論靈魂與復活 第 1 章

When Basil, great among the saints, departed from human life unto God, and a common occasion of mourning came upon the Churches, his sister and teacher was still living in this life; and I went to her in haste, to share with her the grief over our brother.

My soul was in deep anguish, overwhelmed with sorrow at such a loss, and I sought someone to share my tears, one who bore an equal weight of grief with me.

When we came into each other's sight, the appearance of the Teacher before my eyes stirred up my emotion;

for she too was already held fast by the sickness that leads to death.

But she, like those skilled in horsemanship, gave me free rein for a little while to be carried away by the rush of my emotion; then afterward she set about to restrain me with reasoning, using her own reflection as a bridle to guide back the disordered part of my soul. And she brought forward to me the apostolic saying, that we ought not to grieve over those who have fallen asleep;

for that grief, she said, belongs only to those who have no hope.

{Narrator} And I, with my heart still seething with grief, said: How can this be achieved among men—when there is in each person a kind of natural aversion toward death, when those who watch the dying cannot easily bear the sight, and those whom death approaches flee from it as far as they can? Indeed, even those who hold power judge death to be the ultimate sentence among wrongs and the ultimate among punishments. What device, then, could make a person regard the departure from life as nothing—even over a stranger, let alone over a loved one—when they reach the end of life? We see, I said, that all human endeavour looks to this very thing: how we might continue to remain alive.

For this reason houses too have been devised for our dwelling, so that our bodies might not be worn down by the surrounding air through cold or heat.

And what else is farming but a provision for staying alive? And concern for life arises entirely out of the fear of death.

And why is medicine held in honour among men? Is it not because it seems somehow to fight against death by its art? Breastplates, shields, greaves, helmets, defensive weapons, the circuits of city walls, iron-bound gates, the security of moats, and the like—what else are they for, but because of the fear of death? Since, then, death is by nature so fearful, how can one easily be persuaded by the one who commands the survivor to remain free from grief over the departed? {Macrina} "And what," says the Teacher, "seems to you most grievous about death itself, considered in itself? For the habit of more irrational people is not sufficient grounds for condemning it."

{Gregory} "What, then, is not worthy of grief," I said to her, "when we behold one who but lately was living and speaking suddenly become breathless, voiceless, and motionless, and all his natural senses quenched—neither sight nor hearing functioning, nor any other of the faculties by which sensation grasps things? And to such a one, though you bring fire, though iron, though you cut the body apart with a sword, though you set him before flesh-devouring beasts, though you bury him in the earth—the one who lies there is affected alike toward them all."

When, then, this change is seen in such things, and that life-giving cause—whatever it was—suddenly becomes invisible and undetectable, just as with a lamp that has gone out: the flame that was lately kindled neither remains upon the wick nor passes off to anywhere else, but withdraws into utter vanishing—how could anyone bear such a great change without grief, having nothing manifest to rest his thought upon? For having heard the words "departure of the soul,"

we see what is left behind, but we are ignorant of what has departed—both what it is in its nature, and into what it has passed; for neither earth, nor air, nor water, nor any other of the elements displays within itself that power which has withdrawn from the body.

And when this has departed, what is left behind is a corpse, already laid out for corruption.

{Gregory} While I was going through these things, the Teacher in the meantime motioned with her hand and said: {Macrina} "Does some such fear as this trouble and constrain your mind—that the soul does not remain forever, but comes to an end together with the dissolution of the body?" {Gregory} But I—for I had not yet taken my reasoning back from my grief—answered rather rashly, without giving careful thought to what was said.

For I said that the divine pronouncements seemed like commands, by which we are compelled to be convinced that the soul abides forever; yet we were not led to this teaching by any such reasoning.

Rather, it seems that our mind within accepts what is commanded slavishly, out of fear, and does not assent to what is said by any voluntary impulse.

Hence our griefs over the departed become all the heavier, since we do not accurately know whether this life-giving cause still exists in itself, and where, and how, or whether it does not exist at all in any way whatsoever.

For the uncertainty about what truly is makes the suppositions on either side equal.

And to many this seems true, while to many the opposite seems true.

And there are indeed some among the Greeks who hold no small reputation for philosophy, who both believed and declared these things.

{Macrina} "Leave aside," she said, "the nonsense of those outsiders, in which the inventor of falsehood, to the harm of truth, plausibly puts together deceived opinions;

but you, look to this: that to hold such a view about the soul is nothing other than to be estranged from virtue and to look only to present pleasure;

and to make the life contemplated in the ages to come a matter of hope—the life by which alone virtue holds the greater advantage."

