetuam), which is false, and another to say that it is an everlasting thing (perpetuum), that is, some object that is everlasting, which is true—namely the bronze itself, whose nature is enduring and unfailing. But also, since every proposition is something composite, we nonetheless do not call every proposition composite, but only that which has propositions among its parts, that is, the hypothetical; nor do we call every expression composite which we know to be a composite thing, nor will we grant that every expression which we call simple is a simple thing.

So then, when we say that some punishment is just or good—on the ground, namely, that it is just or good for him who is tormented to be thus afflicted—we are nonetheless not compelled to grant that it is a just or good thing. You too, when you hold that every creature is good—on the ground, namely, that nothing from God's creation is anything but good—and do not deny that even this man who is evil is a creature, and through this you concede that he who is evil is a good thing, you nonetheless do not on that account admit that he is a good man. For no man is to be called good except him who is adorned with good morals. But a good thing or a good creature may be called even that which is irrational and inanimate.

But although God is said to have created all things good, and this little man or this horse has now been created by Him, although he was created a good thing, he was nonetheless not yet created a good man or a good horse; nor did God Himself create this little one, who is to be perverse, as either a good man or an evil man, but He fashioned him as a good thing or a substance of good nature; nor did He ever create that horse, which is never to be good, as a good horse—though He seems to create not a few horses defective, which are said to contract some defect in their very creation, whence afterward they become useless or of little use.

It is agreed that men too naturally contract some defects in their very creation, from the complexion of the elements, so that they naturally become wrathful, or lustful, or ensnared by other vices. But perhaps not even that angel set above the rest as a kind of Lucifer, who you say afterward apostatized, did He create a good angel or a good spirit—the one who you say never stood firm in the truth or in the love of God; and most of you assert that charity once possessed is never lost. For no angel or spirit, or even man, who is estranged from the love of God and from true charity is rightly called good, just as none is called evil so long as he is without sin.

If therefore that angel was created neither with sin nor with the love of God, how is he to be said to have been created as yet a good or an evil angel? So too individual men, when they are created not yet in possession of reason, are not to be called either good men or evil men by creation, since indeed by their very creation they did not receive that they should be good men or evil. Some of them, moreover, since they naturally become sickly or foolish, and are born occupied by various vices both of soul and of body, and since all men in common are created mortal, surely from their very creation the substance of human nature, though good, becomes a partaker of many evils.

For, as Aristotle records and as manifest truth holds, nothing can be contrary to good except evil. It is plain, therefore, that both mortality and the other things just premised, with which we are born, are to be reckoned among evils—since indeed no one doubts that their contraries are goods—and that certain vices or evils are naturally present, from the very creation, in certain good substances: such as mortality in man, irrationality in the horse. For although mortality is not called a vice of man—since by it no one is worse than another man, in which all share equally—yet it is a certain vice of nature in man himself, since in this human nature exists worse or weaker than that which is immortal.

As therefore we grant that any man whatsoever, however deformed by vices, is a good thing—yet we do not on that account admit that he is a good man—so on the contrary we declare that any punishment is an evil thing, although we hold some punishment to be good. See, then, that it does not follow that, if we lay down a good and just punishment to be the highest evil of man, we therefore grant that what is good is his highest evil. For even if, as has been said, that punishment is good (bona), it is not on that account to be called good simply, that is, a good thing (bona res). The Christian:

Be it now as you say, that you, namely, cannot be argued from what has been granted into conceding that what is good is the highest evil of man, although you do not deny that punishment which is good and just to be that highest evil. But again I ask: since both the preceding guilt and the punishment arising from it are evil, which of these is to be called the worse and the greater evil of man—whether, namely, his guilt, which makes the man evil, or the punishment which, inflicted by God, executes a just judgment in him? The Philosopher: Certainly, as I reckon, the worse evil of man is his guilt rather than his punishment.

