Canon Law & Easter Computus 9

CHAPTER ONE. A particular reasoning concerning the world, and a natural disputation and clearer exposition of those things which were earlier shown to be agreed upon in the formation of man. This is the book, says the Scripture, of the generation of heaven and earth, when all the things that are seen were perfected, and each thing, distinguished, withdrew to its proper place; when this revolving body of heaven established all things, while the heavy bodies, those that incline downward, obtained the middle place of the whole creation—namely earth and water, mutually containing each other. But a certain bond and support of the things that were made is the divine and eternal power, inserted into the natures of existing things, which governs the universe by twin effects.

For in rest and in motion it has contrived not only generation from things that do not stand, but permanence for things that subsist, around the most weighty and unchangeable immobility of nature, as it were a certain stable and most firm axis, continually carrying around the most swift circulation of heaven after the manner of a wheel, and preserving the indissoluble substance through each by means of both. For the revolving matter, by its most rapid motion, wheeling around the solidity of the earth, draws it tight, and the stability of the earth, by its immovable firmness, is unceasingly extended through the circuit of the revolving things:

and an equal magnitude is fitted together according to each of those things whose operation differs, that is, both of that which is of stable nature and of that which is snatched along in unceasing rotation; for neither can the earth be transferred from its proper solidity, nor can heaven ever be slackened in the most swift revolution of its motion. And these things are proved to have been constructed first, according to the wisdom of the Creator, as it were a certain beginning of the whole fabric—as that magnificent Moses declares by this, that he commemorates the heaven and the earth to have been made by God in the beginning, and that out of the motion and the rest which are seen in this creation, according to the divine counsel, all things in generation were brought forth.

Since therefore heaven and earth are separated from one another by equal measures according to a contrary efficacy, that creature which is in the midst of the contraries, partaking in a certain part of the things that cohere with it, connects the divided extremities by its own mediation. So that the conjunctions of the contraries to one another are made manifest by this interposition. For the air imitates in some degree the substance of the ever-moving and most subtle fire, both by the lightness of its nature and by the readiness of its motion: yet it is not of such a kind that it should appear alien from the kinship of the most solid things, neither remaining ever immovable, nor continually flowing away and failing:

but by the property of each it is made, as it were, neighbour to certain effects of the contraries, at once mingling and dividing within itself the things that are by nature distinct; and according to this same reckoning it is fitted together with both contrarieties, being supported also by a twofold affection toward the liquid substance. For inasmuch as it is heavy and inclined downward, it is bound by much kinship to the earthly nature; but inasmuch as it is of fluid and flowing efficacy, it is in no way known to be devoid of a movable nature:

for by this very thing there comes to be a certain mixture and concourse of opposites, while heaviness passes over into motion, nor again is motion retarded by heaviness, but they come together to one another, things that are by nature divided at their extremities, while they are mutually coupled by a certain mediation—or rather, by a most careful design not even the very substance of the contraries exists without an intermixture of the other's property. Likewise, as I judge, all the things that are discerned in the world consent to one another in mutual fellowship, and all creation is known to conspire into one, while it is found in the properties of opposites. For since motion comes about not only according to local translation, but also according to a turning and changeable manner:

and likewise the stable nature in no way admits the motion which comes about through change: the wisdom of God, permuting the properties of each, made the immovable nature indeed convertible, but the movable nature inconvertible—dispensing these things thus by a certain providence, lest that which is singular or proper to the divine nature (that is, immobility and unchangeableness), being beheld in some creature, should cause one to esteem the creature to be God. For the soul will not be able to be seen to hold the opinion of Divinity concerning that which is movable or mutable. For this reason the earth indeed is stable, but mutable; whereas heaven, on the contrary, since it is not mutable, is at the same time not stable:

so that the divine power, by attaching mutability to the stable substance and mobility to the unchangeable, and coupling each to the other through the contrariety of both by their own properties, might remove from the opinion of Divinity that which is neither of these (as has been said) of the divine nature, namely that which is proved to be mutable and unstable. All things, therefore, have been fittingly adapted to their own end. For they are perfect, as Moses says: the heaven and the earth and those things that are midway between them, all of wondrous beauty, each thing suitably adorned: the heaven indeed glittering with the lights of the stars; the sea and the air wondrously exulting with living things, both those that swim and those that fly;

but the earth, exulting in a certain way with the manifold natures of herbs and the diversities of shrubs, which, quickened by the divine power that preserves all things, brought forth; and indeed it was filled with all kinds of species, producing fruits together with flowers, full and prepared for those things that are wont to arise in them: all the ridges too of the mountains and the summits, and whatever is convex and upturned, or level and outspread in the valleys, were crowned with the new species of herbs and the varied beauty of trees—at one moment, as it were, eminences rising out of the earth, but soon rejoicing in the comeliness that hastens to their perfection, all things quickened according to their own measure by the divine command.

The beasts of burden indeed, herd by herd according to their own kind, lingered as they ran about in the wood; and with the modulated songs of the birds all the woods resounded in harmony. The face of the sea also (as one may esteem) was then established in its deepest gatherings with the greatest placidity and tranquillity. Beside it, stations and harbours, made as it were certain bays by the divine will, joined the seas to the lands along the shores; and the most quiet motions of the waves were rippled like green meadows, ruffling the surface of their upper face with fitting subtlety by the slightest and harmless breezes; and the whole globe, according to its creation, stood prepared by land and sea. But meanwhile there was none who might make use of these things. CHAPTER TWO.

