II. ON THE TWO SOULS. With the mercy of God bringing help, the snares of the Manichaeans being broken and left behind, having at last been restored to the bosom of the Catholic Church, it is fitting now at least to consider and to bewail that misery of mine. For there were many things which I ought to have done, so that the seeds of the truest religion, salutarily implanted in me from boyhood, might not so easily and in a few days, by the error or fraud of false and deceitful men, be dug out and driven from my mind. For first, those two kinds of souls, to which they attributed individual natures and properties in such a way that one is of the very substance of God, but of the other they would not have even God accepted as its founder.
If I had considered these things soberly and carefully with me, with a mind suppliant and pious toward God, perhaps it would have appeared to me, as I busied myself, that there is no life of any kind whatsoever which, by the very fact that it is life and in so far as it is at all life, does not pertain to the highest fount and principle of life — which we can confess to be nothing other than the highest and only and true God. Wherefore those souls which are called evil by the Manichaeans either lack life and are not souls, nor will or refuse, seek or flee anything; or, if they were alive, so that they could both be souls and do some such thing as those men supposed, they in no way live except by life; and if it were established that Christ said (as it is established): 'I am the life,'
there would be no cause why we should not confess that all souls — since souls cannot exist except by living — were created and founded through Christ, that is, through the Life. But if at that time my thought could not carry and sustain the question about life itself and about the participation of life — a question which is assuredly great and needs much serene disputation among the most learned — perhaps I might have been able to discern that which most manifestly appears to every man who considers well, without partisan zeal: that everything which we are said to know and be acquainted with, we have grasped either by the sense of the body or by the understanding. And that the senses of the body are commonly reckoned as five: sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch;
and that understanding far and by far surpasses and excels all of these — who would not grant this to me, unless he were ungrateful and impious? This being established and confirmed, it would follow that all things which were perceived corporeally, by touch and sight or in any other way whatsoever, were as much inferior to those which we attain by understanding, as we see the very senses yield to the understanding. Wherefore, since all life, and on that account every soul, can be perceived by no sense of the body, but by the intellect alone — while this sun and moon and all light, which is discerned by these mortal eyes, is said even by the Manichaeans themselves to be attributed to the true and good God:
it is the utmost madness to proclaim that what we behold through the body pertains to God, but to think that what we grasp not only by the mind, but by the very loftiness of the mind — namely by intellect and understanding — that is, life, of whatever kind it be called, must nevertheless be deprived and widowed of that same God as its author. For could I not answer, if, having invoked God, I asked my very self what it is to live, and how set apart from every sense of the body, and how altogether incorporeal? Or would not they too confess that not only do those souls which they detest live, but even live immortally? And that which was said by Christ:
'Let the dead bury their dead' was said not of those who do not live at all, but of those who sin, which is the only death of the immortal soul, as Paul writes: 'The widow who lives in pleasures is dead'; for at one and the same time he called her both dead and living. Wherefore I would not attend to how much more disfigured a sinful soul may live, but only to that very fact, that it lives. And if I could not grasp this except by understanding, I believe it would come to mind that any soul whatsoever is to be preferred to the light which we perceive through these eyes, by as much as we prefer understanding to the eyes themselves. Now they too affirm that this light is from the Father of Christ: should I, then, of all men, doubt that whatever soul there be is from Him?
But I, for my part, not only concerning the soul, but even concerning any body whatever, would in no way have doubted that it was from Him—not even then, being of course a man of that inexperience and that youth—if I had piously and cautiously pondered what form is and what the formed is, what species is and what is clothed with species, and then which of these is the cause of which. But of the body I am silent for now; concerning the soul I make my complaint, concerning its spontaneous and living motion, concerning its activity, its life, and finally its immortality; I complain that I, most wretched, believed all these things could possess any existence apart from the goodness of God, and that I heedlessly failed to attend to how great they are: this I think I ought to groan over and bewail. I would have turned these things over within me, I would have spoken with myself, I would have brought them before those men.