For since among any evils that one is not doubted to be greater than another which displeases God more and is worthy of punishment, who would not see clearly that guilt is worse than the punishment of guilt? For it is by guilt that a man displeases God—whence he is called evil—not by the punishment that is inflicted for guilt. For the former is injustice, the latter the due effect of justice, proceeding from a right intention. It is plain, therefore, that in man that is the worse which makes him guilty, than that which, by punishing, executes a just judgment in him. The Christian: Since, then, a man's guilt is a greater evil of man than his punishment, how do you call a man's punishment his highest evil, by which—as has been said—the evil man is evil through guilt? The Philosopher:

It pleases me, then, if you disapprove our opinion in this, to hear your judgment upon it: namely, what you reckon ought to be called the highest evil of man. The Christian: That, surely, which can make him worse—just as, on the contrary, his highest good is that by which he is established to be made better. The Philosopher: And what, I pray, are those? The Christian: His highest hatred or his highest love toward God; for by these two it is agreed that we either displease more, or please more, Him who is simply and properly called the highest good. And each of these surely follows after this life.

For those who are tortured with everlasting and greatest punishments, the more they feel themselves weighed down by them, the more, out of the very despair of pardon, they blaze with greater hatred toward Him by whose judgment they are punished. They would utterly wish Him not to exist, so that at least thus they might be freed from punishment; and so they are far worse there in hating than they were here in despising. So on the contrary, whoever enjoy that vision of God, of which the Psalmist says: 'I shall be satisfied when Thy glory shall appear'—that is: after Thou hast manifested to me the majesty of Thy divinity through Thyself, I shall seek nothing further, lacking nothing;

they are then made better in proportion as they love Him more, whom they more truly behold in Himself, so that, namely, that highest love in that enjoyment of the highest good—which is true blessedness—is rightly to be called the highest good of man. For so great is that glory of the divine majesty that no one can gaze upon it who does not, in the very vision of it, at once become blessed; whence it is also said: 'Let the wicked be taken away, lest he see the glory of God.' Since therefore His faithful ones, who loved Him above all things, shall have beheld so great a blessedness as they could in no way estimate by faith, this their highest exultation shall be their perpetual blessedness. The Philosopher:

It pleases me, then, that the highest good or evil of man be understood as that by which, as you say, a man is made better or worse. But if this comes to pass in the life to come—namely, that we are made better there, or worse, than here—surely there too we seem to merit something more than here. For by however much we are made better or worse than before, by so much are we judged worthy of greater punishment or reward. But if there too there is an advance of merits, so that, the more we know God, the more we love Him, and our love grows in God together with the very retribution, so that we are always made better—surely the increase of our blessedness is thus extended to infinity, so that it is never perfect, because it always receives increment.

The Christian: Do you not know that in this life there is only a time of meriting, and in that life of being rewarded—here, namely, of sowing, there of gathering? Although therefore we are made better there by the reward of merits than we had been here by merits, it is nonetheless not necessary that there we again merit anything. This very thing too—that there we are made better than here—is the retribution of merits had here.

And this retribution, since when rendered for merits it makes us better, does not again merit a reward, since it is appointed only as a reward of merits, not had again in order to merit something further. For among us too, when someone receives some recompense of friendship from a friend, and loves him on this account because of it, he is not judged again to merit a reward from him on account of this greater love—which comes, namely, from the reward rendered—so that thus merits should be extended to infinity.

For although, by the constraint of obligation, love is increased through the retribution of reward, so that it seems not so much voluntary as necessary—since indeed such an affection is naturally implanted in all, that the very retribution of reward brings with it a certain increase of love, and kindles us into love of the giver by a kind of necessity, or rather by love of ourselves, rather than by virtue or love of the rewarder—if therefore among men a friend receives a reward from a friend and is compelled by the very reward to love more, and yet is not on account of this increase of love said to merit again, what wonder is it if in the other life too, loving God more from the reward received, we should by no means turn the reward itself again into merit?