Why man was made last after the creation. For not yet was that great and precious thing, man, the lord of the world, present; nor indeed had it been fitting that the prince should exist before those things over which he would exercise his princely rule. But when all things had been prepared to be subjected to him, it was now consequent that the ruler should appear. Since therefore the Creator of the universe had made, as it were, a certain royal dwelling for the future king—and this was the earth, islands, seas, and above these the heaven curved in the manner of a vault—and had stored up the manifold riches of the kingdom;

and by riches I mean the whole creation—whatever is in herbs and plants and trees, whatever is in things spiritual and sensible and animate; to which riches it is fitting that even the metals too be numbered, which on account of the beauty of their colours have seemed precious to human eyes, such as gold and silver and those stones that men love—hiding away the abundance of all these, as in certain royal treasuries, within the bounds of the earth, He straightway introduced man into this world, that he might be a spectator of certain wonders, but of certain others might hold the dominion as ruler;

so that through the things he would use he might understand the Bestower, and through the things he contemplates as beautiful and magnificent he might be able to investigate the ineffable power of his Maker. For this reason man was introduced last into this world after the creation: not as the most vile, cast off in the extremest part, but as one whom it befitted to be straightway begotten as ruler. For just as a certain excellent host does not introduce the diner into the house before he has prepared the feast, but, setting in order all the furnishings and fittingly adorning the house—the couches too, and the table, and the rest—then invites the summoned guest to the delights now made ready:

after this manner the rich and abundant Creator and Nurturer of our substance, filling the dwelling of this world with all good things and arranging these great and varied feasts, thus introduced man, giving him as an excellent task to keep a commandment, so that he might rejoice not in the appetite of things that do not exist, but in the possession of things present. Therefore He also wove for him the causes of a twofold composition, mingling the spiritual with the earthly, so that through the kinship of both he might possess each property—enjoying God spiritually indeed, but receiving earthly goods by bodily use. CHAPTER THREE. That the human condition is more precious than every creature that is seen.

But it is worthy that this matter too should not pass by uncontemplated: that the construction of this so great world, and the universality of its parts by which it is contained in the elements, is brought to perfection by the divine power on the instant, subsisting together with the command; whereas the formation of man was preceded by the counsel of so great an Artificer, and by the description of the word it is signified beforehand what is to be—what manner of thing it ought to be, and the similitude of what first form it should bear, for what cause it should come to be, and what, when finished, it should effect, and over what things it should hold dominion. All these were first perceived in action, so that before his generation man might in a certain way obtain a more ancient dignity, possessing the principate of all things before he subsisted. For God said:

Let us make man to our image and likeness, and let him have dominion over the fishes of the sea, and over the beasts of the earth, and over the birds of heaven, and over the cattle of the whole earth. O what a marvel! the sun comes to be, and no counsel precedes it; the heaven also, to which nothing in the visible creatures is found similar, is perfected by a word alone, and so wondrous a work—neither whence it should be made nor in what manner—is intimated: so too each single one of the creatures, the ether, the stars, and the air which holds the middle place, the sea, the earth, the animals and all things that are born, are produced by a word only, that they may be;

but to the making of man alone the Creator of the universe approaches, as it were, with counsel, and prepares the matter that is necessary for his construction, and fits the likeness of him to the form of the primal and principal beauty, and intimates the intention, for the sake of what thing he should come to be, establishing for him a nature congruous to its effects, which is proved to be most apt for the purpose. CHAPTER FOUR. Why in all respects the very construction of man should signify a certain imperious power.

For just as in this life instruments are suitably fitted by craftsmen for whatever uses, so our nature is constructed by the most excellent Artificer as a certain thing congruous to the work of rule, which, whether according to the prerogative of the soul or according to the habit of the body, would be such as should appear more opportune for commanding. In short, the soul—that which is royal and most sublime, sundered far from private lowliness of its substance—is hence more clearly declared, in that it is subjected to no one's rule, having the freedom of choice, and dispensing itself by its own will and governance; for whose property is this, save the one who commands?

Over and above these things, the Lord of the whole creation, made to the image of his Creator, indicates nothing else than that straightway in him a royal nature was formed. For just as, according to human custom, those who fashion the image of princes not only imitate the impression of his form, but also depict the royal dignity by the purple robe, and the image itself is already by custom called emperor; so also the human substance—since it was being founded for the rule of others on account of the likeness of the King of the universe—is composed as a certain living image, partaking of the primal form both in name and in honour, not by a covering wrapped about with purple, nor by sceptre or diadem intimating the glory of its dignity:

For no royal form, properly speaking, is seen to reside in these things; but in place of a purple robe she is clothed with virtue, which is approved as more precious than all royal ornaments; and in place of a sceptre she is upheld by blessedness and immortality; and with the royal diadem of righteousness she is adorned as with a crown. So that through all these things it is shown that the beauty begotten unto royal dignity diligently expresses in itself the likeness of the primal Form. CHAPTER V. That man is shown to be the likeness of sovereignty. But the divine beauty, it is clear, is not adorned by any outward garb or appearance, nor by the brightness of any colour, but is set forth by an ineffable honour of felicity.

For just as painters transfer the forms of men onto panels by means of certain colours, mixing the proper and fitting pigments, so that the grace of the primal form passes over into a likeness by a most diligent transformation: so do I understand that the Fashioner of our substance, as it were by certain colours of the virtues, bestowed a wondrous beauty upon His own image, expressing in us His proper sovereignty. Now manifold and multiform are the colours of this image, by which the likeness of the true Form is depicted.

It is not white lead and rouge, nor any quality of these mixed one with another, nor the laying-on of some black that lines the eyelids and the eyes, and the contour fashioned hollow and sunken by some blending, or whatever like things the hand of the painter has composed by the skill of the craftsman; but in place of these there is present purity, impassibility, blessedness, the turning-away from all evil, and whatever else is of this kind, through which the divine likeness is imprinted in men. With such flowers did the wondrous Creator adorn His own image, that is, the nature of our condition.

