On the Greatness of the Soul 24–29

A. Perhaps you think rightly. But answer, I beg you, whether we see everything we come to know through sight. E. So I believe. A. Do you also believe that everything we come to know by seeing we come to know through sight? E. This too I believe. A. Why then do we often, by seeing smoke alone, come to know that fire, which we do not see, is hidden beneath? E. You speak the truth; and now I do not think that we see whatever we come to know through sight: for, as you have taught, by seeing one thing we can come to know another which sight has not reached. A. What? Can we not see what we perceive through sight? E. In no way. A. So perceiving is one thing, knowing another? E. Altogether different: for we perceive the smoke, which we see, and from it we know that the fire, which we do not see, is beneath. A. You understand well. But you surely see that when this happens our body, that is, the eyes, undergoes nothing from the fire, but from the smoke, which alone they see. For we have already agreed above that seeing is perceiving and perceiving is undergoing. E. I hold it and agree. A. So when something is not hidden from the soul through an affection of the body, this is not straightway called one of the five senses mentioned, but only when the affection itself is not hidden from it. For that fire, neither seen nor heard nor smelled nor tasted nor touched by us, is nevertheless not hidden from the soul once the smoke is seen. And though this not being hidden is not called sense, because the body underwent nothing from the fire, it is nevertheless called knowledge through sense, because it was inferred and discovered from an affection of the body, though a different one, that is, from seeing something else. E. I understand, and I see very well that this agrees with and supports that definition of yours which you gave me to defend as mine: for I remember that you defined sense as the soul's not being unaware of what the body undergoes. So we call the seeing of the smoke sense, for the eyes, which are parts of the body and bodies, underwent it by seeing; but the fire, from which the body underwent nothing, though it was known, we do not call sense. A. I commend your memory and your understanding that follows well; but that defense of the definition is tottering. E. Why, please? A. Because you do not deny, I think, that the body undergoes something when we grow or grow old; and it is plain that we do not perceive this by any sense; yet it is not hidden from the soul. So something the body undergoes is not hidden from it, and yet this cannot be called sense. For by seeing things larger which we had once seen smaller, and by seeing as old men those who are known to have been young men and boys, we infer that our bodies undergo some such change even now while we are speaking. Nor are we deceived in this, I think; for I would sooner say that I am deceived in what I see than in understanding that my hair is growing now, or that my body is changing moment by moment. But if this change is an affection of the body, which no one denies, and is not now perceived by us, and yet is not hidden from the soul, because it is not hidden from us, then the body undergoes, as I said, what is not hidden from the soul, and yet it is not sense. Therefore that definition, which ought to include nothing that was not sense, since it included this, is certainly faulty. E. I see nothing left for me but to ask you either to define it otherwise or to repair this one, if you can; for I cannot deny that it is faulty, by this reasoning which I strongly approve. A. It is easy to correct it, and I want you to dare to do it; for you will, believe me, if you have well understood where it goes wrong. E. Where else than in including what does not belong to it? A. How exactly? E. Because it cannot be denied that a body growing old, even in a young man, undergoes something; and when we know this, something the body undergoes is not hidden from the soul, and yet it cannot be perceived by any sense: for I neither see that I am growing old now, nor perceive it by hearing, smell, taste, or touch. A. How then do you know it? E. I gather it by reason. A. On what arguments does your reason rest? E. That I see others old, who were young as I now am. A. Is not the sense by which you see them one of the five? E. Who denies it? But from seeing them I infer that I too am growing old, though I do not see it. A. What words, then, do you think should be added to that definition to perfect it, since there is no sense unless the affection of the body is not hidden from the soul, yet not in such a way that the soul understands it through another affection or through anything else? E. Say that, please, a little more plainly.

