Introduction to the Philosophy of Saint Augustine (continued)
of all your detailed arguments. Such cruelty is not at all in accordance with your humanity!"
15. And so I, when I noticed that the others, too, wanted this, began, as it were anew. "I shall do as you wish," I said, "although I had hoped that after my toil in the rhetoric school, I should find some rest in this light armour—that is, I should conduct these enquiries by question and answer rather than by exposition— nevertheless, since we are so few and it will not be necessary for me to raise my voice beyond what is good for my health and since I have also wished that the pen should, so to speak, guide and control my discourse—also on account of my health, lest I become more excited mentally than is good for my body—listen, then, to my opinion, given to you, as you wish in continuous exposition.
"In the first place, however, let us examine a point about which the enthusiastic supporters of the Academics are very boastful. There is in the books which Cicero wrote in support of them a certain passage that to me seems seasoned with rare wit, while some think it a passage of great power and conviction. It would be hard to imagine that any man should not be impressed by what is there written."
Everybody of every other school that claims to be wise gives the second place to the wise man of the Academy. It is inevitable, of course, that each claims the first place for himself. From this one can conclude with probability that the Academic rightly judges himself as holding the first place, since in the judgment of all the others he holds the second.
16. Suppose, for example, that there is a Stoic wise man present. It was against the Stoics especially that the Academics felt called upon to pit their wits. If Zeno or Chrysippus be asked who is the wise man, he will reply that it is the man whom he himself has described. But Epicurus or some other adversary will deny this and maintain that his own representative, rather, is the wise man. The fight is on! Zeno shouts, and the whole Porch is in uproar: man was born for nothing else but virtue; she draws souls to herself merely by her grandeur, without resorting to the bait of any external advantage and, as it were, of a pandering reward; the pleasure vaunted by Epicurus is a thing received in common by beasts and by them alone; to pitch out man—and the wise man!—into such company is abominable.
But over against this, Epicurus, like another Bacchus, calling from his Gardens a horde to aid him, who, though drunk, yet look for someone whom in their Bacchic frenzy, they can tear to pieces with their Jong nails and savage fangs, and exploiting the popular approval of pleasure and an easy-going and quiet life, maintains passionately that without pleasure nobody could appear to be happy.
Should an Academic chance upon their quarrel, he will listen to each side as it attempts to win him over to itself. But if he joins one side or the other, he will be shouted down by the side he is leaving in the lurch, as crazy, ignorant, and reckless. Accordingly, when he has given an attentive ear now to this side, now to that, and is asked his opinion, he will say that he is in doubt. Now ask the Stoic, which is the better—Epicurus who declares that the Stoic is talking nonsense or the Academic who gives the verdict that he must give further consideration to a matter of such moment—and no one doubts but that the Academic will be preferred. And next turn to Epicurus and ask him which he prefers—Zeno by whom he is called a beast or Arcesilas who tells him: "Perhaps what you say is true, but I shall have to look into the matter more closely." Is it not clear that Epicurus will decide that the whole Porch is crazy, and that in comparison with them, the Academics are unassuming and judicious people?—
Acad., Frag. XX (Miller)
"Quite similarly, regarding practically all the other philosophical sects Cicero treats his readers to what we might call a delightful piece of theatre. He shows, as it were, that there is none of those sects which, having of necessity put itself in the first place, does not proclaim that it allots the second place to the one which it sees is not in opposition to, but merely undecided about, its own position. On that point I shall not oppose them in any way or deprive them of glory."
CHAPTER 8 17. "Some people, to be sure, may think that in
this passage Cicero was not poking fun, but rather that because he was appalled by the levity of these Greeklings, he purposed to dig up and collect some of their banalities and rantings. But if I wished to join issue with such pretence, could I not easily show how much less an evil it is to have no knowledge than to be incapable of receiving any? Thus it happens that if this petty boaster of the Academics offers himself as a pupil to the various sects, and none of them succeeds in convincing him of what it thinks it knows, they will then all come together with a will and make a mockery of him. For now each of them will judge that every other adversary has not indeed learnt anything, but that the Academic is incapable of learning anything. After that he will be driven from one school after the other not with the rod, which would cause him a little more shame than hurt, but by the clubs and cudgels of the men of the mantle. For there will be no trouble in calling in the help of the Cynics, as one would call in Hercules, to overcome the common scourge.
"And if I, who may be more easily allowed to do so, seeing that though I practice philosophy I am not yet wise, wish to compete with the Academics for the contemptible glory that is theirs, how can they halt me? Suppose that an Academic and myself together came upon the conflict of philosophers described before. Let all be present. Let them expound their opinions briefly in the time allowed. Ask Carneades his opinion. He will reply that he is in doubt. Promptly each will prefer him to all the others; that is to say, all will prefer him among all the others—truly a distinction great and remarkable!
"Who would not like to achieve a like distinction? And so, when I am asked my opinion, I, too, shall give the same answer. I shall be equally commended. That is to say, the glory which the wise man is reaping is of the sort that equates him with the blockhead! But suppose the latter easily beats him in his distinction: will not the Academic be put to shame? As he is trying to slip off from the trial, I shall pull him back—for stupidity surpasses itself in craving for a victory of this kind. Holding him tight, I shall tell the judges something which they do not know, and say: 'Gentlemen, there is much in common between this fellow and myself that neither of us knows which of you follows truth. But we have also individual opinions of our own, about which I ask you to enter a judgment. I, for my part, am uncertain, although I have heard your expositions, as to where truth is, for the simple reason that I do not know which of you is the wiser. But this fellow denies that even the wise man knows anything, even wisdom itself to which he owes it that he is called wise!'
"Can anybody fail to see who will win the palm? If my opponent admits my charge, I shall best him in glory. But if he blushes for shame and confesses that the wise man does know wisdom, then my opinion carries the day."
CHAPTER 9 18. "However, let us now retire from this courthouse with its wranglings and betake ourselves somewhere where no crowd will disturb us. If only it could be the school of Plato, which is said to have received its name from the fact that it was cut off from the public! But let us no longer talk about glory, which is a thing of little and trifling account, but rather, so far as we can, of life itself and what hope there is of happiness.
"The Academics deny that anything can be known. How have you established this, you men of learning and scholarship? 'Zeno's definition,' they say, 'taught us that.' But why I beg of you? If it is true, then a man who knows merely it itself, knows some truth. If it is not true, then it should not have upset men of such calibre. But let us examine what Zeno says: according to him that object of sense can be comprehended and perceived which manifests itself by signs that cannot belong to what is not true. Was it this that moved you, my dear Platonist, to use every endeavor to draw those interested away from the hope of learning so that, aided as they were by a shameful lethargy of mind, they might give up the whole business of philosophy?
19. "But why should it not have influenced him profoundly, if nothing such can be found, and unless it be such, cannot be perceived? If this be so, it would have been better to say that man could not possess wisdom than that the wise man should not know why he lives, should not know how he lives, should not know if he lives, and finally—than which nothing more perverse, silly and crazy could be said—that he should be wise and at the same time ignorant of wisdom. Which is the more shocking statement to bear: that man cannot be wise or that the wise man does not know wisdom? There can be no use in discussing the point further, if the matter itself so explained does not offer the necessary basis for a decision. But the chance is that if the former statement were made, men would be driven away entirely from philosophy. In view of this are they to be attracted to her by the august and alluring name of wisdom that later, having wasted their lives and learnt nothing, they may only heap upon you their greatest curses?
For forsaking the pleasures of the body which they might have had, they followed you only into tortures of the mind!
20. "But let us see who it is that most frightens men away from philosophy. Is it he who will say: 'Listen, friend, by philosophy we mean not wisdom itself but rather the study of wisdom. If you devote yourself to her, you will never indeed be wise while you live here on earth—for wisdom is with God and man cannot possess her—but when you will have sufficiently exercised and purified yourself in this kind of study, your spirit will enjoy wisdom unencumbered after this life, that is, when you will have ceased to be a man?' Or is it he who will say: 'Come, mortal men, to philosophy. Here there is much to be gained. After all, what can be dearer to man than wisdom? Come, then, so that you may become wise—and not know wisdom?' 'I,' he says, 'shall not put it like that.' That is to say, you will deceive; because that exactly represents your position. So it happens that if you do put it like that, they will shun you like a madman; and if you should win them over in some other way, you would make them mad. But let us take it that men would be equally discouraged from philosophy by either view, if my friend Zeno's definition did necessitate some conclusion damaging to philosophy, which should a man be told—something that would grieve him or something that would lead him to make a laughingstock of you?
21. "Nevertheless, let us discuss as best we can—granted that we are not wise—Zeno's definition. "That sense object,' he says, 'can be comprehended, which so manifests itself that it cannot manifest itself as not true. It is clear that nothing else can be perceived.'
'I, too,' says Arcesilas, 'see this, and it is precisely on this account that I teach that nothing is perceived. For nothing so described can be found.'
"That may be true for you, Arcesilas, and for others who are not wise; but why could it not be found by the wise man? I think, however, that you could give no satisfaction to one—even though he be not wise—who bids you employ your remarkable genius in exploding Zeno's definition, and showing that it, too, can be not true. If you cannot do that, then you have something which you can perceive. But if in fact you do explode it, there is nothing to hinder you from perception. For my part I do not see how it can be exploded and I judge it to be entirely true. Consequently, once I know this much, even though I be not wise, I know something. But suppose it yields to your cleverness: I shall employ the safest disjunction. It must be either true or not true. If it is true, then I am in sound possession of it. If it is not true, then something can be perceived, even though it manifest itself by signs which are shared in common with what is not true. 'But that is impossible, he says. Well, then, Zeno's definition is entirely true, and anyone who has agreed with him even in this one point only is not guilty of error. Surely, that definition is worthy of the greatest praise and confidence which, while it indicated—in Opposition to those who wanted to advance many arguments against the possibility of perception—what kind of thing it was that could be perceived, showed itself at the same time to be that kind of thing. And so it is both a definition and example of things capable of being comprehended. 'Whether or not it be itself true,' says Arcesilas, 'I do not know. But since it is probable, I follow it and in doing so show that there is nothing such as can, according to it, be comprehended,' You show perhaps that there is nothing such except itself, and you see, I believe, what that means. In any case, even if we were uncertain of it, too, knowledge still does not desert us. For we do know that the definition itself is either true or not true; that is, we know something.
"All the same, Arcesilas will never make me appear ungrateful. It is my considered judgment that that definition is in fact true. For either things which are not true can also be perceived—which the Academics are very much afraid of and which in fact, is absurd—or, granted that they cannot be perceived neither can those things be perceived which are very like things which are not true. From which it follows that that definition of Zeno's is true. But now let us turn to what remains to be considered."
CHAPTER 10 The Two Principles of the Academy 22. "Although, unless I am mistaken, what I have said is enough to bring about victory, perhaps I should say more in order to drive my victory home. There are two points put forward by the Academics against which, in so far as we can, we have decided to advance: 'Nothing can be perceived' and 'one must not assent to anything.' We shall come later on to the question of assent. For the moment we shall say a few more things about perception.
"Do you people insist that nothing whatever can be comprehended? At this point Carneades woke up—for none of those men slept as lightly as he—and surveyed the evidence of things.