But if you examine also the other things through which the divine glory shines forth, these too you will assuredly find preserved intact in the image after His likeness; for the supreme Godhead is mind and word. For in the beginning was the Word; and those who, according to Paul, make progress profess that they have the mind of Christ, who speaks in them. Do not, therefore, behold these things as far removed from human nature: for in you also there is both word and understanding, which imitate the Word and Mind divine. Likewise charity, and the fountain of charity; for this, says that great John, because charity is of God. This, as it were a person, Christ the Fashioner of our substance, bestowing it upon us, says:

By this shall all men know that you are my disciples, if you have love one toward another. But if this love be lacking in us, the whole appearance and figure of the image shall be dissolved. The Godhead also beholds and hearkens to all things and searches out all things. You too have, through your eyes and ears, the living efficacy of this matter, and you know that you possess an understanding that searches out the things that are. CHAPTER VI. An inquiry as to what relation the mind bears to nature, in which also the doctrine of the Eunomians is incidentally refuted. Let no one suspect me of saying that the divine power, after the likeness of human operation, embraces all things by diverse effects.

For it is not lawful to perceive in that divine simplicity a varied and manifold power of operation; nor indeed in us are there many efficacious powers of things and causes, although the things that pertain to life seem to come about by a manifold operation. For there is implanted in us a single power, namely of the mind, which running out through each of the senses lays hold of the things that are presented to it. This through the eyes beholds the things to be seen; this through the ears hears the things that are spoken; this in those things which are desirable rejoices, and from those which are judged unpleasant turns away. With the hands too it accomplishes whatever it wills, retaining things and again casting them off, and using the effects of these instruments as it judges expedient.

If then in man, for whom the diverse functions of the members have been fashioned by their Author, it is one and the same thing that operates through all the senses, using each fittingly as the occasion may demand, nor by the differences of operations does it change the force and power of its nature: how much more in God, although the effects of His powers be diverse, ought no one to suspect His essence to be manifold? For He that planted the ear, does He not hear? Or He that fashioned the eye, does He not consider? As the prophet testifies, by these examples insinuating operations of this kind as it were certain most familiar impressions of human nature: For let us make, says God, man unto our image and likeness.

But where now will the abominable heresy of the Eunomians stand for me? What will they say against this utterance? How by these words will they defend the novelty of their doctrine? Is it possible, they will say, that one image should reflect the likeness of dissimilar forms? For if, according to their opinion, the Son is unequal to the nature of the Father, how did God form one image of diverse natures? For He who said, Let us make man unto our image, insinuating to us the holy Trinity by the plural signification, would by no means have testified to His image in the singular, if the primal Forms had stood dissimilar to one another. For it is not possible that of those which least agree with one another, one single likeness should be shown;

but if the natures had been diverse, He would assuredly have formed diverse images of them, each suited to each. Or is it because there is indeed one image, but the form of the image is not one? Who is so bereft of understanding that he can fail to know that those things which are approved as like to one single thing preserve also, beyond all doubt, their own likeness to one another? And perhaps for this reason the divine word, foreseeing this malice in the constitution of human life, and cutting off the perversity of the Eunomians, says: Let us make man unto our image and likeness. CHAPTER VII. Why naked man is approved as wanting natural weapons and coverings.

But what does the very uprightness of his posture intend; and why are the effects of bodily strength not co-born with him for life, but rather man is brought into this life naked, unarmed even with natural coverings, helpless and most destitute of all necessary things, who, by what is seen, would appear to be worthy of compassion rather than of felicity? For he is not armed by the production of horns, nor fortified with the protection of claws or teeth, nor is any death-bearing venom infused into some sting—with which things most of the beasts and serpents are by nature equipped for their own defence;

nor is his body covered with hair, although it would have been fitting that he who was set forth for the sovereignty over others should be fenced about by natural provision with his own weapons, lest for his own guarding he should need the aids of others. But as it now is, the lion indeed, and the boar, and the tiger, and the leopard, or whatever is like to these, naturally possesses strength sufficient for its own safety; the bull has horns, the hare swiftness, the stag both leaping and a sure gaze, and other living creatures size, and to yet others a projecting member of the mouth, which the common folk call a trunk; to flying things too the office of wings, and to bees a sting; and to absolutely all it is established that some natural means of defence has been conferred for use.

But man alone above all is believed to be destitute, and is recognized as slower than those that excel in swiftness of running, slighter than those that stand out in bulk of body, and despised by those too that excel in natural weapons. And how, someone will say, did the lord of all obtain such a sovereignty? But to this I think it is in no way difficult to demonstrate that, through that very thing which is believed to be lacking to our nature, a sure occasion is given whereby he may attain the dominion of all things subject to him. For if man had been of such power that he could surpass the horse in swiftness, and his foot were not worn away but rested upon the prevailing firmness of hooves, and if he bore also horns or certain stings and avenging claws:

first indeed he would be like the beasts, and would appear difficult at the very encounter, such aids being naturally bestowed upon his body; and next he would scorn to exercise dominion over others whose helps he would in no way need. But as it now is, the use of our life is apportioned among the several things that are made over to us, so that we may see that a sovereignty over them is altogether necessary; for the slowness of our body and its difficulty in swift movement made us employ the foresight of horses; and moreover, providing through the yearly returns of wool those supplements that were lacking to nature, and through other resources also are supplied the things necessary to life that were wanting.

Beasts of burden have been made subject to us for carrying heavy loads; and because we cannot graze upon grass after the manner of animals, we have taken care to make oxen serve our use, that by their labour we may more easily procure our food. And because we needed biting and teeth for the restraining and avenging of such beasts, what was lacking to us the nature of dogs supplied, which also, with its inborn swiftness, has been assigned to our uses as a kind of living sword; and in place of horns or claws, iron stronger and more penetrating was invented by men. This does not always cleave to us by nature, as do those defences to the irrational beasts; but, affording protection in time of war, the sword thereafter remains idle.