A. I will humor you, and much more gladly when you hold back than when you hurry; but be wholly attentive, for what I am going to say will be useful for many things. A definition contains nothing less and nothing more than what it has undertaken to explain; otherwise it is altogether faulty. Whether it is free from such faults is tested by conversion, which will become plainer to you by these examples. If you asked me what a man is, and I defined him thus, “Man is a mortal animal,” you should not straightway approve the definition because what was said is true; but, putting before it the little word “every,” you should convert it and see whether it is true when converted too: that is, whether, just as it is true that every man is a mortal animal, so it would be true that every mortal animal is a man. Finding it otherwise, you should reject the definition for the fault of including what does not belong to it; for not man alone is a mortal animal, but also any beast. This definition of man is therefore usually perfected by adding “rational” to “mortal”: for man is a rational mortal animal; and as every man is a rational mortal animal, so every rational mortal animal is a man. The former definition, then, was faulty by containing more, for it contained the beast along with man; this one is perfect, for it holds every man and nothing more than man. But a definition is faulty by holding less if you add “grammarian”: for although every rational mortal animal that is a grammarian is a man, yet many men who are not grammarians are not contained by this definition; and for this reason it is false in the first proposition, but true when converted. For it is false that every man is a rational mortal animal that is a grammarian; but it is true that every rational mortal animal that is a grammarian is a man. But when the statement is true neither in the first proposition nor in the conversion, it is surely more faulty than each of these; such are these two: “man is a white animal,” or “man is a four-footed animal.” For if you say every man is a white animal, or a four-footed animal, you say what is false, and also if you convert it. But they differ in this, that the first applies to some men, for many men are white, while the second applies to none, for no man is four-footed. For the present you have learned this much for testing definitions, how they are judged by proposition and conversion; there are many other things of this kind that are taught, full of words and of obscurities, which I will try to have you learn little by little when it seems opportune. Now turn your mind to that definition of ours and, when you have examined it with more skill, correct it. For we had found that, though it was the definition of sense, it included something else that was not sense, and therefore was not true when converted. For perhaps it is true that every sense is an affection of the body not hidden from the soul, as it is true that every man is a mortal animal; but as it is false that every mortal animal is a man, because the beast is one too, so it is false that every affection of the body not hidden from the soul is sense; because our nails are growing now, and this is not hidden from the soul, for we know it; and yet we do not perceive it, but know it by inference. Just as, then, “rational” was added to that definition of man to perfect it, and by this addition the beasts, which were contained along with him, were excluded, and by such a definition we include nothing but man, and every man: do you not think something should also be added to this one, by which what it holds that does not belong to it may be separated, so that nothing is understood in it but sense, and every sense? E. I do think so, but I do not know what can be added. A. Every sense is certainly an affection of the body not hidden from the soul; but this statement cannot be converted, because of that affection of the body by which it grows or diminishes with our knowing it, that is, so as not to be hidden from the soul. E. That is so. A. What? Is this affection not hidden from the soul through itself, or through something else? E. Plainly through something else; for it is one thing to see that the nails are larger, another to know that they are growing. A. Since, then, growing itself is an affection which we reach by no sense, while the size we perceive has been brought about by that affection and is not the affection itself, it is plain that we know such an affection not through itself but through something else. If, then, it were known to the soul not through something else, would it not be perceived rather than inferred? E. I understand. A. Why then do you doubt what should be added to that definition? E. Now I see that it should be defined so that sense is an affection of the body not hidden from the soul through itself: for every sense is this, and all this, I think, is sense. A. If this is so, I admit that the definition is perfect. But let us test it, if you please, whether it does not totter by that second fault, as did the definition of man to which “grammarian” was added. For you must remember that it was said that man is a rational mortal animal that is a grammarian, and that this definition fails in being true when converted while false in its first statement. For it is false that every man is a rational mortal animal that is a grammarian, though it is true that every rational mortal animal that is a grammarian is a man. So this definition is faulty because it holds nothing but man, but not every man; and this one, in which we glory as perfect, is perhaps of that kind. For although every affection of the body not hidden from the soul through itself is sense, yet not every sense is that. You may understand this thus: beasts certainly perceive, and almost all are strong in those five senses, as far as nature has granted to each. Or will you deny that? E. Not at all.

A. What? Do you not grant this, that there is no knowledge except when something has been perceived and known by firm reason? E. I grant it. A. But a beast does not use reason. E. This too I grant. A. Then knowledge does not fall to the beast. But when something is not hidden, it is certainly known; so beasts do not perceive, if every sense is an affection of the body not hidden from the soul through itself. Yet they do perceive, as was granted a little before. Why then do we hesitate to reject that definition, which could by no means embrace every sense, since it has excluded the senses of beasts? E. I admit I was deceived when I granted you that there is knowledge when something is perceived by firm reason. For when you asked this, I was looking only at men; for I can neither say that beasts use reason nor deny them knowledge. For the dog, I think, knew its master, whom it is said to have recognized after twenty years—not to speak of countless other cases. A. Tell me, I beg you: if two things were put before you, one which is to be reached and the other through which you could reach it, which of these do you value more, and which do you prefer to which? E. Who doubts that the one which is to be reached is better? A. Then, since knowledge and reason are two things, do we reach reason through knowledge, or knowledge through reason? E. Both, as far as I think, are so bound together that one can be reached through either. For we would not reach reason itself unless we knew that it was to be reached. So knowledge went before, so that we might reach reason through it. A. What! Is that very knowledge which you say goes before reached without reason? E. I would never say that, for that is the height of rashness. A. Through reason, then? E. Not so. A. Through rashness, then? E. Who would say that? A. Through what, then? E. Through nothing, because knowledge is implanted in us. A. You seem to me to have forgotten what we agreed above, when I asked whether you thought there was knowledge when something is perceived by firm reason. For you answered, I think, that this seemed to you to be human knowledge; but now you say that a man can have some knowledge of a thing he has perceived by no reason. And who does not see that nothing is more opposed than these two: that there is no knowledge except when something is perceived by firm reason, and that there is knowledge of something perceived by no reason? So I want to know which of these you choose; for both cannot possibly be true. E. I choose what I have just said; for I admit that I granted the earlier statement rashly. For since we are seeking the truth between us by reason, and this is done by asking and answering, how could reason arrive at the conclusion in which it ends unless something were first granted? And how could what was not known be rightly granted? So, unless this reasoning found something known in me, relying on which it might lead me to the unknown, I would learn nothing at all through it, nor would I call it reason at all. Therefore you refuse in vain to agree with me that before reason there is necessarily some knowledge in us, from which reason itself takes its beginning. A. I will humor you, and, as I have resolved, I will let you correct yourself whenever you regret something you granted; but please do not abuse this license and attend carelessly when I ask, lest things constantly granted badly make you doubt even those that are granted well. E. Go on rather to the rest. For although I will add to my watchfulness whatever I can (for I am ashamed to fall from my opinion so often), I shall never be deterred from resisting this shame and correcting my slip, especially with you lending a hand. For obstinacy is not to be taken up merely because constancy is to be desired.