{Gregory} "And how," I said, "could there come to be in us a firm and unshakable conviction that the soul abides? For I myself also perceive that human life will be bereft of the noblest of all things in life—I mean virtue—unless an unwavering faith concerning this be established firmly within us."

"For how can virtue have any place among those who suppose that the present life circumscribes existence, and that nothing more is to be hoped for after it?" {Macrina} "Then we must inquire," says the Teacher, "from what point our discourse may take a fitting starting place concerning these matters."

"And, if you please, let the support for the opposing doctrines come from you;

for I see that your mind has also been somewhat stirred toward such an inclination.

Then in this way, after the objection has been raised, the discourse of truth will be sought out."

{Gregory} Since she gave this command, I asked her not to suppose that what we put forward was being said as a genuine contradiction, but rather for the sake of establishing the doctrine concerning the soul securely, once the objections raised against this aim had been dissolved.

"Surely," I said, "those who take the opposite side of the argument would say this: that the body, being composite, is altogether dissolved into the things of which it was composed. And when the natural union of the elements in the body is dissolved, each returns, as is likely, to what is proper to it, since the very nature of the elements, by a kind of necessary attraction, gives back what is akin to its like.

For the heat in us will again be united with the heat, and the earthy with the solid, and to each of the rest there comes a return to its kindred.

Where, then, will the soul be after this? For if one should say that it is in the elements, it will of necessity be conceded to be the same as they.

For there could be no mingling of what is of a different nature with what is alien to it; and if these things were so, it would altogether appear to be something manifold, mingled with the opposing qualities. But the manifold is not simple, but is in every case observed in composition.

And everything that is composite is also of necessity dissoluble;

and dissolution is the corruption of that which had been put together.

But that which is corrupted is not immortal;

or else on that reasoning even the flesh could be called immortal, since it too is dissolved into the things of which it was composed.

But if the soul is something else beside these, where does the argument suppose it to be—since it is not found among the elements, on account of its being of a different nature from them? And since there is nothing else in the universe in which the soul might dwell, living suitably to its own nature? But that which is nowhere at all does not exist at all either."

{Macrina} And the Teacher, sighing softly at what had been said, replied: "Perhaps these and such things as these were what the Stoics and Epicureans once put forward against the Apostle when they encountered him at Athens."

"For I hear that Epicurus above all was carried along by suppositions of this kind, that the nature of existing things was conjectured to be something fortuitous and self-originating, as though no providence pervaded affairs.

And accordingly, by way of consequence, he supposed that human life too was like a bubble: a breath, as it were, being stretched around our body; and so long as the breath is held in by its surroundings, it lasts; but when the mass collapses, that which had been enclosed within is quenched along with it.

For to him the limit of the nature of existing things was the visible, and he made sense-perception the measure of his comprehension of the whole, having altogether shut up the faculties of the soul, and being unable to look toward anything intelligible and incorporeal—just like one shut up in a little house remains unable to behold the wonders of the heavens, hindered by the walls and the roof from seeing what lies outside.

For all sensible things, as many as are seen in the universe, are simply like earthen walls that wall off the more small-minded by themselves from the contemplation of intelligible things.

Such a person sees only earth, and water, and air, and fire;

but whence each of these comes, or in what it exists, or by what it is held together, he is unable to discern because of his small-mindedness.

And seeing a garment, one infers the weaver, and through the ship one conceives the shipwright; and the builder's own hand comes into the mind of the beholders together with the sight of the building.

But those who look toward the world have dim sight as regards the One who is revealed through these things. Hence those clever and sharp arguments are put forward by those who teach the destruction of the soul:

that the body comes from the elements, and the elements from the body, and that the soul cannot exist by itself if it is neither one of these nor in these.

For if, because the soul is not of the same nature as the elements, the objectors therefore suppose that it exists nowhere;

Let these men first lay it down as a doctrine that even life in the flesh is itself without a soul.

For the body is nothing other than a concurrence of the elements;

let them not, then, say that the soul resides in these elements, giving life of itself to the compound;

since, on their view, it is then no longer possible for the soul to exist along with the elements—so that they would prove our life to be nothing other than a dead thing as derived from them.

But if they do not now dispute that the soul is in the body, how can they lay down as doctrine its vanishing into the elements when the body dissolves? And then they go further and dare to assert the same even concerning the divine nature.

For how will they say that a nature intellectual, immaterial, and formless permeates things moist and soft and solid and holds existing things together in being—when it is neither akin to the things in which it comes to be, nor, because of its different kind, incapable of being in them? Then let the Divine itself, by which all things are held together, be utterly removed from their doctrine.