Likewise the use of this same iron is taken up in place of the crocodile's scales. And there are times when the very hide of that beast affords protection in battle; otherwise (as has been said) iron is shaped by the craftsman after its likeness, which, serving necessity by arming a man in time of war, forsakes him in peace. The flying creatures too have been made serviceable to our uses, and their very swiftness has not escaped the ingenuity of reason; for some of them, when tamed, appear to cooperate, while others by their very presence become the means of capturing yet others that are applied to our advantages. But winged darts also a refined art has perfected for us, which, drawn taut by the bow, has rendered a flying course to human affairs.

And as for the fact that the soles of our feet are too easily worn down for the completing of a journey, this enjoins upon us the necessary aids of the things subject to us, from which footwear may be fittingly fashioned. CHAPTER VIII. Why man's posture is upright, and for what reason hands have been given, in which also a certain discussion concerning the differences of the souls of nature is introduced. But that man's posture is upright and lifts itself toward heaven and looks upward, it is most certain that these are principal gifts, attesting his royal power. Finally, that he alone has been so formed, while the bodies of all the rest are prone and inclined more downwardly, a manifest difference of his honour is shown:

since it is established that the one is subject to this power, while the other exists as of pre-eminent dignity. For in all the others the foremost members of the body are the feet, because what is sloping forward needed assuredly the support of firmness. But in the constitution of man these members have been made hands, because by the uprightness of his posture a single step seemed to be sufficient, which by a careful provision should establish the steadfastness of standing upon a pair of feet. The hands too have been fitted for other purposes, for the use of reason; and if anyone should say that the service of the hands is proper to the rational nature, he would by no means err.

For I look not only to that which is common and ready to our understanding, namely that we mark words in letters by the ministry of the hand—and indeed even this is no grace unequal to the rational dignity, that we are able also to speak by letters and in a certain manner to converse with the hands, reposing our utterance in the figures of the elements. But I, intending something quite other, affirm that the hands obey the command of reason by a certain zeal of cooperation. Yet before we examine this same matter, let us inquire more at large into the reason which we have rather passed over. For almost the order of the things made, and the cause for the sake of which they precede, has lain hidden from us.

Let the earth bring forth green things, then let the irrational animals follow after, and so, after the creation of these, in the third place let man be formed. For perhaps by these things we perceive not only those which are manifest, namely that for the sake of the beasts above all the Creator of the universe established the nature of herbs, and for the sake of men created the beasts. Whence too He brought forth before the flocks their pasturage, and before man those things which could afford the aids of human life. But to me it seems that the sequence of this discourse intimates some doctrine concerning hidden things. For thus Moses, by divine command, reserved as a mystery for philosophy the account of the state of the soul, concerning which indeed even external learning has imagined something for itself;

but it did not clearly discern the things that were to be seen. By these things, therefore, as I judge, reason itself teaches that this vital and animal power is declared in three differences. For the nature of herbs is adapted only to growth and to nourishment, affording fitting increase to those that are fed by it; it is also called the germinative, and the same substance is perceived in shrubs and trees. But there is in these very things that germinate a certain vital power, deprived of the animation of sense.

But besides this there is yet another kind of life, to which the Creator both conferred increase and commanded that it be dispensed by the senses, which we readily behold in the nature of the irrational creatures, which not only, like a growing herb, is nourished and nourishes, but is also recognized to possess a sentient power. But the perfect, third life of the body has been constituted in the rational essence of man, which both is nourished and nourishes and feels, and, partaking of reason, is quickened by mind. We ought, however, to know that there exists a certain division of the things that are according to such a reckoning, so that one part is intellectual, another corporeal. But let the division of the intellectual essence in its own property be now passed over; for we have no occasion of discourse upon this matter.

But of corporeal substance, one part is altogether without life, another partakes of life: again, of the vital corporeal things, some are sentient, others lacking sense, as are also our hairs and nails. Likewise the sentient things are divided into the natures of the rational and the irrational. Therefore, after inanimate matter, the lawgiver first set forth, as a kind of foundation, this germinative substance; thereafter he disclosed the generation of those things which are contained by the senses alone. And because, according to this sequence, those things which have obtained life in the flesh, the sentient indeed, are seen to subsist of themselves apart from the intelligible, while the rational substance cannot be beheld in any other than a sentient body;

therefore after the germinative things and the beasts, man was made, nature, by a certain way, advancing in sequence toward perfection. For of all the kinds—that is, both of the growing germination and of the sentient living creature—man, this rational animal, partakes. For the quality of the soul is nourished according to its natural substance, but obtains the power of increase by the sentient administration; which, according to a certain mode of its own, being placed midway between the intellectual and the material substance, in proportion as it is coarser by comparison with the former, is by so much seen to be purer by its precedence over the latter.

Then that which is most subtle and most luminous in the sentient thing, being joined to the intellectual, becomes a certain fitting commingling of nature, so that man is seen to subsist in these three. For we know that the Apostle too intimates some such thing, where, praying for the Thessalonians, he says: And may the very God of peace sanctify you wholly, that your whole spirit and soul and body may be preserved without complaint unto the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ: placing the body for the nutritive part, the soul for the sentient, the spirit for the intellectual. Likewise the Lord too, in the Gospel, instructing the scribe, sets the love of the Lord before every commandment, which is fulfilled with the whole heart and with the whole soul and with the whole mind.

For in the present passage too the discourse seems to me to offer this same difference of interpretation: calling the heart the more corporeal efficacy, signifying the soul to hold the middle seat, and intimating the mind to be the loftier substance of the rational and perspicacious power. Whence the Apostle too knows three distances of the wills: the carnal, which is enslaved only to the vicious pleasures concerning the belly and the lower parts; the animal, which is engaged midway between virtue and malice, surpassing the latter indeed but in no way partaking of the sincerity of the former; and the spiritual, which attains the spirituality of a manner of life pleasing to God.