I would have set forth what the power of understanding is, and how nothing in man could be compared to this excellence. Once men—if only they were truly men—had granted me this, I would have asked whether to see with these eyes is the same as to understand; and when they had denied it, I would first conclude that the understanding of the mind is by far to be set before the perception of these eyes; then I would add that what we grasp by the better faculty must necessarily be judged the better. Who would not grant this? I would therefore proceed to ask whether that soul which they called evil is perceived by these eyes, or understood by the mind. They would confess it is by the mind. And all these things having been agreed upon among us and established, I would show what was concluded—namely, that that very soul which they execrated
is better than that very light which they venerate, seeing that the former is made known by the understanding of the mind, the latter by the sense of the body. But here perhaps they would balk and refuse to follow reason as their guide: so great is the power of sluggish, long-held opinions and of falsehood long defended and believed. Yet I would press the more upon them as they balked—not harshly, not childishly, not stubbornly; I would repeat what had been conceded, and would show how much ought to be conceded. I would urge them to take counsel in common; they should surely see what we must deny: whether understanding is to be preferred to these fleshly lights, or whether they held it false that what is known by the excellence of the mind is more excellent than what is known by the feeble sense of the body; or whether they held it false that those souls which they believed to be of alien origin
can be known only by understanding—that is, by the very excellence of the mind—this they would be unwilling to confess; or whether they would deny that the sun and moon are made known to us only by these eyes. But if they perceived that none of these things could be denied except most absurdly and most shamelessly, I would persuade them that they ought not to doubt that this light, which they proclaimed should be worshipped, is baser than that soul which they warned should be fled. And here, if perchance, disturbed by me, they should ask whether I judged that even a fly's soul is to be preferred to this light, I would answer: Yes indeed. Nor would the fly frighten me because it is small, but I would maintain my point because it is alive.
For the question is: what enlivens those tiny members, what leads that minute little body hither and thither according to its natural appetite, what moves the feet of the running creature in rhythm, or what governs and makes quiver the little wings of the flying creature. Whatever this may be, to those who consider it well it stands out so great in so small a thing that it is to be preferred to any brilliance that dazzles the eyes. Certainly—as no one doubts—whatever it is, it is intelligible, which by divine laws surpasses everything sensible and, on this account, this light as well.
For what, I ask, do we grasp by thought, if we do not grasp this: that it is one thing to understand by the mind and another to perceive through the body; and that the former is separated from the latter by an incomparable sublimity; and that therefore intelligible things cannot but be preferred to sensible things, since the understanding itself is so far preferred to the senses? Hence perhaps I would also come to recognize this—which is manifestly consequent—that since injustice and intemperance and the other vices of the soul are not perceived by sense but understood: how it comes about that even these things, which we detest and judge worthy of condemnation, nevertheless, because they are intelligible, are able to surpass this light, although this light in its own kind is praiseworthy.
For it is suggested to a soul that duly submits itself to God, first, that not everything we praise is to be preferred to everything we blame. For it is not the case that, because I praise most purified lead, I therefore value it above blameworthy gold; for each thing must be considered within its own kind. I disapprove of a jurist who is ignorant of many laws, yet I so prefer him to a most approved cobbler that I do not think them even to be compared. But that cobbler I praise, because he is most skilled in his own craft; the jurist, however, I rightly reproach because he fulfills his own profession less well. From which I ought to discover that this light, being perfect in its own proper kind, is rightly praised;
yet, because it is included in the number of sensible things, whose kind must necessarily yield to the kind of intelligible things, it must be reckoned below unjust and intemperate souls, since these are intelligible—although we judge those souls not undeservedly most worthy of condemnation. For in them we seek what may be reconciled to God, not what may be preferred to that brilliance. Wherefore, if anyone should contend that this light is from God, I would not resist, but would rather say that souls—even vicious ones—not insofar as they are vicious, but insofar as they are souls, ought to confess that God is their creator. At this point, if any of them, cautious and vigilant, now even more studious than obstinate, should admonish me that the inquiry is not about vicious souls,
but the vices themselves must be the subject of inquiry—which, since they are not known by the sense of the body and yet are known, can be received only as intelligible; and if these surpass all sensible things, why we agree among ourselves that the light is to be attributed to God as author, whereas no one but a blasphemer would call God the author of vices—I would answer such a man, if either the solution of this question had straightway and suddenly shone upon me from on high (as is wont to happen to God's good worshippers), or had been prepared beforehand; but if I had merited and been able to attain neither of these, I would defer what I had begun, and confess that what was proposed was difficult and arduous to discern.
I would run back into myself, would prostrate myself before God, would groan deeply in my seeking, that He might not suffer me to stick fast midway upon the course I had advanced by sure reasonings; that I might not be forced by the double-edged question either to submit and subject intelligible things to sensible things, or to call God Himself the author of vices—since either of these would be most full of falsehood and impiety. I could in no way suppose that He would forsake me, affected as I was thus. He would therefore admonish me, by those His ineffable ways, to consider again and again whether the vices of the soul, over which I was in a ferment, were to be numbered among intelligible things.
In order to discover this—because of the weakness of my inner eye, which had rightly befallen me through my sins—I would contrive for myself some step among visible things themselves for beholding invisible things: things of which we have knowledge in no way more certain, but a more confident familiarity. And so I would straightway ask what properly pertains to the sense of the eyes. I would find colors, over which this light holds the primacy. For these are what no other sense reaches: for the motions of bodies and their magnitudes and intervals and figures, although they can be perceived by the eyes, yet can be perceived not only by them but by touch as well. Whence I would conclude that light so surpasses the other corporeal and sensible things by as much as sight is more illustrious than the other senses.
This light, then, being cast out from all things that are perceived by the body—the light upon which I would rely and in which I would necessarily place that step of my inquiry—I would proceed to attend to what happens in this manner, and would discourse with myself thus: If this sun, so conspicuous in its great brightness and sufficient for the light of day, were gradually to fail before our sight down to the likeness of the moon, would we perceive with our eyes anything else than a light still shining in some way, yet a light—seeking by not-seeing what had been, and drinking in by seeing what was present? We would therefore not see that failing, but the light which remained in the failing. And when we did not see it, we would not perceive it: for whatever we perceive by sight cannot but be seen.
Wherefore, if that failing were perceived neither by sight nor by any other sense, it could not be numbered among sensible things. For nothing is sensible which cannot be perceived. Let us now bring this consideration to bear upon virtue, by whose intelligible light we most fittingly say the soul shines. Further, a certain falling-away from this light of virtue—not destroying the soul, but darkening it—is called vice. Rightly, therefore, can the vice of the soul also be in no way numbered among intelligible things, just as that failing of light is rightly removed from the number of sensible things: yet that which remains of the soul—that is, this very thing, that it lives and is a soul—is as truly intelligible as that thing is sensible which in this visible light would shine, however faintly, after the failing.
And therefore the soul, insofar as it is soul and partakes of life—apart from which it can in no way be soul—is most rightly to be set before all sensible things. Wherefore it is of the greatest error to say that any soul is not from God, from whom you boast that the sun and moon are.
But if it should now please us to name as sensible all things—not only those which we perceive, but also those which, by not perceiving, we nevertheless judge through the body, as through the eyes we know darkness and through the ears silence (for the former we know by not seeing, the latter by not hearing); and again to name as intelligible not only those things which, with mind illumined, we behold, such as wisdom itself, but also those things which we turn away from by the very privation of that illumination, such as folly, which we may fittingly call the darkness of the mind:
I would raise no controversy over the word, but would resolve the whole question by an easy division, and would straightway prove, to those who attend well, that intelligible substances are set before sensible substances by the divine and incorruptible law of truth—not the failings of those substances, though we might wish to call the one intelligible and the other sensible. Wherefore those who would confess both these visible lights and those intelligible souls to be substances are in every way compelled to attribute and concede the more sublime parts to souls; but the failings of either kind cannot be preferred one to another; for they only deprive and indicate a not-being, since everywhere they have the same force, just as do negations themselves. For when we say:
'It is not gold,' and 'It is not virtue,' although between gold and virtues there is very great difference, yet there is no difference between the negations we have joined to them. But in truth it is worse not to have virtue than not to have gold; no one of sound mind is in doubt about this—which anyone would understand comes about not on account of the negations themselves, but on account of the things to which they are joined. For by as much as virtue surpasses gold, by so much is it more wretched to lack virtue than to lack gold. Wherefore, since intelligible things surpass sensible things, we deservedly bear a failing in intelligible things more grievously than one in sensible things, valuing not those failings, but the things that fail, as dearer or cheaper.