{Γ.} "But this very point," I said, "how could it be made beyond dispute to those who object—that all things are from God, and that existing things are held together in Him; or indeed that there is at all any Divine being transcending the nature of existing things?" {Μ.} "It would," she said, "be more fitting to keep silence about such matters, and not even to deem the foolish and impious propositions worthy of an answer, since one of the divine words forbids answering a fool according to his folly;"

and according to the Prophet, the one who says there is no God is altogether a fool.

"But since this too must be said," she said, "I will tell you an argument—not mine, nor indeed any other man's;

for it would be a small thing, whoever he might be;

rather it is from Him whom the creation of existing things sets forth through the wonders within it: the eye becomes a hearer, through the things that appear, of the wise and skillful Word that resounds in the heart.

For the creation cries aloud, proclaiming its Maker—the very heavens, as the Prophet says, with unutterable voices declaring the glory of God.

For who is there that, beholding the harmony of the universe—the wonders of the heavens and of the things upon the earth, and how the elements, though by nature contrary to one another, are interwoven toward one and the same end through some ineffable communion, each contributing its own power to the preservation of the whole; and how the things that are unmixable and uncommunicable in the distinctness of their qualities are neither separated from one another, nor destroyed when mingled together by their opposing qualities; and how things whose nature is upward-tending are nonetheless borne downward, as the sun's heat streams down through its rays—

and the heavy bodies are lightened, being rarefied through vapors, so that even water, contrary to its own nature, becomes upward-tending, riding upon the winds through the air; and the ethereal fire becomes earth-bound, so that even the depths are not deprived of warmth; and the moisture poured upon the earth from the rains, though one in nature, generates countless varieties of growth, implanted suitably in each of the things that receive it;

and the swiftest revolution of the celestial pole, and the reverse motion of the inner spheres, and the conjunctions and the meetings, and the harmonious intervals of the stars—

the one who beholds these things with the intellectual eye of the soul—is he not plainly taught from the phenomena that a divine power, skillful and wise, manifesting itself in existing things and pervading all, fits the parts together into the whole and fills out the whole in its parts, and by one single power holds sway over the universe, itself abiding in itself [and moving about itself], never ceasing from motion, nor ever shifting to any place other than that in which it is? {Γ.} "And how," I said, "does belief in the existence of God also prove together with it the existence of the human soul? For surely the soul is not identical with God, so that if the one is agreed to exist, the other too must necessarily be conceded."

{Μ.} She said: "It is said by the wise that man is a kind of little world, containing within himself these same elements with which the universe is filled."

"And if this argument is true—and it seems to be—then perhaps we should not need any further ally to confirm for us what we have supposed concerning the soul."

"And we have supposed it to be self-existent, in a nature distinct and peculiar to itself, apart from the bodily grossness."

"For just as, while we apprehend the whole world through sense-perception, we are led by the very activity of our senses to the conception of that reality and thought which lies beyond sense; and the eye becomes for us an interpreter of the all-powerful Wisdom, which is contemplated within the universe and which through itself reveals the One who, in accordance with it, encompasses the universe—

so also, when we look toward the world within us, we have no slight starting points for inferring, through the things that appear, the hidden reality as well.

And that is hidden which, being in itself intelligible and formless, escapes sensory comprehension.

But it is possible to infer the Wisdom that transcends the universe, by means of the wise and skillful rational principles contemplated in the nature of existing things, in this harmony and ordered arrangement;

but what knowledge of the soul could come, through the things displayed in the body, to those who track down the hidden by means of the things that appear? {Μ.} "And above all," said the virgin, "to those who, in accordance with that wise precept, desire to know themselves;

for the soul itself is the teacher of our suppositions concerning the soul—namely that it is something immaterial and incorporeal, acting and moving in a manner suited to its own nature, and displaying its own motions through the bodily organs."

"For this organic structure of the body is no less present even in those who have been deadened through death; yet it remains motionless and inactive, since the soul's power is no longer in it."

"It moves only when sensation is present in the organs, and when through sensation the intelligent power pervades them, setting the sensory organs in motion by its own impulses toward whatever it intends."

{Γ.} "What, then," I said, "is the soul? If by some definition its nature can be sketched, so that through the description we might gain some understanding of the subject at hand."

And the teacher said: {Μ.} "Different people have declared themselves differently on the subject, each defining it according to his own view; but our own opinion concerning it is as follows:

The soul is a created essence, a living essence, intellectual, which of itself imparts to an organic and sensitive body a vital power and a power capable of apprehending sensible things, so long as the nature receptive of these holds together."

And while saying these things, she pointed with her hand to the physician who was sitting beside her to attend to her body, and she said:

"The proof of what has been said is close at hand for us."