For thus, writing to the Corinthians, he reproaches them with their pursuit of the way of pleasure and of the possible, saying: Are you not carnal, and do you not walk according to man? that is, you are proved incapable of the more perfect teachings. And elsewhere, making a certain comparison of this middle way to that loftier and more perfect one, he says: But the animal man perceives not the things that are of the Spirit of God. For it is foolishness to him, and he cannot understand, because it is spiritually examined; but the spiritual man judges all things, and he himself is judged by no one. Finally, just as the animal surpasses the carnal, so by the same measure the spiritual also excels the animal.

That, therefore, Scripture records man to have been made last after all things, secretly informs us that we ought to philosophize on nothing else than the state of the soul, by a certain necessary consequence of things, intimating indeed that perfect thing to come among the last. For the rational nature contains the others also, both the increase of germination and the sense of the living creature; the sentient nature too embraces, without doubt, the germinative kind. But this latter, because it is immaterial, embraces itself alone. Consequently, therefore, nature, as it were by certain steps—I mean of the properties of life—ascends from the lower to the more perfect. CHAPTER IX. That the constitution of man has been most aptly framed for the work of reason.

Since, therefore, man is a rational animal, it behoved that an instrument of the body conformable to the use of reason should be instituted. For just as we see those most skilled in music exercise their practice of melody according to the kind of instrument, and that the lyre is not played with the strings of the trumpet, nor the trumpets sounded as one harps: after this manner the construction of the instruments had to be consonant with reason, so that it might most aptly be able to resound to the use of speech, which is formed by the offices of the vocal members.

For this reason hands have been fitted to the body; and although it would be most easy to enumerate a thousand uses of this present life which these opportune and durable instruments of the hands diligently administer, fulfilling fittingly every art and every operation in war and peace, nevertheless above all others it is for the sake of reason that nature fittingly set the hands upon the body. For if man had existed without hands, assuredly, by the necessity of taking in food, the members of his face would have been formed after the fashion of quadrupeds, so that his face would have been drawn out long and would have projected in the nostrils, and the lips of his mouth would have been callous and thicker and most firm;

and fitted for plucking grass, and the tongue too would be harder and rougher, of a larger body, that it might cooperate with the teeth, being more fluid for the things it should take in to be chewed, and on either side more spread out, such as is that of dogs and of the others that feed on flesh, coursing through the rough intervals of the teeth. If, therefore, hands were not present to the body, how could an articulate voice be shaped for it, since such a formation of his mouth would by no means be suited to the use of speech, so that it would be necessary for man either to emit bleatings, or barkings, or to neigh like a horse, or to give a voice similar to oxen and asses, or to bring forth some bestial roar?

But as it now is, the hands have been accommodated to the body, so that the mouth might remain free for the ministry of the word; therefore it is something proper to the rational nature to have hands upon the body, in such wise that, the Creator of all granting the faculty, through them comes the office of speech. When, therefore, God conferred some divine sovereignty of grace or of the image, and bestowed the gifts of His good things upon the rational creature, on that account He indeed gave the remaining good things to human nature with a pious liberality more abundantly; but as for mind and understanding, it is not proper to say that He gave them, but that He conferred the glory proper to His own nature, bestowing it upon the image.

Therefore, since the mind is a certain intelligible and incorporeal thing, it would in some way possess an incommunicable grace, unless it intimated the motions of its operation by certain devices. For the sake of this it needed this construction of members, so that, touching the vocal instruments after the manner of a plectrum, it might interpret its internal motion by the quality of sounds. And just as if someone imbued with the art of music should not, by some affliction, have his own voice, and, wishing to make his discipline manifest, should emulate it by alien voices, publishing his art by lyre or pipe:

so the human mind, although it is proved to be the inventor of intellections of every kind, and the bare soul cannot declare the impulses of its understanding to those who hear through the senses of the body, touching as it were by a certain modulation these instruments more artfully endowed with life, by their sounds manifests the hidden things of its understanding. And we can consider this mingled and varied music in the instruments of the human members, which, as it were a lyre and a pipe, resound the very same thing to one another by a certain harmony.

For that vessel which receives the breath, whenever it is struck by the impulse of one speaking, and has formed into voice that part which is rebounded by the inner passages, those rounded parts which have been made after the fashion of pipes assuredly imitate that voice which is uttered from pipes, which the membranes projecting round about set in motion. But the cavity above, gradually receiving the sound from the lower parts, and reaching by twin tubes as far as the nostrils, breaks the voice about the places of the strainer, and produces greater sounds; and there is too the wondrous formation of the jaws and tongue and throat, in keeping with which the chin, drawn down by a gentle flow, is sharpened into a rounded shape.

But all these things seem to resemble the motion of strings, which the mouth (as has been said), touching in the stead of a plectrum, composes the modes with exceeding swiftness, variously and manifoldly in its season, according as the work shall demand: while the opening and closing of the lips does the very same thing which the fingers do that take the breath of the pipe according to the consonance of the modulation; and the discerning mind, through these instruments of the members, modulates reason in us, by which also we are proved to be made rational—not, as I think, in any way otherwise possessing the grace of reason. Without this provision we should be compelled to procure a grievous and laborious servitude only by the uses of the lips for the body.

But as it now is, the hands, transferring this office to themselves, have left the mouth free for the ministry of speech. CHAPTER X. That through the senses the mind operates. But let a twofold effect of this instrument be considered. For one part of it works speech, while another is at leisure to receive the intelligences that come from without; nor is the one mingled with the other, but each fulfils the operation which nature has constituted, bringing no trouble to its neighbour. For neither does the hearing speak, nor does the voice hear. For this latter always brings forth something, while the hearing, ever receiving, is not filled up.