As one speaks to oneself, so he, I believe, went on somewhat like this: 'Now, Carneades, are you really going to claim that you do not know whether you are a man or an insect? Will you allow Chrysippus to gloat over you? Let us say that the things that we do not know are those about which philosophers inquire. As to other things, they do not concern us. If I then stumble in plain, broad daylight, I shall be able to appeal to those obscurities that are impenetrable to the unskilled and penetrable only to a certain few gifted with eyes that are divine. They, even though they see me in difficulties and falling, cannot betray me to those who are blind, especially when they are also arrogant and too proud to learn.'
"You are getting on nicely, O Greek subtlety, well equipped and prepared as you are! But you overlook the fact that that principle is at once the formulation of a philosopher and is placed firmly at the entrance to philosophy. If you attempt to undermine it, the axe with double edge will rebound on to your shins. For if once you shake it, not only can something be perceived, but that, too, can be perceived which is very like that which is not true. Your only chance is to have the courage to do away with it altogether. But it is your lurking-place from which you jump out and pounce fiercely upon the unwary who wish to pass on their way. Some Hercules will strangle you, half-human as you are, in your cave, and will crush you with the weight of that principle. For he will show you that there is something in philosophy which cannot be demonstrated by you to be uncertain on the plea that it is like to what is not true.
"I was, it is true, in a hurry to go on to other considerations. Whoever presses me to do so, casts a great slur on you yourself, Carneades, for he supposes that you are as good as dead and can be routed by me on any and every front. But if he does not suppose any such thing, then he is pitiless. For then he leads me on to abandon my fortifications everywhere and to come down to do battle with you on the level plain. Just as I had begun to come down against you, terrified by your mere name, I drew back and cast from my lofty position some kind of a shaft. Whether it reached you or what it did, let them judge who preside over our conflict. But what a fool am I to have such fear! If I recollect aright, you are dead, and Alypius does not choose to fight as he might in defense of your grave; and God will readily help me against your ghost.
23. "You say that in philosophy nothing can be perceived, and so that you may give your contention wide publicity, you seize upon the disputes and disagreements of philosophers and think with them to furnish arms to yourself against the philosophers themselves. For how, you argue, shall we be able to settle the dispute between Democritus and his predecessors in physics as to whether there is one or innumerable worlds, when Democritus himself and his heir, Epicurus, could not agree? When this latter voluptuary allows the atoms, as it were his little handmaids, those little bodies which he joyfully embraces in the dark, to deviate from their course and turn aside wherever they like into the domain of others, he is quarrelling and he has thus dissipated all his patrimony.
"But this is no concern of mine. If it is part of wisdom to know something of these things, then all this will certainly not escape the attention of the wise man. But if wisdom consists in something different, then it is that, that the wise man knows and the other is despised by him. Even I, however, who am still far from being anyway near a wise man, know something at any rate in physics. I am certain, for instance, that there is one world or not one. If there is not one world, then the number of worlds is finite or infinite. Carneades may say, if he likes, that this opinion is like one that is not true. Likewise, I know that this world of ours is ordered as it is, either by the intrinsic nature of corporeal matter or by some providence; that it either always was and always will be or began to be and will never cease or never exist forever. I know countless things about physics of a similar nature, but these disjunctions are true, and no one can refute them by pointing to any likeness in them to what is not true ° "But elect for one member of the disjunction,' bids the Academic. No. I shall not. You are asking me not to assert what 1 do know and assert what I do not know. 'But your assertion hangs in the air.' It is better that it should hang there than that it should be dashed to the ground. You see, it is adequate for our purpose; that is to say, as an assertion it can be pronounced either true or not true. I assert that this is something that I know. Let you, who cannot deny that such matter pertains to philosophy and who assert that none of these things can be known, demonstrate to me that I do not know these things. Assert that these disjunctions are either not true or have something in common with what is not true, so that, as a consequence, they are incapable of being distinguished from what is not true."
CHAPTER 11 Something Can be Perceived 24. " 'But,' he asks, 'how do you know that the world you speak of exists at all? The senses may deceive.' No matter how you argued, you were never able to repudiate the value of the senses to the extent that you could convince us that nothing appears to us to be. Indeed, you have never in any way ventured to try to do so. But you have done your very best to convince us that the reality could be different from the appearance. By the term 'world,' then, I mean all this, whatever kind of thing it be, which surrounds and nourishes us and which presents itself to my eyes and seems to me to hold earth and sky or quasi earth and quasi sky. If you say that nonreality presents itself to me, I shall still be free from error. It is he who rashly judges that which presents itself to him to be actual reality that falls into error. But while you do say that what is not true can present itself to sentient beings, you do not say that nonreality so presents itself. Indeed, all ground for disputation—wherein you love to reign supreme—is entirely removed if not only we know nothing, but if no appearance presents itself to us. If, however, you deny that that which presents itself to me is the world, you are raising a question merely about a word; for I have stated that I do call that appearance the 'world.'
25. "But you will ask me: 'If you are asleep, does the world which you now see exist?' I have already said that whatever presents itself to me in that way, I call 'world.' But if you wish that only to be called 'world' which presents itself to those who are awake or, even better, those who are sane, then maintain also, if you can, that those who are asleep or insane are not insane and asleep in the world! Accordingly, I make this statement: all that mass and contrivance in which we are, whether we be sleeping or insane or awake or sane, is either one or not one. Explain how that judgment can be not true. If I am asleep, possibly I have made no statement at all. Or, if in my sleep the words have, as happens, escaped my mouth, possibly I have not spoken them here, sitting as I am and with this audience. But the proposition itself that I have mentioned cannot be not true.
"And I am not saying that I have perceived this on condition of my being awake. For you could say that in my sleep, too, this could have presented itself to me, and, consequently, can be very like what is not true. But it is manifest that no matter in what condition I am, if there is one world and six worlds, there are in all seven worlds, and I unhesitatingly assert that I know this. Now, then, convince me that this combination or the above-mentioned disjunctions can be not true by reason of sleep, madness, or the unreliability of the senses; and if being awakened from my slumber I recall them, I shall allow that I am vanquished. I feel sure that it is now sufficiently clear what appearances, although not true, can because of sleep or insanity present themselves as true; they are those which pertain to bodily senses. For that three times three makes nine, and that this is the squaring of rational numbers, must be true even though the human race were snoring! All the same, I notice that much can be said in defense even of the senses themselves—things which we do not find to be questioned by the Academics. The senses are not, I take it, blamed for the fact that insane people have illusions, or that we see in our dreams things that are not true. If the senses give reports that are true to those who are awake and sane, then they will not be involved in what the mind of one who is asleep or insane conjures up.
26. ""There remains to ask if, when the senses report, they report what is true. Now, then, if an Epicurean says: 'I have no complaint to make about the senses. It is unjust to demand from them more than that of which they are capable. When the eyes see anything, they see what is true': is, then, what the eyes see of an oar in water true? Certainly, it is true. A cause has intervened so that it should present itself so. If when an oar was dipped under water it presented itself as straight, then in that case I would convict my eyes of giving a report that was not true. For they would not see what, given the existing circumstances, should have been seen. What need is there of developing the theme? The same thing can be said of towers that appear to move, of the changing colors on the feathers of birds, and of countless other cases.
""But,' says someone, 'I am deceived, if I give my assent.' Do not assent more than that you know that it appears so to you. There is then no deception. I do not see how the Academic can refute him who says: I know that this presents itself to me as white; I know that this delights my ear; I know that this has a sweet smell for me; I know that this feels cold to me. "Tell me, rather, are the leaves of the wild olive tree, of which the goat is so passionately fond, per se bitter?" You rascal! The goat himself is more reasonable! I do not know how cattle find them. Anyway, I find them bitter. Does that satisfy you? 'But there is perhaps among men one to whom they are not bitter.' You are trying to make a nuisance of yourself. Have I said that all men found them bitter? I said that I found them bitter now, and I do not even assert that they will always be so for me. Could it not happen that at different times and for different reasons a thing could taste in one's mouth now sweet, now bitter? This I do assert: that when a man tastes something, he can swear in all good faith that he knows that to his palate a given thing is sweet or the contrary. No Greek sophistry can steal such knowledge from him. Who would be so impertinent as to say to me as I savor with delight the taste of something: 'Perhaps there is nothing to taste; you are only dreaming?' Do I stop my savoring? No! I reply that even though
I were dreaming, it would still delight me. Accordingly, no likeness to what is not true can prove that which I said I knew was wrong. Moreover, an Epicurean or the Cyrenaics may perhaps say many other things in defense of the senses, and I am not aware that the Academics have said anything to refute them. But what is that to me? If they want to, and if they can, let them refute these things. I shall even help them.
"Certainly, their arguments against sense perception are not valid against all philosophers. There are some philosophers, for example, who maintain that whatever the spirit receives by way of bodily sense can generate opinion, indeed, but not knowledge. They insist that the latter is found only in the intelligence and, far removed from the senses, abides in the mind. But we shall talk about this at another time. Now let us turn to the points that remain. In view of what has already been said, we shall, if I mistake not, be able to deal with them in a few words."
CHAPTER 12 27. "What help or hindrance can bodily sense be
in the consideration of ethics? Those who put man's true and greatest good in pleasure are not prevented, by the dove's neck or the cry that is doubtful or the weight that is heavy for a man but light for a camel or a thousand other such things, from saying that they know that they find pleasure in that in which they find pleasure and are displeased by that by which they are displeased— and I do not see how this can be refuted. Can it be that these things influence him who places the ultimate good in the mind?
" "Which of these two opinions do you yourself choose?' If you ask me my opinion, I think that in the mind is to be found man's supreme good. Now, however, we are talking about knowledge. Go, then, and question the wise man, who must know wisdom.
But in the meantime I, who am such a dullard and ignoramus, am able to know the ultimate good of man, wherein is happiness: either there is none or it is in the spirit or in the body or in both. Prove, if you can, that I do not know this. Your celebrated arguments can do nothing. And if you cannot do this—for you will not be able to find anything not true to which it bears likeness— shall I hesitate to conclude that my opinion that the wise man knows whatever in philosophy is true is correct, since I myself already know in philosophy many things that are true?
28. " 'But perhaps the wise man is afraid lest he should choose the ultimate good while he is asleep.' No danger at all! When he awakes, he will, if it displeases him, repudiate it, and if it pleases, retain it. Who can justly blame him for having seen in a dream something that was not true? Or perhaps you will be afraid lest while he is asleep, if he assents to what is not true as true, he lose his wisdom? Indeed, not even one who is asleep would dare to dream that he should call a man wise if he were awake, but deny that he is such if he were to sleep.
"The same things hold for the question of insanity. Though
I am anxious to hurry on to other things, I shall, however, before I go, leave an irrefutable statement on the point: either a man's wisdom is lost because of his madness, in which case he will no longer be the wise man, who, you insist, does not know truth; or his knowledge remains in his intellect, even though the rest of his mind represents as if in a dream what it has received from the senses."
CHAPTER 13 29. "There remains dialectics. The wise man certainly knows this well, and no one can know what is not true. But if he does not know dialectics, then the knowledge of dialectics does not pertain to wisdom, seeing that he can be wise without it. Moreover, it is superfluous for us to ask whether it be true or can be perceived.
"Someone may say to me at this point: 'Well, stupid, you usually tell us whatever you know. Were you not able to know anything about dialectics?" I know more about it than about any other part of philosophy. In the first place, it was dialectics that taught me that all the propositions which I have indicated already were true. Again, through dialectics I have come to know many other true things. 'Enumerate them for us, if you can.' If there are four elements in the world, there are not five. If there is one sun, there are not two. The same soul cannot both die and be immortal. A man cannot at the same time be happy and not happy. Here and now there is not day and night at the same time. We are now either awake or asleep. What I seem to see is either body or not body. These and many other things which would take too long to mention, I have learned through dialectics to be true.
They are true in themselves no matter what state our senses are in. Dialectics taught me that if of any one of the conditional statements which I have just mentioned the first part be assumed as true, it necessarily involves the truth of the dependent part.
But the propositions involving contrariety or disjunction which I enunciated are of this nature that when a part is taken away, whether that be composed of one or more things, something is left which by the removal is made certain. Dialectics also taught me that when there is agreement about the matter on account of which words are employed, then one should not dispute about the words. If one does that through inexperience, then one should be taught. If one does it through malice, then one should be ignored. If one is incapable of being taught, one should be advised to do something else than waste one's time and labor in trifling.
If one does not take the advice, then one should be abandoned to one's fate.
"Concerning specious and fallacious reasonings there is a short principle of behavior: if they come about as a result of an unwise concession, then one should return to what one has conceded.
If truth and falsehood are found in conflict in one and the same statement, one should conclude on what one understands and not bother about what cannot be explained. But if the 'how' of certain things escapes man entirely, then one should not seek the knowledge of it.
"All these things and many others, which it is unnecessary to recall, dialectics has taught me, and certainly I must not be ungrateful. The wise man either ignores all these or, if a thorough knowledge of dialectics is the knowledge itself of truth, he will know it so well that in contempt, and without any weakening, he will destroy, if only by ignoring it, that most fallacious sophism of the Academics: 'If it is true, it is not true; if it is not true, it is true.'
"I think this will be enough on the question of perception, especially since the whole case will be dealt with again when I come to speak of the matter of assent."
CHAPTER 14 Assent Can be Given 30. ''And now, therefore, let
us come to a point on which Alypius still seems to be in doubt.
First, let us see what it is that makes you so careful and exacting.
'If the opinion of the Academics that the wise man knew nothing, confirmed as it was' —these are your own words— 'by so many powerful arguments, is overthrown by your discovery, whereby we are compelled to admit that it is much more probable that the wise man knows wisdom, then all the more should we refuse to assent. For by this itself is it demonstrated that nothing can be advocated—even though the arguments used be ever so copious and neatly pointed—which cannot also, granted sufficient ingenuity, be controverted with equal if not greater acuteness. And so it happens that the moment he is beaten, the Academic has won.'
"Would that he were beaten! No matter what Pelasgic trick he uses, he will never succeed in leaving the field victorious when he has been beaten by me. Of course if nothing else can be found to counter this argument, of my own free motion I, too, allow that I am beaten. For we are not interested in covering ourselves with glory but in the finding of truth. I am content if by any means I can cross over that barrier which confronts those who are beginning philosophy. It piles up darkness from some hidden source and warns that the whole of philosophy is obscure and does not allow one to hope that any light will be found in it, "For my part, I desire nothing more if it is now probable that the wise man knows something. It seemed probable that he should withhold his assent for no other reason than that it was probable that nothing could be perceived: when that reason has disappeared—the wise man perceives, as is conceded, at least wisdom herself—no reason any longer will remain why the wise man should not assent at least to wisdom. Obviously, it is without any doubt even more monstrous that the wise man should not assent to wisdom than that he should not know her.
31. "But let us now, if you will and if that be possible, picture to ourselves the spectacle of a fight, so to speak, between the wise man and wisdom. Wisdom says (and what else should she say?) that she is wisdom. He replies, 'I do not believe it.' Who is it that says to wisdom, 'I do not believe that you are wisdom?' Who, but he with whom she could talk and in whom she deigned to dwell— that is to say, the wise man?
"Now go and fetch me to engage in a conflict with the Academics. There! a new fight is on! The wise man and wisdom are fighting! The wise man does not want to give in to wisdom!
I shall stand aside with you and await the issue without anxiety; for who does not believe that wisdom is invincible? All the same, let us strengthen our position with some argument. In this conflict either the wise man of the Academics conquers wisdom, in which case he will be conquered by me—for he will not be the wise man; or he will be conquered by her, in which case we shall teach that the wise man assents to wisdom. That is to say, either the Academic wise man is not a wise man at all, or the wise man will assent to something—unless, of course, he who was ashamed to say that the wise man did not know wisdom, will not be ashamed to say the wise man does not assent to wisdom! But if it is now probable that the wise man perceives at least wisdom herself, and there is no longer any reason why he should not assent to that which he can perceive, I conclude that what I wanted is probable, namely, that the wise man will assent to wisdom.
"If you ask me where he will find wisdom herself, I shall reply: in his own very self. If you say that he does not know what is in himself, you are returning once again to the ridiculous proposition that the wise man does not know wisdom. If you say that the wise man himself cannot be found, then our dispute will be not with the Academics but with you, whoever you are that hold this, and on another occasion. When these men engage in this type of discussion, they deal with it as certainly referring to the case of the wise man. Cicero exclaims that, as for himself, he is a man of many opinions only but that he is discussing the case of the wise man. If you were unaware of this, young men, you must have read in the Hortensius: 'If, then, nothing is certain and the wise man must not have opinion merely, the wise man will never give assent.' From this it is clear that in those disputations of theirs against which we are contending, they are dealing with the case of the wise man.
392. "I, therefore, think that the wise man has sure possession of wisdom, that is to say, that the wise man has perceived wisdom, and, consequently, that he does not have opinions merely, when he assents to wisdom. For he assents to that which if he did not perceive, he would not be a wise man. The Academics, in fact, do not prohibit anyone from assenting except to things which cannot be perceived. Wisdom is not nothing. When, then, the wise man knows wisdom and assents to wisdom, he does not know nothing and does not assent to nothing.
"Do you wish for more? Shall we discuss briefly that error which the Academics say can be entirely avoided if assent does not draw the mind to anything at all? They say that not only he errs who assents to what is not true, but also he errs who assents to what is doubtful, even though it be in fact true. For my part, I find nothing that is doubtful. But the wise man finds, as we were saying, wisdom herself."
CHAPTER 15 The "Probable" Insufficient and Dangerous 33. "But perhaps, you are now asking me to leave my own ground. One should be careful about leaving a position that is safe. We are dealing with men who are crafty indeed. Nevertheless, I shall do as you bid me. But what shall I say at this point? Indeed, what am I to say? Tell me, what can I say? I shall have to use the old stock argument for which they have a stock reply. What else can I do, seeing that you have compelled me to leave my stronghold? Shall I appeal to the help of the learned, so that if I am vanquished in their company, I shall perhaps be less ashamed of being beaten? I shall with all my strength, then, hurl at them a weapon which though now rusty and musty with age, is, unless I am mistaken, all the same a very effective one: 'He who does not assent to anything, does nothing.' "You ignoramus! What about the "probable''? What about "what-is-like-truth'?? There you are! That is what you were looking for! Do you hear the clash of Grecian shields?
The shock of my weapon, great as it was, has been withstood; and with what force did we hurl it! And my supporters can offer me nothing more potent; and, as far as I can see, we have inflicted no trace of a wound. I shall turn for help to the homely weapons offered me by the farm. The heavier ones only weigh me down and are of no help to me.
34. "When at my leisure here in the country I had been thinking for a long time how it was that what they call 'probable' or 'what-is-like-truth' could prevent our acts from error, at first it seemed to me—as it had seemed when I taught such things for money—that the matter was nicely established and defended against attack. But then as I examined the whole position more carefully, I thought I saw one way by which error could come in upon those who felt so secure. For I think that not only does he err who follows the wrong track but he also who does not follow the right one.
"To illustrate, let us picture two men travelling to one place. One of them has resolved not to believe anyone; the other believes everyone. They come to a place where the road forks. The credulous traveller addresses a shepherd or some rustic standing on the spot: 'Hello, my good man. Tell me, please, which is the best way to that place?' The reply: 'If you take this road, you will not go wrong.' He says to his companion: 'What he says is correct. Let us go this way.' The careful traveller laughs and makes a fool of the other for having given assent so quickly. While the other takes his way, he remains at the junction of the roads. He is beginning to feel foolish himself because of his hesitation, when from the road not taken by his companion there appears and draws near an elegant and refined gentleman riding on horseback. The traveller rejoices. He salutes the man as he approaches, and tells him what is on his mind. He asks him the way. No only that—he tells him why he has delayed so that by indicating his preference for him rather than for the shepherd, he may make him the better disposed to himself. He, however, happens to be an arrant knave, one of those fellows now commonly called sam ardoci. The scoundrel indulges in his usual practice, and that, too, without charging a penny: 'Go this way,' he says, 'I have just come from there.' So, he deceives him and passes on his way.
"But our traveller would not be deceived! 'Indeed,' he says, 'I shall not assent to his information as true. But since it is probable and since to do nothing here is neither proper nor useful, I shall go the way he indicates.' Meanwhile he who erred in assenting, too quickly judging that the shepherd's words were true, is already resting in the place for which they set out. But he who has not erred, since he follows the 'probable,' is lost in some woods and has not yet found anybody who knows the place where he proposed to go!
"Really, I must tell you that when I was thinking over these things, I could not keep from laughing. To think that the doctrine of the Academics somehow brings it about that he should err, who is on the right road—even though it be by chance—but that he, who following probability is led over impassable mountains and does not get where he wants to go, should not seem to err!
To show, quite justly, my disapproval of rash assent, I should say that both erred, rather than that the second traveller did not err. And so being more on my guard against the Academic doctrine, I began to consider the deeds of men and their principles of behavior. Then, indeed, I discovered so many and such fundamental grounds against the Academics that I could no longer laugh; I was half angry and half sorrowful that men so learned and intelligent should have descended to such criminal and shameful doctrine."
CHAPTER 16 35. "It may be, indeed, that not everyone who
errs commits sin. It is conceded, however, that everyone who sins either errs or does something worse. Well, then, if some young man, hearing the Academics say: 'It is shameful to err, and, consequently, we ought not to assent to anything; when, however, a man does what seems probable to him, he neither sins nor errs. All he need remember is that he is not to assent to as true anything that comes before his mind or senses'—if, I say, he hears this, what if the young man will lay siege to the chastity of another's wife?
"I am asking you, Marcus Tullius—yes, you—for your opinion. We are dealing with the morals and lives of young men, with whose formation and instruction all your writings are concerned. What can you say but that it is not probable to you, that the young man would do such a thing? But to him, it is probable. For if he were to live by what seemed probable to another, you ought not to have governed in the state, since Epicurus thought that one should not do such a thing. That young man will, then, commit adultery with another's wife. If he is caught, where will he find you to defend him? And even if he does find you, what will you say? You will deny outright that the thing happened. But if it is so clear that it is useless to deny it? Of course, you will try to convince your opponents, as if you were in a scholastic establishment at Cumae or Naples, that he had committed no sin, in fact, had not even erred. He did not assent to the proposition that 'I should commit adultery' as true. But then it occurred to him as probable: he followed it—he did the deed. Or, perhaps, he did not do it but thinks he has done it! The husband in his simplicity is causing general confusion by his litigation and the clamor he raises about his wife's chastity—with whom he is perhaps now sleeping without being aware of it!
"If the jury is able to follow this, they will either ignore the Academics and mete out punishment on the crime as having been actually committed; or, being convinced by the same gentlemen, they will, acting according to what is likely and probable, condemn the man, so that his advocate will now be at a complete loss as to what course to take. He will not have cause to get angry with any of them, since all say that they have not fallen into error. For, while not assenting, they had done what seemed probable. In these circumstances he will lay aside the role of advocate and assume that of the consoling philosopher. He can thus readily persuade the young man, who has already made such progress in the Academy, to think that he is condemned only in a dream.
"But you think I am making fun! I am prepared to swear by all that is holy that I am completely at a loss to know how that young man sinned, if one who does what seems probable to him does not sin. The only possible answer I find is that they may say that to err and to sin are two entirely different things and that by their principles they had in mind that we should not err, while they considered sinning itself to be of no great consequence.
36. "I pass over homicide, parricide, sacrilege, and every type of crime and evil-doing that can be committed or thought of—all can be justified by a few words and, what is worse, before judges that are wise: 'I did not assent, and therefore I did not err. How could I not have done what seemed probable?' If anyone thinks that such arguments cannot be made to seem probably conclusive, let him read the speech of Catiline wherein he sought to commend the parricide of one's country, in which is embodied all crime.
"But what follows is merely ridiculous. The Academics themselves say that they act only on the probable. Nevertheless, they make great efforts in searching for truth, although they have already made up their minds that it is probable that it cannot be found. What a marvellous absurdity! But let us forget about it: it does not affect us or endanger our lives or belongings. But the other point is of the greatest importance: it is fraught with the most serious consequences and must cause the greatest anxiety to every upright man. For if this reasoning of the Academics is probable, then one may commit every crime without being blamed for an error—since one thought that one should act on the probable without assenting to anything as true. Well, then, did the Academics not see this? Indeed, they did see it—for they were clever and careful.
I would never think of claiming that I came anyway near Marcus
Tullius in hard work, prudence, capacity, or learning. Yet, when he says that one cannot know anything, if this only were replied: 'I know that it seems to me that he can,' he would not be able to refuterit:: I HE CITY OF GOD ** BOOK XI -k CHAPTER 26 Of the Image of the Supreme Trinity, which we find in some sort in Human Nature even in its Present State. And indeed we recognize in ourselves the image of God, that is, of the supreme Trinity, an image which, though it be not equal to God or, rather, though it be very far removed from Him—being neither co-eternal nor, to say all in a word, consubstantial with Him—is yet nearer to Him in nature than any other of His works and is destined to be yet restored, that it may bear a still closer resemblance. For we both are and know that we are and delight in our being and our knowledge of it. Moreover, in these three things no true-seeing illusion disturbs us; for we do not come into contact with these by some bodily sense, as we perceive the things outside of us—colors, e.g. by seeing, sounds by hearing, smells by smelling, tastes by tasting, hard and soft objects by touching—of all which sensible objects it is the images resembling them, but not themselves, which we perceive in the mind and hold in the memory and which excite us to desire the objects. But without any delusive representation of images or phantasm, I am most certain that I am and that I know and delight in this. In respect of these truths, I am not at all afraid of the arguments of the Academicians, who say, What if you are deceived? For if I am deceived, I am. For he who is not, cannot be deceived; and if I am deceived, by this same token I am. And since I am, I am deceived, how am I deceived in believing that I am? For it is certain that I am, if I am deceived.|Since, therefore, I , the person deceived, should be, even if I were deceived, certainly I am not deceived in this knowledge that I am. And, consequently, neither am I deceived in knowing that I know. For, as I know that I am, so I know this also; that I know. And when I love these two things, I add to them a certain third thing, namely, my love, which is of equal moment. For neither am I deceived in this, that I love, since in those things which I love I am not deceived; though even if these were false, it would still be true that I loved false things. For how could I justly be blamed and prohibited from loving false things, if it were false that I loved them? But, since they are true and real, who doubts that when they are loved, the love of them is itself true and real? Further, as there is no one who does not wish to be happy, so there is no one who does not wish to be. For how can he be happy, if he is nothing?
I HE TRINITY -—§ BOOK XV *k CHAPTER 12 The Academic Philosophy. First, of what sort and how great is the very knowledge itself that a man can attain, be he ever so skillful and learned, by which our thought is formed with truth, when we speak what we know? For to pass by those things that come into the mind from the bodily senses, among which so many are otherwise than they seem to be, that he who is overmuch pressed down by their resemblance to truth, seems sane to himself but really is not sane—whence it is that the Academic philosophy has so prevailed as to be still more wretchedly insane by doubting all things— passing by, then, those things that come into the mind by the bodily senses, how large a proportion is left of things which we know in such manner as we know that we live? In this, indeed, we are absolutely without any fear, lest perchance we are being deceived by some resemblance of the truth; since it is certain that he too who is deceived, yet lives. And this again is not reckoned among those objects of sight that are presented from without, so that the eye may be deceived in it; in such way as it is when an oar in the water looks bent, and towers seem to move as you sail past them, and a thousand other things that are otherwise than they seem to be: for this is not a thing that is discerned by the eye of the flesh. The knowledge by which we know that we live is the most inward of all knowledge, of which even the Academic cannot insinuate. Perhaps you are asleep and do not know it, and you see things in your sleep. For who does not know that what people see in dreams is precisely like what they see when awake? But he who is certain of the knowledge of his own life does not therein say, | know I am awake but I know I am alive; therefore, whether he be asleep or awake, he is alive. Nor can he be deceived in that knowledge by dreams; since it belongs to a living man both to sleep and to see in sleep. Nor can the Academic again say, in confutation of this knowledge, perhaps you are mad and do not know it: for what madmen see is precisely like what they also see who are sane; but he who is mad is alive. Nor does he answer the Academic by saying, I know I am not mad but, rather, I know
I am alive. Therefore he who says he knows he is alive can neither be deceived nor lie. Let a thousand kinds, then, of deceitful objects of sight be presented to him who says, I know I am alive; yet he will fear none of them, for he who is deceived yet is alive. But if such things alone pertain to human knowledge, they are very few indeed; unless that they can be so multiplied in each kind, as not only not to be few, but to reach in the result to infinity. For he who says, I know I am alive, says that he knows one single thing. Further, if he says, I know that I know I know I am alive, now there are two; but that he knows these two is a third thing to know. And so he can add a fourth and a fifth, and innumerable others, if he holds out. But since he cannot either comprehend an innumerable number by additions of units or say a thing innumerable times, he comprehends this at least, and with perfect certainty, viz. that this is both true and so innumerable that he cannot truly comprehend and say its infinite number. This same thing may be noticed also in the case of a will that is certain. For it would be an impudent answer to make to any one who should say, I will to be happy, that perhaps you are deceived. And if he should say, I know that I will this, and I know that I know it, he can add yet a third to these two, viz. that he knows these two; and a fourth, that he knows that he knows these two, and so on ad infinitum. Likewise, if any one were to say, I will not to be mistaken; will it not be true, whether he is mistaken or whether he is not, that nevertheless he does will not to be mistaken? Would it not be most impudent to say to him, perhaps you are deceived? when beyond doubt, whereinsoever he may be deceived, he is nevertheless not deceived in thinking that he wills not to be deceived. And if he says he knows this, he adds any number he chooses of things known and perceives that number to be infinite. For he who says, I will not to be deceived, and I know that I will not to be so, and I know that I know it, is able now to set forth an infinite number here also, however awkward may be the expression of it. And other things too are to be found capable of refuting the Academics, who contend that man can know nothing. But we must restrict ourselves, especially as this is not the subject we have undertaken in the present work. There are three books of ours on that subject,.4 written in the early time of our conversion, which he who can and will read, and who understands them, will doubtless not be much moved by any of the many arguments which they have found out against the discovery of truth. For whereas there are two kinds of knowable things—one, of those things which the mind perceives by the bodily senses; the other, of those which it perceives by itself—these philosophers have babbled much against the bodily senses but have never been able to throw doubt upon those most certain perceptions of things true, which the mind knows by itself, such as is that which I have mentioned, I know that I am alive. But far be it from us to doubt the truth of what we have learned by the bodily senses; since by them we have learned to know the heaven and the earth and those things in them which are known to us, so far as He who created both us and them has willed them to be within our knowledge. Far be it from us to deny, that we know what we have learned by the testimony of others: otherwise we know not that there is an ocean; we know not that the lands and cities exist which most copious report commends to us; we know not that those men were, and their works, which we have learned by reading history; we know not the news that is daily brought us from this quarter or that, and confirmed by consistent and conspiring evidence; lastly, we know not at what place or from whom we have been born: since in all these things we have believed the testimony of others. And if it is most absurd to say this, then we must confess that not only our own senses but those of other persons also have added very much indeed to our knowledge.
HE TRINITY * BOOK XI * CHAPTER 2 4 certain trinity in the sight. That there are three things in sight, which differ in their own nature. In what manner from a visible thing vision is produced, or the image of that thing which is seen. The matter is shown more clearly by an example. How these three combine in one. 2. When, then, we see any corporeal object, these three things, as is most easy to do, are to be considered and distinguished: First, the object itself which we see; whether a stone, or flame, or any other thing that can be seen by the eyes; and this certainly might exist also already before it was seen; next, vision or the act of seeing, which did not exist before we perceived the object itself which is presented to the sense; in the third place, that which keeps the sense of the eye in the object seen, so long as it is seen, viz. the attention of the mind. In these three, then, not only is there an evident distinction but also a diverse nature. For, first, that visible body is of a far different nature from the sense of the eyes, through the incidence of which sense upon it vision arises. And what plainly is vision itself other than perception informed by that thing which is perceived? Although there is no vision, if the visible object be withdrawn, nor could there by any vision of the kind at all if there were no body that could be seen; yet the body by which the sense of the eyes is informed, when that body is seen, and the form itself which is imprinted by it upon the sense, which is called vision, are by no means of the same substance. For the body that is seen is, in its own nature, separable; but the sense, which was already in the living subject, even before it saw what it was able to see, when it fell in with something visible—or the vision which comes to be in the sense from the visible body when now brought into connection with it and seen—the sense, then, I say, or the vision, that is, the sense informed from without belongs to the nature of the living subject, which is altogether other than that body which we perceive by seeing, and by which the sense is not so formed as to be sense, but as to be vision. For unless the sense were also in us before the presentation to us of the sensible object, we should not differ from the blind, at times when we are seeing nothing, whether in darkness, or when our eyes are closed. But we differ from them in this, that there is in us, even when we are not seeing, that whereby we are able to see, which is called the sense; whereas this is not in them, nor are they called blind for any other reason than because they have it not. Further also, that attention of the mind which keeps the sense in that thing which we see, and connects both, not only differs from that visible thing in its nature; in that the one is mind, and the other body; but also from the sense and the vision itself: since this attention is the act of the mind alone; but the sense of the eyes is called a bodily sense for no other reason than because the eyes themselves also are members of the body; and although an inanimate body does not perceive, yet the soul commingled with the body perceives through a corporeal instrument, and that instrument is called sense. And this sense, too, is cut off and extinguished by suffering on the part of the body, when any one is blinded; while the mind remains the same; and its attention, since the eyes are lost, has not, indeed, the sense of the body which it may join by seeing to the body without it, and so fix its look thereupon and see it, yet by the very effort shows that, although the bodily sense be taken away, itself can neither perish nor be diminished. For there remains unimpaired a desire of seeing, whether it can be carried into effect or not. These three, then, the body that is seen and vision itself and the attention of mind which joins both together, are manifestly distinguishable not only on account of the properties of each but also on account of the difference of their natures.