"For how is it," she said, "that this man, laying the touch of his fingers upon the artery, hears in a manner—through the sense of touch—nature crying out to him and recounting its own afflictions: that the malady is at its height in the body, that the disease has set out from these particular organs, and that the inflammation extends to such-and-such a degree? And he is taught other such things by the eye as well, looking both at the posture in which the patient lies and at the wasting of the flesh."

"And the inner condition is signified both by the hue of the complexion—being sallow and bilious—and by the cast of the eyes, which of their own accord incline as toward the things that grieve and pain."

"Likewise hearing too becomes a teacher of such things, recognizing the affliction by the rapid panting of the breath and by the groan that is emitted together with respiration."

"One might say, too, that not even the sense of smell escapes the notice of the skilled physician regarding the affliction, but that through the particular quality of the breath he recognizes the malady hidden in the inner organs."

"Now if there were not some intelligent power present to each of the sense-faculties, what would the hand of itself have taught us, were not the mind guiding the touch toward knowledge of the matter? What would hearing, severed from the understanding, have contributed—or the eye, or the nostril, or any other sense-organ—toward the recognition of what is sought, if each of these existed alone by itself? But what is truest of all, and is recorded as having been well said by one of those educated in outside learning, is that it is the mind that sees and the mind that hears."

"For if one were not to grant this to be true, then tell me: when you look at the sun—as you have been taught by your teacher to look—why do you say that its size is not as great as it appears to most people, in the diameter of its disk, but that in measure it exceeds the whole earth many times over? Is it not because, having followed in thought through the appearances—by means of its particular motion, its temporal and spatial intervals, and the causes of eclipses—you confidently declare that this is so? And when you observe the moon's waning and waxing, the appearance teaches you other things concerning the shapes of that body: that it is of itself without light by its own nature, and that it travels the orbit nearest to the earth;

but it shines from the sun's rays, as happens naturally with mirrors, which—receiving the sun upon themselves—give back not their own beams, but the sun's light reflected back from the smooth and glittering surface.

Just as, to those who look without examination, the brightness seems to come from the moon itself.

But it is shown not to have its own light by this: that when it comes to stand directly opposite the sun, diametrically across, it is illumined over the whole disk that faces toward us;

but since it traverses the orbit in which it lies more swiftly within its own smaller circuit, before the sun has once completed its own course it goes around its own orbit more than twelve times.

Hence it comes about that the body is not always full of light;

the position directly opposite remains continuous throughout the dense part of its circuit, making the whole part of the moon turned toward us illumined by the sun's rays; but likewise, whenever it comes to the sides of the sun—since the hemisphere of the moon that always faces toward the sun is encompassed by the casting of the rays—the part facing us is of necessity cast into shadow, the brightness being transferred from the part unable to look toward the sun onto the part that is ever turned toward it; until, having passed beneath the sun's orbit in a straight line, it receives the ray upon its back, and thus, with the upper hemisphere illumined all around, it renders invisible the part facing us, since that part is in its own nature wholly without light and unillumined;

and this indeed is called the complete waning of that body.

But if it again passes by the sun in the proper motion of its course, and comes to the side of the ray, the part that a little before was dark begins to glimmer, as the ray moves from the part already illumined toward the part hitherto unseen.

"Do you see how sight becomes a teacher for you, though it could not of itself have furnished you with the contemplation of such things, unless there were something looking through the eyes—something which, using the things known by sense as guides, slips through the things that appear to reach the things unseen? Why need one add the geometrical methods which, through sensible figures, lead us by the hand toward things beyond sense, and countless others besides, by which there comes to be, through the things accomplished bodily within us, an apprehension of the intellectual essence hidden in our nature?" {Γ.} "But what," I said, "if—just as the materiality is common to the sensible nature of the elements, while there is much difference according to the distinctive feature in each kind of matter (for their motion is from opposite directions, the one being upward-tending and the other weighing downward; and the form is not the same, and the quality differs in some respect)—what if one were to say that there is, in accordance with this principle, some power consubstantial with these, which produces these intellectual imaginings and motions out of a natural property and power? Such as the many things we see being effected by mechanicians, in which matter, skillfully arranged, imitates nature—not only displaying the likeness in shape, but also coming to be in motion, and mimicking a kind of utterance, with the vocal part of the machine resounding—and yet nowhere in these productions do we contemplate any intelligent power working in each case the shape, the form, the sound, the motion."

"If we were to say these things concerning this mechanical instrument of our nature too—that it comes to be without any intelligent essence being blended in according to its distinctive character, but rather that some motive power is implanted in the nature of the elements within us, and that such an activity is a result existing of itself—

would this prove that intellectual and incorporeal essence of the soul, or rather that it does not exist at all?" {Μ.} And she said: "The illustration is an ally to the argument, and the whole construction of the objection brought against us will contribute not a little toward the certainty of the things we have conceived."