As Solomon in a certain place has testified—which also to me seems to be especially, above all the things in us, most worthy of admiration—how great is that breadth of capacity within, into which flow together all the things that are poured in by hearing; who are those recorders that inscribe the memorials of the senses that enter in; how ample are the receptacles of the intelligences, which are stored up within through the ears; and how, although the things that are placed therein are both many and manifold, yet no confusion or error at all is engendered with regard to the proper position of the things that are brought in. Likewise too, who could estimate the efficacy of sight?

For equally through the eyes the mind apprehends those things which are outside the body, and draws into itself the likenesses of the things appearing, describing for itself the figures of the things like to them. And just as if some city capable of holding a multitude receives those flowing in by diverse entrances, yet not all assemble into one place of the city, but some hasten to the forum, others to their dwellings, others to the churches and the squares, each according to his own purpose: in some such way let one consider also the city of our mind constituted within, which, though our senses fill it by diverse entrances, yet the same mind, judging and discerning each kind of those entering in, disposes all things in the places fitting for understanding.

And as in the example of the city, we see men of one nation and kindred enter not by the same gates, but some by one entrance, others by another, as chance offers, yet nonetheless, once made within the walls, they are again together, who were joined by mutual familiarity: so, on the contrary, you may grant that it is possible that those who are strangers or unknown to one another should often use one entrance of the city, yet not be coupled together by the common entry; for they can, once constituted within, be separated into their dwellings. Something of this kind too I behold able to come about in the breadth of our mind. For frequently from diverse senses one knowledge is gathered for us, which distributes the same thing through the manifold variety of the senses.

And likewise it is to be seen, contrary to this, that from some one sense many and various things, in no way concordant or consonant with one another according to nature, are thoroughly learned. As, for example, let it be proposed (for it is better to elucidate the thought by examples) that something be inquired concerning the property of qualities—what is pleasant to the senses, and what is to be shunned by those that taste. For experience itself discovers the bitterness of gall and the most agreeable quality of honey. Since, therefore, these are certain, the same thing, sought out in manifold ways by our understanding—that is, through taste, sight, hearing, smell, and frequently also touch—confers one knowledge.

For when someone of us sees a thing, and hears its name, and perceives its taste, and senses its smell, and tests it by touch, he recognizes one and the same object through all the senses. Likewise too we embrace and grasp various and manifold things through any single one of the senses; for hearing receives manifold voices, and the sight of the eyes possesses an undivided and manifold power for beholding things that are diverse in kind. For in like manner it contemplates white and black and all the things that are set apart from one another by contrariety of colour; just as smell does, just as taste, and touch is proved by its own operations to take in the knowledge of things of every sort. CHAPTER XI. On the essence of the soul.

What then is the mind according to its own proper nature, which distributes itself to the sensory powers and through each of them duly takes up the knowledge of the things that exist? For that it is something other than sense, I do not suppose any prudent person would doubt. For if the mind were the very same thing as sense, it would surely exist as a single property corresponding to the efficacy of sense, for the reason that it is itself simple, and nothing varied can be discerned in a thing that is simple.

But now, by the consent of all, touch is one thing, smell another, and the senses are mutually unchangeable and unmixed; and since the mind is present equally to each one of them, it must be defined as something other than the sensory substance, lest any variety be ascribed to the intelligible reality. 'Who has known the mind of the Lord?' says the Apostle; but I say: Who has been able to consider his own mind? Let those speak who think they can comprehend the nature of God, whether they consider themselves, whether they know the substance of their own mind;

whether it is something manifold and of varied composition, how it is inserted into the manifold senses, how that which is varied exists in singleness, how that which is single is found in variety. But I have come upon the solution of this most difficult question by having recourse to the divine voice itself: 'Let us make,' it says, 'man after our image and likeness.' For so long as the image departs in nothing from the things that subsist in the primal form, it is properly recognized as an image; but if the copy has receded from the likeness, in respect of that part it will not be an image. Since therefore this too is one of the things considered in the divine nature, namely that it is held to be of an incomprehensible essence, it is necessary that the image also should imitate the substance of the primal form.

But if our nature could comprehend the images, while the primal form remains in its own comprehensibility, then by this very contrariety, by which it is comprehended, it is proved to be unlike. Furthermore, since the nature of our mind, which was made after the image, escapes human knowledge, it reflects, by its own incomprehensibility, the omnipotence of the incomprehensible Nature which it expresses. CHAPTER XII. Inquiry where the ruling part of man may be seen to be, and concerning tears and laughter. Let every conjectural and empty discourse be silent, which encloses the power of intellectual operation within a thousand bodily things: from among which some place that which is the ruling part of man in the heart;

others, however, suspect that it resides in the brain, strengthening the opinion by some surface plausibility of persuasions. For he who places the ruling part of man in the heart strives to set forth the arguments of his reasoning from the situation of the place, because it seems to occupy the middle position of the whole body, inasmuch as a spontaneous motion, displaying itself more easily from the middle to the whole body, may break out into whatever effects it wills. And to this reasoning they seem to bring forward as witnesses the saddening and irascible affections of man: namely that passions of this kind seem to move this part to sympathy.

But those who believe the brain to be the dwelling-place of intelligence assert that the head was constructed by nature as a kind of citadel of the whole body, in which they declare the mind to dwell like a queen, surrounded on every side by the senses as by certain messengers or guards. These men too suggest signs of such a surmise, namely that the mind is then led away from right counsel and from what is fitting, when the membrane of the brain is disturbed, and that those whom drunkenness weighs down pass their lives in ignorance of decency. And to these they add certain natural causes also, by which they seem to confirm their several opinions which they advance concerning the ruling part of man.

And this one indeed affirms a kinship of the motions of the mind with the fiery nature of the heart, because both the mind and fire are proved to be a sleepless substance; and since he confesses that the mind flows into the part of the heart, he therefore maintains that the motion of the mind is tempered by the mobility of heat, declaring the heart to be the receptacle of the intelligible nature, in which heat overflows.

