Augustine: Earlier Writings (continued)
THE SOLILOQUIES 57
A.—Give me a little time to consider, in case I should have to go back again which would be a shame. R.— It will not be true that Truth has perished? If not, then it did not perish. If it is true, how, after the decease of Truth, can anything be true? For then there will be no Truth. A.— I have no need of further consideration. Go on to the other question. We shall at least do what we can, so that learned and understanding men may read these words and correct any rash utterance. For myself, I do not think that now or ever anything can be found to urge against these conclusions.
29. R.—Truth is that by which anything that is true is true? A.—Certainly. R.—Nothing is said to be true except what is not false? A.—It would be silly to doubt it. R.—Is not that false which has a certain likeness to something, but is not that to which it bears a resemblance? A.—To nothing else would I more freely give the name of false. And yet that is commonly called false which is very unlike the true. R.—Undeniably. But there is always some imitation of the true. A.—But how? When we are told that Medea joined together winged serpents and sped through the air, there is no imitation of what is true. For the tale is not true, and there can be no imitation of what does not exist. R.—Quite right. But observe that a thing which does not exist cannot even be said to be false. If it is false it exists. If it does not exist it is not false. A.—Are we not, then, to say that that monstrous story about Medea is false? R.—Not exactly. If it is false, how is it monstrous? A.—Here is a surprising thing. When I hear of "Huge winged serpents joined together by a yoke" I am not to say it is false. R.—Of course you are, but that implies something that exists. A.—What exists? R.—The statement expressed in that verse. A.—And where is there any imitation of the true in it? R.—Because it is stated as if Medea had really done it. A false statement is expressed exactly Hke a true one. If it is not intended to be believed, a false statement resembles a true one only in grammatical form. It is simply false and has no intent to deceive. If it demands belief it more obviously imitates a true statement.
A.—Now I understand that there is a great difference between mere statements and the objects about which statements are made. Now I agree, for you have removed my only reason for doubting, that we cannot rightly call anything false unless it imitates something that is true. A man who called a stone false silver would be justly laughed at. But if he were to say that a stone was silver, we should say that what he said was false, that 58 AUGUSTINE: EARLIER W«.ITINGS is, he had uttered a false statement. But it would not be absurd to call tin or lead false silver, for there is some resemblance. The falsehood Hes not in our statement but in the material objects about which it is made. x\i, 30. R.—You have understood perfectly. But could we appropriately call silver by the name of false lead? A.—I do not think so. R,—Why? A.— I don't know. I see no reason, except that I should be most unwilling to do so. R.—Possibly because silver is a more precious metal, and to call it imitation lead would be insulting; while to call lead imitation silver would be doing it honour, so to speak. A.—You have exactly explained my feelings. I believe that men are rightly held to be infamous and incapable of bearing witness or making a will who show themselves in women's garb. I do not know whether I should rather call them false women or false men. We can without hesitation call them true actors or truly infamous. Or if they are not found out, and we cannot use the word infamous unless there is pubhc ill fame, we can at least truthfully call them truly worthless fellows. R,—We can discuss that at another time. For many things that seem base to the popular eye, are clearly honourable when seen in the light of some laudable purpose. It is a big problem whether for the sake of his country's liberty a man may don a woman's dress in order to deceive the enemy. In this case, by being a false woman he might be more truly a man. And should a sage, who somehow knew that his life was necessary for the welfare of mankind, prefer to die of cold rather than be clad in female garments, if nothing else were available? But as I said, we can discuss that again. At any rate you perceive how much inquiry would be necessar)^ as to the hmits of such actions, to transgress which would involve a man in inexcusable baseness. But so far as our present problem is concerned, I think it is now clear and beyond doubt that nothing is false except by some imitation of the true. xvii, 31. A.—Go on to the rest of the argument, for I entirely accept this. R,—I ask, then, whether in addition to the scholastic disciplines, with which must be numbered the pursuit of wisdom, we can find anything so true that, unlike the Achilles of the theatre, it is not partly true and partly false. A,—Indeed I think many things can be found. The disciplines have nothing to do with that stone, and yet as a true stone it imitates nothing whereby it might be said to be false. This one example will show that we need name no others, for innumerable things will spontaneously occur to any one who thinks.
THE SOLILOQUIES RQ
R-—Quite so. But don't you think they could all be included in one category, material objects? A,—Yes, if I were sure that there is no such thing as the void; if I thought that the mind was to be numbered among material things, and if I believed that God too was corporeal. If all this is granted, I see that everything that exists is true, having no false imitation. R.—You are sending us out on a long discussion, but I shall be as brief as I can. At least what you call the void is a very different thing from the Truth. A,—Very different. What could be more void of sense than for me, if I think Truth is a void, to seek so earnestly what is vain? What else do I desire to find but Truth? R,—You will allow that nothing is true which is not made to be true by Truth. A,—That has been perfectly clear for a long time. R.—You do not doubt that there is nothing besides the void unless it be matter? A.—I do not. R.—Then it appears that you think Truth is a material thing. A.—Not at all. R,—Is it in a material body? A.—I do not know, but it does not matter. I am sure you know that, if there is a void, it is where there is no material body. R.—That is clear. A.—Why, then, do we delay? R,—Do you think that Truth has created the void, or that anything is true where there is no Truth? A.—I do not. R.—Then the void is not true. Nothing can be made void by that which is not void. And it is clear that nothing is true where Truth is not, and the void is so called because it is nothing. How, therefore, can that be true which does not exist? Indeed, how can that exist which is absolutely nothing? A.—Gome, then, let us leave the void as being utterly void. xviii, 32. R,—What about the other questions? A.—Which?
R,—Those which you see are my chief interest. I mean the soul and God. If these two are true because Truth is in them, no one doubts concerning the immorta Hty of God. Moreover, the soul is believed to be immortal if Truth, which cannot perish, is proved to be in it. Wherefore, let us look at the final question, whether material substance be not truly true, that is, whether there be in it not Truth, but only a kind of semblance of Truth. For if in the body, which certainly perishes, we find such truth as is found in the sciences, the science of dialectic will not be the Truth in virtue of which all the sciences are true. For corporeal substance is true, though it does not seem to have been formed by the rational process of dialectic. If matter is true by imitation and therefore not perfectly true, there will be nothing to prevent dialectic being claimed as the very Truth. ^.—Meantime, let us inquire about matter. Not 6o AUGUSTINE: EARLIER WRITINGS even when this is determined do I see that controversy settled.
R,—How do you know the will of God? But listen. I think matter is contained in some form or outward appearance without which it would not be matter. If it had true form it would be soul. Am I wrong? A.—I agree with your first proposition, but about the second I am in doubt. I agree that unless it were contained in some shape it would not be matter. But I fail to understand how it would be soul if it had true form. R.—Don't you remember speaking about geometrical figures at the beginning of the first book? A.—Thanks for reminding me. Of course, I remember. R,—Do you find in material objects such figures as geometry employs? A.—Oh, no. Much inferior ones. R.— Which, then, of the two do you think are true? A.—Please do not think I need to be asked such a question. Who is so blind as not to see that the figures employed in geometry belong to the Truth, or that Truth is in them; w-hile the figures exhibited in material objects, though indeed they seem to resemble geometrical figures, somehow imitate the truth and are to that extent false. Now I understand all you were trying to show me. xix, 33. R.—There is no need, then, to inquire about dialectic. Whether geometrical figures belong to Truth, or Truth is in them, no one doubts that they are contained in our minds, so that necessarily Truth is in our minds. But if any scientific discipline is in the mind inseparably, and Truth cannot perish, why, pray, should we doubt concerning the everlasting life of the mind because of our familiarity with death? Has the geometrical line or square or circle anything else to imitate in order that it may be true? A.—I cannot believe it, unless a fine is other than length without breadth, and a circle is other than a line drawn round a centre and always equally distant from the centre. R.—Why, then, do we hesitate? Is there no Truth in the mathematical fine and circle? A.—God avert such stupidity! R.—Is scientific learning not in the mind? A.—Who could say that? R.—Possibly that which is in a subject may continue when the subject itself has been destroyed? A.—I could never be so persuaded. R.—Perhaps Truth may pass away? A,—How could that be? R.—Very well then, the soul is immortal. Now trust your reasonings. Trust Truth. It cries out that it dwells in you, that it is immortal, that it can never be forced to abandon its dwelling place by any kind of bodily death. Turn away from your shadow, and return to your inward self There is no death for you unless you forget that you are of such a nature that you cannot die. A.—As I Hsten to you
THE SOLILOQUIES 6l
I begin to understand and to grasp your meaning. But please elucidate a question which has been left over. How are science and truth to be understood to exist in a mind untrained at least if we may not call it mortal? R,—That question would require another volume if it were to be fully treated. I see you must think over the things we have investigated according to our powers; for if no doubt remains concerning them I think we have done a good day's work, and can go on to investigate other problems vdth no little sense of security.