Or finally, what forbids it to be granted that that glory of the divine majesty is so great that there can always be some advance for us in the vision of it, so that, the longer we behold it and the more it makes itself known to us, the more blessed it makes us? For this increment of unbroken blessedness is worth more than a greater blessedness that keeps only one mode and advances by no increment. The Philosopher: How, I ask, can there be any advance in that vision of God, or any difference among those very ones who behold, since indeed that altogether highest good is simple? It can never be beheld except as a whole, nor can anything be beheld by one which is not beheld by another. The Christian:

The diversity is surely not in the thing beheld, but in the mode of beholding, so that, the better God is understood, the more our blessedness is increased in the vision of Him. For even in understanding any soul or spirit, we do not all understand it equally, although such incorporeal natures are said to have no parts in the quantity of their essence. And when any body, or some part of it, is gazed upon by several at once, it is nonetheless better seen by one than by another; and according to some nature of that body it is better known and more perfectly understood by this man than by another; and although the same thing is understood, it is nonetheless not understood equally.

So too the divine essence, which is altogether indivisible, although all behold it by understanding, they nonetheless do not perceive its nature equally. Thus God imparts the knowledge of Himself to this one more perfectly and better than to that one, according to their merits, and manifests Himself more fully. For it can come about that, although this one knows all the things that that one knows, this one nonetheless knows each thing better and more perfectly than that one; and although as many things are known by this one as by that one, the one nonetheless does not have as many sciences concerning the same things as the other, or does not know the same things as well. The Philosopher:

Did not the angels whom you say fell ever have that vision of God in which true blessedness consists, or at least that chief one among them who, in comparison with the rest, is likened to Lucifer? The Christian: By no means is it to be believed that any of them had it—neither any of those who fell, nor even those who did not fall—until, after the fall of the others, they received this vision (by which they should at once both become blessed and be confirmed, so that they could no longer fall) as a reward of their humility. For all the angels, like men too, were created such that they could both act well and act ill. Otherwise those who did not sin would have no merit from this very thing, that they did not consent to the rest in sinning.

But that a prerogative of a certain excellence was attributed to Lucifer came about not so much from blessedness as from keenness of knowledge—on the ground, namely, that, being more outstanding than the rest in the light of knowledge, he was created more subtle for understanding the natures of any things whatsoever. Considering this in himself, he was puffed up and swollen out of the very greatness of his knowledge, by which he saw himself set above the rest, and presumed to greater things than he could hope for: namely, that, because he knew himself set above the rest, he reckoned himself to be made equal to God, and that he himself, like God, should obtain a kingdom. Whence, the higher he raised himself through pride, the worse he fell through guilt. The Philosopher:

This too, I pray, define: whether this highest good of man—I mean, namely, that highest love of God which man receives from the vision of God—is to be called an accident of man; and again, whether it is fitting to call the highest good an accident of substance, as though it were to be preferred to the very subject substance. The Christian: When, distinguishing accidents and the substances subject to them, you turn to the words of philosophical teaching, you measure only those things which belong to earthly, not to heavenly, life:

for this secular and earthly discipline has been content with only those instructions which are adapted to the state of the present life, and not to the quality of that future life, in which neither these words nor any teaching of men is necessary. They applied the rules of their arts when they investigated the natures of things; but, as it is written: 'He that is of the earth speaks of the earth.' If therefore you strive to ascend to that summit of the heavenly life, which far transcends all earthly discipline, do not lean too much on the rules of earthly prophecy, by which not even earthly things have hitherto been able to be fully comprehended and defined, much less heavenly things.

But whether that love which is said to be possessed in the heavenly life is an accident or some kind of quality, it brings no profit to define—a thing that cannot be truly known except by the experience of it, since it far transcends every sense of earthly knowledge. And what does it matter to blessedness whether we lay it down to be an accident or a substance or neither, since, whatever we say or suppose, it is not on that account changed, nor does it diminish our blessedness? Indeed, if you carefully consider what your philosophers have said about accidental and substantial forms, you will see it to be neither substantial to us—since that is not present in all—nor accidental—since, after it has been present, it cannot be absent.

Whence even your own opinion describes an accident as that which can be present and absent. What too is the hindrance, if we grant that love also which is to be there in the future, like the present one which we have here, to be an accident? For although our substance is reckoned better or worthier than any accident of it, the highest good of man nevertheless seems not incongruously to be called that which, by participation in itself, renders the man himself best and most worthy; and, that we may speak more truly and more probably, let us establish that God Himself, who alone is properly and absolutely called the highest good, is also the highest good of man—by participation, namely, in that vision of His which we said, which we enjoy, we are made truly blessed.