But the other testifies that the membrane of the brain is, as it were, the principle and root of all the senses, and confirms his reasoning by this proof, that the operation of intelligence is set in no other place than in that part where both the ears, fitted to receive, take in the rushing voices, and the gaze, concentrated in the very depths of the eyes, transmits inward the forms of images that meet the pupils, and the qualities of the various smells, drawn in, are distinguished. The sense too which is accomplished by taste is approved by the evidence of the little membrane of the brain (as has been said above), which from nearby interweaves certain little branches of nerves, sensitive by their very nature, through the joints of the neck right up to those places which exist after the manner of a strainer, and the muscles lying round about.

But I, since the intelligence of the soul is often disturbed by the onset of passion, and since the operation of thought is dulled in proportion to its natural vigour, declare it to be true that this same thing comes about through a certain sickness of the body; and I do not deny that the heart is a kind of fountain of bodily heat, which is easily moved to irascible impulses. None the less, that the little membrane of the brain presides over the things of sense, according to the reasoning of those who treat of these matters by natural disputation, embracing the brain beneath it, which (so I hear from those who have occupied themselves with anatomical inspections) is also nourished by the vapour of fatness—this I by no means hold to be, as the saying goes, of no account;

but I will not strive to prove from these things that an incorporeal substance is enclosed within certain local boundaries. For we have learned that irrational frenzies arise not from the heaviness of the head. But the most skilled of physicians, when both sides, by which the little membranes of the same brain are held, have been disturbed by some affection, pronounce our rational part to be sick, calling it the frenetic affection, because the name 'frenes' belongs to those same little membranes. Similarly too those who suspect that the heart is affected by sadness are assuredly deceived. For since it is not the heart but the mouth of the stomach that is disturbed by grief, they ignorantly transfer the discomfort of this malady to the heart.

But those who have taken care diligently to investigate the causes of the passions discourse thus: that in grief, when the channels of evaporation of the whole body are naturally compressed and shut up, whatever is prevented from going out through these passages of respiration is forced into the deepest seats of the inner parts. Whence, when the viscera are straitened, sadness is kindled, and often a more violent breath is drawn from the depths, that what is contracted may be dilated. And this exhalation which grief thrusts out we also call a groan, that is, the sign of excessive pain.

But those who think that the little part of the heart is affected by this same passion (as I have said) are deceived, since this distress belongs not to the heart but to the mouth of the stomach, from that occasion which we have mentioned, namely that, when the passages of evaporation are compressed, the straitened little bladder of the gall pours out that bitter and biting humour into the mouth of the stomach. And this is the proof of this matter, that in the dejected the very surface of the colour is seen to be overspread as with a jaundice (aurigine), while the humour of the gall is diffused in the veins by excessive constriction. But this account is most especially commended also by that malady which seems to be contrary to this, that is, the one which comes from joy and laughter.

For in a certain manner the evaporations of the whole body are dilated and loosened through some pleasure, when a most agreeable sensation has been perceived. For just as in the former case, through grief, the thin and uncertain respirations are again compressed, and, constricting the disposition of the inner parts, drive up to the head and to the membrane of the brain a moist vapour, which, much running about in the hollows beneath, through the passages left for evaporation, rushes to the eyes, and by the compression of the eyelids is poured out in drops—and this drop is named a tear—so it is to be understood from the contrary affliction:

when the channels of respiration are distended more than usual, the breath inserts itself into the deep recesses, and is forthwith driven out by nature through the passage of the mouth, while all the viscera, and especially the liver (as those say who are skilled about these matters), by a certain agitation and most fervent motion, drive this conceived breath outward. Whence nature, having contrived a certain ease for the exits of this same breath, opens the gape of the mouth crosswise, distending both cheeks, and what is thereby effected has received the name of laughter.

Not on this account, therefore, is the ruling part of man to be thought to be in the liver, nor on account of the fervour of the blood, which abounds copiously about the regions of the heart, nor on account of the irascible affections is the lodging of the mind to be reckoned to be in the heart. But these things are to be referred to bodily qualities. The mind, however, must be believed to reach the several members equally, according to the ineffable tempering of reason. And if some adduce Scripture to us for this purpose, so as to testify that the ruling part of man is in the heart, we ought not to perceive it by an unexamined reasoning. For he who made mention of the heart also asserted the reins, saying: 'God searches the hearts and reins.' So it will be permissible to enclose this intellectual part of man either in both or in neither.

But that these same intellectual energies are dulled, or even exist altogether without effect, through the quality of bodily affection—having been taught this, I do not judge it a sufficiently suitable argument that I should assert the power of the mind to be contained in any places, as though it could be expelled from its proper breadth by swellings when the parts are occupied. For this is a corporeal opinion, that a vessel pre-occupied by things put into it can in no way receive anything else. For the intellectual substance neither lingers in the empty and hollow parts of the body, nor is thrust out by the magnitude or mass of the flesh.

But since the whole body of man is established, as it were, like a certain musical instrument, and it generally happens that those who are skilled in music cannot display their discipline because of the maiming of the instrument that refuses the diligence of the art—because it has either been spoiled by time, or broken by some accident, or worn away by rust or moisture, and therefore remains without the effects of sounds, although it be breathed into by one skilled in the art of the flute-player—so too the mind, passing through the whole instrument of the body, duly reaches the parts with intellectual operations, as nature has made it apt: and in those parts indeed which remain according to their substance it puts forth the force of its operation;

but in those which, through some defect, cannot admit its skilful motion, it exists apart from the effect of operation. For naturally, in a certain manner, the mind is apt to be properly and fittingly engaged in those members which are quickened by their own soundness; but to be wholly alienated from those which are afflicted by some infirmity. CHAPTER XIII. A certain natural contemplation concerning matter and nature and the inspection of the mind. To me, however, there seems to be in this part a contemplation that is more than natural, through which we can be informed of something of the more useful doctrines.