{Γ.} "How, then, do you mean this?" {Μ.} "Because," she said, "the very fact of knowing how to handle and arrange soulless matter in such a way that the art deposited in the machines comes near to becoming, in place of a soul, present in the matter—through which it mimics motion and sound and shapes and the like—this would be a proof that there is something of such a kind in man, by which it is naturally able, through its contemplative and inventive power, both to conceive these things within itself and to construct the machines beforehand in the understanding, and then thus to bring them into operation through art, and through the matter to display the thought."

For first he observed that air is needed for the production of sound;

then by reasoning he investigated beforehand how air might be introduced into the contrivance, examining the nature of the elements: that there is no void among existing things, but that the light is reckoned 'empty' only by comparison with the heavier, since the air, considered in itself according to its own subsistence, is full and complete.

For the vessel that seems empty [is not truly void] …

For when it is empty of liquid, it is no less full of air—and this too the learned man asserts.

The proof is that an amphora plunged into a pool does not fill with water at once, but at first floats, because the air trapped within holds the hollow vessel up toward the surface, until the amphora, pressed down by the hand of the one drawing water, sinks into the depth and so receives the water through its mouth.

And when this happens, it is shown that the vessel was not empty even before the water entered.

For a kind of struggle between the two elements is seen at the mouth of the vessel: the water, forced down by its own weight, presses into the hollow and flows in, while the air trapped within the hollow is squeezed back out through that same mouth against the water, and rushing upward it beats the water back, making it surge and foam at the rim by the force of the breath (the rushing air).

These things, then, he understood, and he devised how breath (air) might be introduced into the contrivance by means of the nature of the elements.

For having fashioned a hollow chamber out of airtight material, and having enclosed on every side the air within it so that it cannot escape, he introduces water through an opening into the hollow, measuring out the quantity of water according to the measure of the need; then in this way he gives it passage to the adjacent pipe in the direction opposite to the air, and the air, forcibly compressed by the water, becomes a stream of breath;

and this breath, bursting forth through the construction of the pipe, produces the sound.

Is it not plainly shown through these visible phenomena that there is in man a mind, something other than what appears—a mind which, by the invisible and intellectual character of its own nature, first frames these things within itself by its conceptions, and then in this way, through the service of matter, brings into the open the design that was formed within? For if, according to the argument set against us, such marvelous inventions were to be reckoned to the nature of the elements, then the contrivances would surely have come together for us spontaneously;

and the bronze would not have waited for art in order to become man-shaped, but would at once have been such by nature;

nor would the air have needed the pipe to make sound, but would always have sounded of itself by chance, as it flows and moves;

nor would the water have been forced through a tube by the pressures of art, which drives its motion upward, contrary to nature, for the sake of the device's effect;

but the water would of itself rise altogether toward the contrivance, channeled upward by its own nature.

But if none of these things is wrought spontaneously by the nature of the elements, but each is brought to the intended result by art;

and art is a kind of thought, a kind of movement and activity—then through these very opposing examples the sequence of what has been said has demonstrated that the mind is something other than what appears.

{Gregory:} And I said: I too affirm that this is so—that the unseen is not the same as what appears;

yet I do not see in this argument what is being sought, for it is not yet clear to me what one must suppose that unseen thing to be. That it is not anything material, I have been taught by the argument;

but I have not yet learned what it is fitting to say about it.

And this is precisely what I most needed to learn—not what it is not, but what it actually is.

{The Teacher:} She replied: We learn many things, and about many subjects, in this way—by saying what the very being of the thing sought is not, while interpreting what it actually is.

For by calling the good man 'free from vice' we have set him before us, and by naming the coward 'unmanly' we have made him known; and many other expressions of like manner can be cited.

By such means we either grasp the more wholesome notion through the denial of what is base, or, conversely, we turn in our suppositions toward the worse, indicating the bad by the removal of the good.

So then, if one applies this same understanding to the present argument, he would not fail to reach the proper conception concerning what is sought.

Now what is sought is this: what one must suppose the mind to be according to its very essence.

Therefore the one who does not doubt that this thing under discussion exists—because of the activity it displays to us—but wishes to know what it is, would do well enough if he learns that it is not the very thing which sense perception grasps;

that it is not color, not shape, not resistance to touch, not weight, not magnitude, not extension in three dimensions, not position in place, nor anything at all of the things apprehended in matter—then, seeing none of these, [he asks] what else besides these it is.

And as she was going through this, I interrupted: {Gregory:} I do not understand, I said, how it is possible, when all these are taken away from the account, that the very thing we seek is not blotted out together with them.

For to what could the searching, apprehending faculty attach itself apart from these things? At least according to my own supposition, this is not yet to be seen.

For everywhere in the search for existing things, by means of the investigating intellect, however great the object sought may be, we—like blind men groping along walls to the door, led by the hand—inevitably touch upon some one of the things mentioned: either finding color, or shape, or magnitude, or some other of the things you have just enumerated;

but when it is said that the thing is none of these, then, out of faintheartedness, we are led around to supposing that it is nothing at all.

{The Teacher:} But she, breaking in upon the argument with vexation, said: Alas, what absurdity! To what an end does this petty, earth-bound judgment about existing things bring us!

For if everything that is not recognized by sense perception is excluded from existence, then the one who says this would surely not even acknowledge that Power itself which presides over the universe and holds all things in its grasp; rather, having been taught that the divine nature is incorporeal and formless, he would by such a chain of reasoning conclude that it does not exist at all.

But if in that case 'the absence of these (sensible) properties' does not amount to a denial of existence, how is it that the human mind is squeezed out of existence, being consumed along with the removal of bodily characteristics? {Gregory:} I said: So then, by this chain of reasoning we exchange one absurdity for another.

For our argument is reduced to supposing that our mind is identical with the divine nature, if indeed each of them is conceived by the removal of what is found through sense perception.

{The Teacher:} Do not say 'identical,' said the Teacher (for this too is an impious statement), but, as you were taught by the divine Scripture, say that the one is 'like' the other.

For that which came into being 'according to the image' surely has in all respects a likeness to its archetype: intellectual to the intellectual, incorporeal to the incorporeal, freed from all bulk just as that is, and escaping every measurement by quantity, like that one;

yet it is something other than that one according to the distinctiveness of its nature.

For it would no longer be an image, if it were identical with that one in all respects; but in those very respects in which that one is beheld in the uncreated nature, in the same respects does the created nature display this image;

and just as often in a small fragment of glass, when it happens to lie facing a sunbeam, the whole disk of the sun is seen reflected—not appearing in it according to its own magnitude, but only so far as the smallness of the fragment can contain the image of the disk;

so in the smallness of our nature the images of those ineffable characteristics of the Godhead shine forth, so that reason, led by the hand through these, neither falls away from the apprehension of the mind according to its essence—the bodily property being purged away in the examination of the inquiry—

nor again, on the other hand, raises the small and perishable [nature] to equality with the boundless and undefiled nature;

but rather supposes the essence [of the soul] to be intelligible,

since it is also the image of an intelligible essence—yet not calling the image the same as the archetype.

Just as, then, through the ineffable wisdom of God which is reflected in the universe, we do not doubt that the divine nature and power are present in all existing things, so that all may abide in being;

and yet, if you should demand the account of its nature, the essence of God stands utterly remote from each of the things shown and conceived in creation;

but nevertheless he confesses that God is present in these things, though separated from them by nature;

so likewise it is in no way incredible that the essence of the soul—being something other in itself, whatever it may be conjectured to be—is not hindered from existing, even though those things which are observed in the world according to the elements do not pertain to it according to the account of its nature;

nor, in the case of living bodies (as has already been said before)—whose subsistence is from the mixture of the elements—is there any fellowship, according to the account of essence, between [the elements] and the simple and formless nature of the soul …

...the bodily density and grossness.

Nevertheless, that the soul's life-giving activity is present in these elements is not to be doubted, having been blended with them by some principle higher than human understanding.

Therefore, even when the elements within bodies dissolve back into themselves, that which binds them together through the life-giving activity does not perish.

But just as, while the composite of elements still holds together, the soul gives life to each part—being present perhaps equally and alike in all the parts that make up the body—and one could not say that the soul is hard and resistant because mingled with the earthy element, nor moist, nor cold, nor of the quality opposite to cold, even though it is present in all of these and infuses life-giving power into each;

so too, even when the composite is dissolved and the elements run back again to their own kindred, it is in no way contrary to reason to suppose that, even after the dissolution, that simple and non-composite nature remains present to each of the parts.

Rather, that nature which was once joined—by some ineffable principle—to the composite of the elements remains forever present with those things into which it was blended, in no way being torn away from the union once formed with it.

For it does not follow that, because the compound is dissolved, the non-compound is in danger of being dissolved along with the composite.

And I (Gregory) said: That the elements come together with one another and are separated from one another, and that this constitutes the formation and dissolution of the body—no one would dispute this.

But since a great distance is perceived between each of these things, which are of different kinds in relation to one another—both in their positions in space and in the difference and peculiarity of their qualities—while the elements have run together with one another around the substrate, this intelligent and dimensionless nature, which we call the soul, holds together by natural affinity with what is unified;

but if these elements should be separated from one another, and each should go off wherever its nature draws it, what will the soul suffer when its vehicle has been scattered in many directions?

Just as a sailor, when his ship has been broken up in a shipwreck, cannot swim while clinging to all the pieces of the vessel scattered here and there over the sea (for, grasping whatever comes to hand, he must leave the rest to be carried off by the waves), in the same way the soul, being unable to be split apart along with the division of the elements—if indeed it is hard to detach it from the body—will cling to some one of the elements and be torn away from the others; and the consequence of the argument leads one to suppose that the soul is no more immortal because it lives in one element than mortal because it does not exist in the many.

But (said Macrina, the Teacher), that which is intelligible and dimensionless neither contracts nor disperses (for contraction and diffusion are proper to bodies); rather, in accordance with its own formless and incorporeal nature, it is present equally both to the composition of the elements around the body and to their separation, neither being cramped and confined when the elements are pressed together in the composite, nor, when they depart to their kindred, being left behind contrary to their nature—even though the difference observed between the elements may seem very great.

For great is the difference between what tends upward and is light and what is heavy and earthy, between the hot and the cold, and between the moist and its opposite;

but nevertheless it is no labor for the intelligent nature to be present to each of those things into which it was once implanted, not being split apart through the contrariety of the elements by reason of its blending. For it is not because these elements, in their spatial separation and their particular qualities, are reckoned to be far from one another, that the dimensionless nature grows weary in being joined to things that are spatially separated; since even now it is possible for the mind at one and the same time both to contemplate heaven and, in its inquiries, to reach out to the ends of the cosmos;

and the contemplative power of our soul, stretching out over such great distances, is not torn apart.

Therefore there is no hindrance to the soul's being present in equal measure to the elements of the body, both when they are mingled together through their concurrence and when they are released through their dissolution.

For just as, when gold and silver have been fused together, a certain skilled power is observed in them—the power that fused the materials together;

and if the one should again be melted apart from the other, the principle of the craft remains no less in each;

and the material was divided, but the craft was not cut apart along with the material;

for how could that which is indivisible be divided? By the same principle, the intelligent nature of the soul both is observed in the concurrence of the elements and, when they are dissolved, is not separated off; but it remains in them and, stretching alongside them in their separation, is not cut through, nor is it broken up into partial pieces corresponding to the number of the elements.

For this is proper to a corporeal and extended nature;

but the intelligent and dimensionless nature does not admit of the affections that arise from extension.

Therefore the soul is present in those very things in which it once came to be, no necessity tearing it away from its natural affinity with them.

(Macrina:) What, then, is there gloomy in this, if the formless is exchanged for the visible? And on what account is your mind so set against death? And I (Gregory), recalling to my mind the definition of the soul which she had made in the discourses preceding this, said that the argument did not, in my view, sufficiently demonstrate the powers that are observed in the soul;

the definition which says that the soul is an intelligent essence, and that it instills into the organic body a life-giving power for the activity of the senses;

for our soul is active not only in scientific and contemplative thought, working out such things in the intelligent part of its essence, nor does it merely order the sense-organs toward their natural activity;

but there is also observed in this nature much movement in the way of desire, and much also in the way of anger;

and since each of these is present in us generically, we see the movement of both proceeding, in its operations, into many and varied differences.

For many things can be seen of which the desiring faculty takes the lead;

and many again that spring from the cause that belongs to anger; and none of this is body, while the incorporeal is altogether intelligent;

and the definition declared the soul to be something intelligent. Hence, from the logical consequence of the argument, one of two absurdities arises: either that anger and desire are other souls within us, and a multitude of souls is to be seen instead of one; or that we must not consider even the reasoning faculty within us to be the soul.

For the term 'intelligent,' if applied equally to all of these, will either prove them all to be souls, or will, on the same ground, exclude each of them from the proper character of the soul.

And she (Macrina) said: This is a question that has already been investigated by many others, and you are consequently inquiring into it as well—namely, what one ought to suppose these things to be, the desiring and the irascible faculties: whether they are co-essential with the soul and present in it from the very moment of its constitution, or whether they are something other than it and come to be in us at a later time.

For that these are observed in the soul is admitted by all alike;

but as to what one ought to think concerning them, reason has not yet found out with accuracy,

so as to hold a firm conviction concerning these matters; rather, the many are still in doubt, with wandering and divergent opinions about them.

Now, for us, if the philosophy outside (the Scriptures), which has treated of these matters with technical skill, were truly sufficient for demonstration, it would perhaps be superfluous to put forward the discourse concerning the soul for our inquiry.

But since for them the theory concerning the soul advanced freely, according to what seemed plausible and in keeping with their own authority;

while we are without this license—I mean, the license of saying whatever we please—using as the rule and law of every doctrine the Holy Scripture;

of necessity looking to this, we accept only that which is in harmony with the aim of the things written.

Therefore, leaving aside the Platonic chariot, and the team of colts yoked to it—which are not alike in their impulses toward one another—and the charioteer set over them, by means of all which Plato philosophizes about such matters concerning the soul in an enigmatic way;

and likewise all that the philosopher after him—the one who follows appearances with technical skill, and who examines with care the very matters now set before us—declared by these means, namely that the soul is mortal; and leaving behind all who came before these and all who followed,

both those who philosophized in prose and those who did so in some rhythm and meter—leaving all these behind, let us make the God-inspired Scripture the goal of our discourse, which lays down as law that nothing is to be reckoned distinctive of the soul which is not also proper to the divine nature.

For he who declared the soul to be a likeness of God thereby declared that whatever is alien to God lies outside the definition of the soul.

For the likeness could not be preserved in things that differ.

Therefore, since nothing of this kind is contemplated together with the divine nature, neither would one reasonably suppose these things (desire and anger) to be co-essential with the soul.

Now, as for confirming our own doctrines by the dialectical art, through the science of syllogism and analysis, we shall decline this kind of discourse as unsound and suspect for the demonstration of truth.

For it is plain to all that the intricate craft of dialectic has equal force in both directions—both toward the overthrow of truth and toward the accusation of falsehood.

Hence, even truth itself, whenever it is advanced by means of such an art, we often regard with suspicion, as though the cleverness about this art were deceiving our understanding and leading it astray from the truth.

But if anyone will accept the argument that is unadorned and stripped of all elaborate embellishment, we shall speak as best we can, bringing forward the contemplation concerning these matters in accordance with the sequence of the scriptural instruction.

What, then, is it that we affirm? That man, this rational living being, is capable of mind and knowledge—this is attested even by those outside our own teaching. They would not have outlined our nature in such a definition if they had observed anger and desire and all such things to be co-essential with the nature.

For in no other case would anyone give a definition of the subject by stating what is common to it instead of what is proper to it.

Since, then, the faculties of desire and of spirited anger are observed equally in both the irrational and the rational nature, no one could reasonably characterize what is proper by appeal to what is common.

But that which is superfluous and to be cast aside in the outline of our nature—how can it, as though a part of the nature, have the power to overturn the definition? For every definition of an essence looks to what is proper to the subject.

And whatever lies outside what is proper is disregarded by the definition as something foreign to it.

But it is agreed that the activity expressed through anger and desire is common to every nature, both rational and irrational.

And everything that is common is not the same as that which is proper.

It is therefore necessary, on these grounds, to reckon that these things do not reside among those things by which human nature is distinctively characterized.

But just as one who observes the faculties of sense-perception, nourishment, and growth in us does not on that account dissolve the definition already given of the soul (for the presence of the one in the soul does not mean the absence of the other), so too one who has considered the movements of our nature that concern anger and desire would not reasonably quarrel with the definition as though it had set forth our nature deficiently.

{Gregory} "What, then, ought one to think about this?" I said to the teacher. "For I am not yet able to perceive how it is fitting to disown, as foreign to our nature, the very things that are within us."

{Macrina} "You see," she said, "that there is a kind of struggle of the reasoning faculty against these things, and an effort to isolate the soul from them so far as it can."

"And indeed there are some in whom this effort has succeeded—as we hear concerning Moses, that he was superior to both anger and desire. For Scripture testifies both things of him: that he was meek beyond all men (and meekness indicates a lack of wrath, and an estrangement from anger), and that he did not desire any of those things in regard to which we see the desiring faculty at work among the many."

"Now this could not have happened if these things were nature and were to be referred to the account of the essence."

"For it is not possible for one who has come to be outside his nature to remain in existence."

"But if Moses both remained in existence and yet was not subject to these things, then these things are something other than the nature, and not nature itself."

"For if that is truly nature in which the being of the essence is grasped, while the estrangement from these things lies within our power—so as to be not merely without loss, but even profitable to the nature..."

"It is clear, then, that these passions belong to the things observed from outside the nature, and are not the essence."

"For nature is just that which it is."

"Now to most people anger seems to be a boiling of the blood about the heart."

"Others take it to be a craving to give grief in return to the one who first caused it."

"But as we would suppose, anger is an impulse to do harm to the one who has provoked us."

"None of these, however, accords with the definition of the soul."

"And even if we define desire in itself, we shall call it a reaching out toward what is lacking, or a longing for the enjoyment of pleasure, or a grief over a thing desired that is not within one's power to obtain;"