From which it now appears that the failing of life, which is intelligible, is far more pitiable than that of this sensible light, because, namely, intelligible life understood is far dearer than this light beheld. Since these things are so, will anyone dare, when he attributes to God the sun and moon and whatever shines among the stars, whatever in short shines in this our earthly fire with visible light, to refuse to concede that souls whatsoever—which assuredly are not souls except by living—are from God, seeing that life so far precedes this light? And since He speaks truly who says: 'Insofar as it shines, it is from God,' shall I then, O great God, lie if I say: 'Insofar as it lives, it is from God'? Not so far
—I beseech—let the blindness of mind and the punishments of souls be increased, that men should fail to understand these things. But however their error or obstinacy might stand, relying and armed with these reasonings, I believe that, when I had brought before them the matter thus considered and examined, and had calmly conferred it with them, I would fear lest any of them should seem to me to be of any account, if he tried to prefer to the mind's understanding—or to those things which are grasped by understanding and not through a failing—the bodily sense, or at least to compare with it those things which similarly pertain to knowing by that same sense.
This being established, when would that man, or anyone, dare to deny to me that souls—however evil one might wish them—nevertheless, because they were souls, are contained in the number of intelligible things, and are not understood through a failing? Since souls would be nothing else than that by which they live. For although they might be understood to be vicious through a failing—because vicious through want of virtue—yet they are not souls through a failing, but through living they are souls. Nor can it come about that the presence of life should be the cause of failing, since each thing fails by so much as it is deserted by life.
In every way, therefore, since it was clear that no souls can be separated from that Author from whom this light is not separated, I would now not accept whatever they alleged, but would rather admonish them to prefer to follow me together with those who proclaimed that everything, whatever it be, insofar as it is—inasmuch as it is—is from the one God. They would recite against me those evangelical words: 'You therefore do not hear, because you are not of God; you are of your father the devil.' I too, on the contrary, would recite: 'All things were made through Him, and without Him was made nothing,' and that of the Apostle: 'one God, from whom are all things, and one Lord Jesus Christ, through whom are all things'; and again of the same Apostle:
'from whom are all things, through whom are all things, in whom are all things; to Him be glory.' And I would exhort men—if only I could find men—that we should not presume as though we had already discovered anything, but should rather seek teachers who might show us the peace and concord of those sentences which seemed to us to be at war with one another—not in one and the same authority of the Scriptures, when in one place it sounded forth 'all things are from God,' and in another 'you are not of God.' For since it would be wicked rashly to condemn the sacred books, who would not see that a learned teacher, to whom the solution of this question was known, had to be found? Such a one, assuredly, if he were a good interpreter and, as it is divinely said, a spiritual man,
since he would necessarily favor those true reasonings which I have, so far as I could, handled and discussed concerning intelligible and sensible nature—nay rather, would himself open them up far better and more aptly for teaching—we would hear from him nothing else about this question than how it could come about both that no kind of souls should not be from God, and that it should nevertheless rightly be said to sinners and unbelievers: 'You are not of God.' For perhaps we too, having implored God to our aid, could easily see that it is one thing to live, another to sin; and although life in sins, compared with a just life, is called death, yet both can be found in one man, so that he is at once living and a sinner: but in that he lives, from God; in that he sins, not from God.
In which division we use that one of the two parts which suits our purpose: so that, when we wish to convey the omnipotence of God the Creator, we say even to sinners that they are from God—for we speak to those who are contained by some form, we speak to living beings, we speak to rational beings, we speak finally—which touches the matter most—to living beings, all of which are in themselves divine gifts—but when the purpose is to convict the wicked, we rightly say: 'You are not of God.' For we speak to those turning themselves away from truth, to unbelievers, to the wicked, to the shameful, and—what one word embraces as a whole—to sinners: and who, again, would doubt that all these things are not from God?
And so Christ, convicting sinners of that very thing—that they were sinners and did not believe in Him—what wonder if He says: 'You are not of God,' while on the other side that sentence remains intact, that 'all things were made through Him,' and 'all things are from God.' For if not to believe in Christ, to reject Christ's coming, not to receive Christ, were a sure sign of souls that are not God's, and if therefore it had been said 'You therefore do not hear, because you are not of God,' how would that word of the Apostle be true, in the memorable very beginning of the Gospel, where it is said: 'He came unto His own, and His own received Him not'? Whence 'His own,' if they did not receive Him? Or whence therefore 'not His own,' because they did not receive Him? Unless because men who are sinners, in that they are men,
belong to God; but in that they are sinners, belong to the devil. Here, therefore, he who said 'His own received Him not' held to the side of nature; he who said 'You are not of God' held to the side of the will. For the Evangelist was commending the works of God; Christ was restraining the sins of men. Here perhaps someone may say: whence come sins themselves, and whence, in general, comes evil? If from man, whence man? If from an angel, whence the angel? When these are said to be from God—although rightly and truly said—yet to the inexperienced and those less able to gaze keenly upon hidden things, evils and sins seem to be connected to God as though by a certain chain. In this question those men think they reign, as though indeed to ask were to know. Would that it were: no one would be found more knowing than I.
But I know not how it is that often, in wrangling, the propounder of a great question makes a show of the persona of a great teacher, while for the most part he himself is, in the very matter about which he tries to alarm others, more unlearned than the one he holds fast. And so those men think themselves to be preferred to the multitude, because they are the first to ask what, along with the multitude, they do not know. But if, at the time when I dealt with them—which I now repent of having done, though I have long ceased—they had objected this to me as I set forth these reasonings, I would say: I beseech you, meanwhile recognize with me what is most easy: if nothing can shine without God, much less can anything live without God, lest we remain amid such monstrosities of opinions as to proclaim that certain souls, I know not which, have life not from God.
For thus perhaps it will come about that what you are ignorant of together with me—that is, whence comes evil—we may at some time learn, either together or in whatever order. What then? For if the knowledge of the highest evil cannot befall a man without the knowledge of the highest good? For we would not know darkness, if we were always in darkness; but the knowledge of light did not suffer its contrary to remain unknown. Now the highest good is that than which nothing can be higher; but God is good, and nothing is higher than God: God, therefore, is the highest good. Let us therefore come to know God, and thus that which we too hastily seek will not lie hidden from us. Do you at last think the knowledge of God to be a matter of ordinary effort or merit?
For what other reward is promised to us than eternal life, which is the knowledge of God? For the Master, God, says: 'This is eternal life, that they may know Thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom Thou hast sent.' For although the soul is immortal, yet because its death is rightly called a turning-away from the knowledge of God, when it turns itself to God, it is the merit of attaining eternal life, so that eternal life is, as has been said, that very knowledge. But no one can turn to God unless he turns himself away from this world. This I feel to be for me arduous and most difficult; if for you it is easy, God Himself will see to it.
I would gladly believe, were I not moved by this: that whereas this world, from which we are bidden to turn away, is visible, and the Apostle has said 'the things that are seen are temporal, but the things that are not seen are eternal,' you attribute more to the judgment of these eyes than of the mind—you, among whom it is proclaimed and believed that there is no shining feather which does not shine from God, and that there is a living soul which lives not from God. These things and the like I would either say even to those men, or turn over within myself. For I could, beseeching God with all my inward parts, as it is said, and intent upon the Scriptures as far as was permitted, perhaps even then say such things, or—what was enough for salvation—think them.
But two things especially, which easily catch that unwary age, wore me down through their wondrous windings: of these, one was a familiarity that somehow crept in under a certain image of goodness, like some sinuous bond wound manifoldly about my neck; the other was that a certain baneful victory almost always came to me in disputations when I argued with the inexperienced—yet with Christians nonetheless striving in rivalry, each as best he could, to defend his own faith. By this very frequent success the young man's animosity swelled, and imprudently urged its own impulses on toward the great evil of obstinacy.
And because I had taken up that kind of wrangling after hearing those men, whatever I could bring to it—whether from such native talent as I had or from other readings—I most gladly attributed to them alone. And so from their discourses ardor for contests, and from the outcome of the contests love for them, was daily renewed. Whence it came about that whatever they said, in certain marvelous ways—not because I knew it to be true, but because I wished it to be true—I approved as true. Thus it happened that, although step by step and cautiously, I nevertheless long followed men who preferred a gleaming straw to the living soul. But be it so: I could not at that time distinguish and discern these sensible things from intelligible things—that is, the carnal from the spiritual. It was not owing to my age,
nor to instruction, nor even to some habit, nor finally to any merits—for it is a matter of no small joy and felicity. Could I then, after all, not even lay hold of that which, in the judgment of all men, nature itself has established by the laws of the highest God? For I would wish to try what any men whatever—those whom no madness had cut off from the common sense of the human race—would answer me when I asked, if they had brought to judging whatever zeal they pleased, whatever inexperience, however great even their slowness: whether it seemed to them that a person had sinned, from whose hand, while he slept, another had written something shameful.