Since therefore the best and highest good, pre-eminent above all, is the Divinity itself, to which all things recur, whatsoever are contained by the desire of the good, we therefore also confess that the mind, inasmuch as it was made after the image of the most beautiful Creator, keeps a certain likeness to the primal form, and that it exists wholly among the best things; but if it be outside of that, it is at the same time stripped of that beauty in which it was. But just as we say that the mind is adorned by the likeness of the beauty of the principal form,

shining like a certain mirror with the impression of the pre-eminent one, by the same reasoning we believe that nature too is contained by the mind, by which it is dispensed and ruled, and is adorned by its appearance, having been made like a certain mirror of a mirror. By nature also we profess that this material part of our substance is sustained, about which that same nature is contemplated. Since therefore the one is contained by the other, through these the participation of all that supreme and true one duly flows, through the higher that which appears lower being adorned. But if at any time there comes about a sundering of this good communion, and on the contrary the higher follows after the lower, then let the deformity of matter itself appear when it is deserted by nature.

For matter in itself is a certain formless and ill-composed thing, and by this its formlessness the beauty of nature is at the same time seized upon, the beauty which is adorned by the liveliness of the mind: and thus the deformity of matter is derived even to the mind itself through the defect of nature, so that the image of God can no longer be discerned in this impression of the moulded thing; for, like a certain mirror, that is, the form of goodness and virtue, placing itself behind one's back, casts away indeed the brightness of its surpassing splendour, but takes wholly into itself the formlessness of matter: and in this way comes about the birth of evil, creeping in by the privation of good. But good is whatsoever is joined to the supreme Good;

but if it be outside the likeness of this disposition, it will without doubt remain without good. Since therefore, according to the reasoning we have inspected, it is established that the supreme good is that which is truly good, and the mind was made after the image of the supreme good, and itself received that it should be well with it; while the figure which the mind contains is proved to be, as it were, a certain image of an image: by this it is shown that our material part then well subsists and is well contained, when it is dispensed and ruled by nature. But again it is dissolved and cast down, when it is deprived of its provision, and at the same time is cut off from the conjunction of the good;

but this comes about in no other way than when a turning to the contrary part of nature has been made, and its desire does not advance toward the supreme good, but declines from it, in that it seems always to lack beauty. For it is necessary that that which attains its likeness should be conformed to the most despicable and foulest deformity of matter. But these things have been said by us by a certain logical consequence, supplied through the inspection set before us. This, however, was being inquired into, whether the intellectual power is located in some part of the members, or is dispersed through all the limbs with equal balance.

For to those who (as was said above) enclose the mind in local parts, and bring forward for the demonstration of their opinion that the intellect of those whose membrane of the brain is disturbed contrary to nature does not prosper, reason shows that through all the parts of the human frame each member naturally operates as it is fitted. But similarly the power of the soul subsists apart from its efficiency, when some part of the body does not remain in its nature. And for these reasons there has been offered to our discourse, as a consequence, the inspection set forth, through which we may learn that in the construction of man the mind is governed indeed by God, but our material life is contained by the mind, so long as it persists in its nature;

but if it depart from nature, it is necessary that it also be deprived of the cooperation of the mind. But let us return again to the point from which we digressed: that, if in those things which altogether deviate from their natural constitution through some passion, the mind keeps its proper effect, and in those things indeed which flourish it remains unimpaired, but becomes powerless in those which cannot receive the force of its operation. It is right, however, to confirm the opinion of a doctrine of this kind from other matters also: and unless it be grievous and troublesome, though wearied with the present discourse, I will explain even concerning these few points, as best I can. CHAPTER XIV. Reasoning concerning sleep and yawning, and concerning dreams.

This material and flowing life of the body, always proceeding in motion, has its force and power of existing in this, that it never wholly ceases from motion, but, like a certain river running according to its own impetus, it indeed shows a full channel through which it glides down. Yet the same water is not seen to be about the same place, but one part of it runs across, while another comes after: so too this material part of the present life runs down through a certain motion of contraries with a frequent succession to itself, and it cannot stand still at all from its mutation, but, impatient of rest, it likewise possesses a continual turning of things. But if at any time it should cease from motion, it will at the same time also cease to exist;

as, for instance, emptiness relaxes fullness, and again fullness succeeds emptiness, sleep sustains the continual labour of wakefulness. And again wakefulness consolidates what seemed to have been loosened, and neither of these remains in the same state, but by a mutual presence each succeeds the other. And so nature, renewing itself by alternations of changes, passes, as it were, having received the part of either from the one to the other. For if the animal should always persist in activity, the strain would effect a rupture and tearing apart of the parts that are stretched: a continual rest of the bodies too would work a certain ruin and dissolution of the state.

But each perceived more moderately in due time will furnish strength for the continuance of the substance, which is repaired by a continual passage to contraries, with an alternating succession on either side. So therefore nature, having got an opportunity for rest, contrives how it may succour by sleep the vigour of the body wearied with wakefulness, and, the senses being withdrawn from operation, it imparts leisure for a time, restraining them, as it were, like horses after contests and sweats. Rest, moreover, is necessary for the body, that without impediment the food too may be diffused into all the members by hidden paths of its own, no obstacle of strain shutting off the passable transit.

For just as from earth soaked with rains, when it has been warmed by the rays of the sun, certain misty vapours are drawn out from its deep boundaries, similarly it comes about in our earth too: when food is cooked within by the innate heat, a certain vapour naturally, being as it were aerial, strives toward the upper parts, and, like smoke penetrating through the chinks of a wall, reaches the regions of the head, thence being exhaled through the aforesaid connections to the senses. Whence it is necessary that the senses then keep leisure, detained by the passage of the vapours. The eyes are lulled to sleep, and are covered by the drawing down of the eyelids as by a certain even weight of mechanical art: