Augustine: Earlier Writings
if their attitude cannot be changed, not to have them with you?
I confess that is so. R.—Then you desire their Hfe and presence not for its own sake but in order to find out wisdom.
I agree at once. R.—If your own hfe was a hindrance to the obtaining of wisdom, would you want it to continue? A.—No; I should flee from it. R.—If you learned that you could reach wisdom equally by continuing in the body or by leaving it, would you greatly care whether you enjoyed what you love in this life or in another? A.—If I knew that I should encounter nothing that would drive me back from the point to which I have already progressed I should not care. R.—Your reason, then, for fearing death now is lest you be involved in some evil which would rob you of the knowledge of God. A.—Not only lest / should be robbed of such understanding as I have reached, but also lest, retaining what I myself possess, I should be precluded from the society of those whom I eagerly desire to share it. R.—So you do not wish for continued life on its own account but on account of wisdom? A.—That is so.
21. R.—There remains only bodily pain to distract you. A.—Even that I do not greatly fear except that it hinders my meditations. When, recently, I was tortured with a sharp toothache, I could only meditate upon things I had already learned and was completely prevented from learning anything new, which demands undivided attention. Still, I thought if the truth were to shine into my mind, either I should not feel the pain, or at least I could bear it. And yet, although I have never suffered anything worse, I reflected how much more grievous pains might come, and I am compelled to agree with Cornelius Celsusi who says that the supreme good is wisdom and the supreme evil is bodily pain. The reason he gives I think not absurd. For, he says, seeing we are composed of two parts, soul and body, of which the soul is the better and the body the inferior, the supreme good will be the best that can happen to the superior part, and the supreme evil the worst that can happen to the inferior part. Wisdom is the best the soul can have, and pain the worst thing the body can suflfer. So I think we may rightly conclude that to be wise is man's supreme good and to suffer pain his supreme evil. R.—We shall consider that later. Perhaps Wisdom herself, towards which we struggle, will persuade us otherwise. But if she shows that it is true we shall hold this opinion about the supreme good and the supreme evil without any hesitation.
1 A famous Roman physician, flor. a.d. 50.
THE SOLILOQUIES 07 xiii, 22. But now what kind of man are you to be Wisdom's lover, desirous of seeing and embracing her, as it were, without any covering garment but yet most chastely. That privilege she allows only to a very few chosen lovers. If you burned with love for some beautiful woman, she would not rightly give herself to you if she found you loved anything else besides. So that most chaste beauty, Wisdom, will not show herself to you unless you burn for her alone. ^.—Why am I, then, kept in unhappy suspense and miserably tortured by being put off? Surely I have shown already that I love nothing else, at any rate if that is not really loved which is not loved for its own sake. Wisdom alone I love for her own sake. All else—hfe, leisure, friends— I wish to have or fear to lose solely on her account. What bounds can be set to love of so great a beauty, in which not only do I not envy others but also wish to have as many as possible along with me seeking her, panting after her, holding and enjoying her, in the belief that they will be my friends all the more because love for her is shared by us in common.
23. R.—Such should the lovers of Wisdom be. Such she seeks, with whom intercourse is truly chaste and without defilement. Not by one way is she approached. ^ Each man according to his soundness and firmness takes hold of that unique and truest Good. There is a certain ineffable and incomprehensible light of minds. Ordinary light may teach us what is its power and quality. Some eyes are so strong and vigorous that as soon as they are opened they can look at the sun without any hesitation. For them the light is in a sense their soundness. They need no teacher but only perhaps some admonition. It is sufficient for them to beheve, to hope, to love. Others are smitten by the very brightness that they longed to behold, and are often glad to return without seeing it to their darkness. To such, though they may rightly be called sound, it is dangerous to show what they have not yet the power to see. They must first be exercised and their love deferred and nourished to their advantage. First, they must be shown things which do not shine by any light of their own but are rendered visible by hght, such as a garment, a wall or the Hke. Next, they must be shown things which, though having no lustre of their own, shine more brightly in the Hght but not so as to hurt the eyes, such as gold, silver and the like. Then they must be made carefully to look at ordinary fire, 1 Cf. Retract. I. iv. 3. "This does not sound right, as if tlicrc were another way besides Christ, who said: I am the Way. I ought to have avoided this offence to religious ears." then at the stars, the moon, the dawn and the gradually brightening sky. So more or less speedily, following the whole course or omitting some steps in it according to his abi Uty, a man will grow accustomed to light and will be able to look at the sun without hesitation and with great pleasure. This is what the best teachers do with students of wisdom who do not yet have sharp vision. To provide an approach to it in some kind of order is the function of good training. To reach it without order demands incredible good fortune. But we have written enough for to-day. We must be careful for your health. xiv, 24. [One day later the conversation was resumed.]
A.—Prescribe for me the order you mentioned. Lead me whither you wish, how you wish, by what methods you wish. Lay commands upon me as severe and arduous as you like so long as to obey them is within my power, and I gain assurance of reaching my desired goal. R.—There is only one prescription
I can give you. I know no other. You must entirely flee from things of sense. So long as we bear this body we must beware lest our wings are hindered by their birdlime. We need sound and perfect wings if we are to fly from this darkness to yonder light, which does not deign to manifest itself to men shut up in a cave unless they can escape, leaving sensible things broken and dissolved. When you achieve the condition of finding no delight at all in earthly things, in that moment, believe me, at that point of time, you will see what you desire. A.—When, pray, will that be? I do not think I can ever reach complete contempt for earthly things unless I see something compared with which they become sordid.
25. R.—In the same way, the bodily eye might say: I shall not love darkness when I can look on the sun. There seems to be a kind of orderliness in that, though in fact there is none. The eye loves darkness because it is not strong, and unless it be strong it cannot see the sun. So the mind is often deceived, thinks itself sound and gives itself airs. Because it cannot yet see, it complains as if it had the right to do so. But the supreme beauty knows when to show itself. It performs the function of the physician, and knows who are whole better than those who are being healed. When we have emerged a little from darkness we think we see, but cannot imagine or perceive how deeply we had been sunk or how far we have progressed. Comparing our condition with graver forms of disease we believe we are healed. Do you remember how, yesterday, in complete assurance, we declared that we were free from disease, that we loved nothing