XX, 34. A.—It is as you say, and I willingly obey your behests. And yet, before you bring this volume to an end, I should like to ask you briefly to explain what is the diflference between a true figure, such as is grasped by the intelligence, and one such as the imagination depicts, which in Greek is called a phantasy or a phantasm. R.—None but the most pure can understand that, and you have had too Httle practice in philosophy to be able to see it. In all these circuitous arguments we have been simply exercising your powers so that you may become fit to see it. But perhaps I may briefly explain how the vast diflference may be made known. Suppose you have forgotten something and your friends want you to recall it to your memory. They will say, "Is it this? Is it that?" mentioning various things of a similar kind. You do not recall what you are seeking, but you know that it is none of the things they have mentioned. Now surely what has happened is not entire oblivion? For the discernment which refuses to accept a false suggestion is itself a kind of memory. A,—Seemingly. R.—In such a case you do not yet see the truth, but you are not deceived, for you have some idea of what it is you are looking for. But if some one were to tell you that you smiled a few days after you were born, you do not venture to say it is false. If the speaker is one whom you can trust, you will not remember the fact but you will beheve it. That whole period is buried for you in utter oblivion. Don't you think so? A.—I quite agree. R.—This kind of forgetfulness differs greatly from the other kind we have just spoken of, which has a sort of intermediate position between forgetfulness and remembering. It is closer to remembering and reviving a truth. A similar situation occurs when we see something and are quite certain we have seen it before. We say that we know it, but where, when, how, in whose company it came to our notice, we cannot recall without a great deal of trouble. Or we may meet a man and have to ask where we made his acquaintance. When he reminds us, the whole thing suddenly comes back to our memory as if a light had been kindled, and we have no further trouble in reca Uing it. Is this kind of experience unknown to you or strange? A.—Nothing is plainer, for nothing happens to me more frequently.
35. R.—Such are those who are well educated in the liberal arts. Doubtless in learning them they draw them out from the oblivion! that has overwhelmed them, or dig them out as it were. They are not content until they fully behold the face of Truth, whose splendour glimmers even now in these Hberal arts. But from these arts, too, some false colours and shapes are reflected, as it were, on the mirror of the mind, and often deceive inquirers into thinking that that is all they can know or look for. These imaginations are to be avoided with the greatest care. They are proved fallacious because they vary as the mirror of the mind varies. The face of Truth remains one and immutable. The mind will depict a square now of this size, now of that and present it to the eye. But the inward mind which seeks to see the truth turns rather, if it has the power, to the ideal square by which all squareness is judged. A.—Supposing someone says that the mind judges according to what it is accustomed to see with the eyes? R.—How, then, does it judge, as it will do if it is well trained, that a true sphere of any size whatever will touch a true plane surface at a single point? How can the eye ever see any such thing, which cannot even be imagined by thought? Do we not prove this when we think of the smallest imaginable circle and draw lines to the centre?
If we draw two lines so close together that the point of a needle can hardly penetrate between them, we cannot even in imagination draw other intermediate lines that will reach the centre without coinciding. And yet reason proclaims that innumerable intermediate lines can be dravoi in that incredibly narrow space, and that they \vdll not touch except at the centre, indeed that between any two of them a circle can be drawn. Now if phantasy cannot take this in but is even more defective than the eyes which are responsible for inflicting it on the mind, clearly phantasy is very different from truth and cannot see it.
1 Cp. Retract. I, iv, 4. Referring to this passage Augustine wxites, "I do not approve this. When even untrained persons, suitably questioned, are able to return correct answers, a more credible reason is that they have according to their capacity the presence of the light of the Eternal Reason. Hence they catch a glimpse of immutable truth. The reason is not that they once knew it and have forgotten, as Plato and others like him have thought." In his early writings Augustine seems to have held the Platonic doctrine of Reminiscence. It is rejected in De Trinit. XII, xv, 24.