A. May that constancy come to you as quickly as possible; so pleasing an opinion you have expressed. But now be as fully present as you can for what I want. I ask you what difference seems to you to exist between reason and reasoning. E. I am not well able to distinguish them. A. Consider this, then: whether you think that in a man already grown, or a mature man, or (to remove all ambiguity) a wise man, reason is present without interruption while his mind is sound, as good health is in the body while it is free from disease and wounds; or whether, like walking, sitting, speaking, it is present at one time and absent at another. E. I think reason is always present in a sound mind. A. What of this? When, through things that are granted and plain, either by questioning another or by connecting one thing with another, we bring ourselves to the knowledge of something, does it seem to you that we, or any wise man, always do this? E. Not always: for, as I think, not every man, nor every wise man, is always seeking something by discussion, either with himself or with another; for one who seeks has not yet found, so if he always seeks, he never finds. But the wise man has already found—to say nothing else—wisdom itself, which, when he was foolish, he was seeking, perhaps by discussion, or in whatever other way he could. A. You speak rightly. So I want you to understand that this is not reason, when through what is granted and known we are led to something unknown: for this, as we have already agreed, is not always present in a sound mind, but reason is always present. E. I understand; but where does this lead? A. Because a little before you said that I ought to agree with you that we have knowledge before reason, because reason relies on something known while it leads us to the unknown. But now we have found that it is not to be called reason while this is being done; for a sound mind does not always do this, though it always has reason. But this may perhaps rightly be called reasoning; so that reason is a certain sight of the mind, and reasoning the search of reason, that is, the movement of that sight through the things that are to be seen. So the latter is needed for seeking, the former for seeing. And so, when that sight of the mind which we call reason, cast upon some thing, sees it, this is called knowledge; but when the mind does not see, though it directs its sight, it is called want of knowledge or ignorance. For not everyone who looks with these bodily eyes sees, as we very easily notice in the dark. From this it is clear, I think, that looking is one thing and seeing another; and these two, in the mind, we call reason and knowledge—unless something troubles you against this, or you think these things have been distinguished too unclearly. E. This distinction pleases me very much, and I gladly agree. A. See now, then, whether you think we look in order to see, or see in order to look. E. Of this not even a blind man would doubt: looking is for the sake of seeing, not seeing for the sake of looking. A. It must be admitted, then, that seeing is to be valued more than looking. E. It must altogether be admitted. A. Then knowledge too more than reason. E. I see that it follows. A. Do you hold that beasts are better or happier than men? E. God forbid such monstrous madness. A. You are right to shudder; but your opinion forces us to it: for you said that they have knowledge and do not have reason. But man has reason, by which knowledge is reached with difficulty. But even granting that it is reached easily, how will reason help us to think we should be preferred to beasts, when they have knowledge, and this has been found to be of more value than reason?

E. I am altogether compelled either not to grant knowledge to beasts or to make no objection to their being rightly preferred to me. But please explain what that is which I mentioned about the dog of Ulysses; for, moved by admiration for it, I barked so emptily. A. What do you think it is but a certain power of perceiving, not of knowing? For many beasts surpass us in sense—the cause of which this is not the place to inquire into—but God has set us above them in mind, reason, and knowledge. Yet that sense, with the help of habit, whose power is great, can distinguish the things in which such souls delight; and the more easily because the soul of beasts is more fastened to the body, whose senses they are, which it uses for food and for the pleasure it takes from that same body. But the human soul, through reason and knowledge, which we are discussing, because these are far more excellent than the senses, withdraws itself from the body as far as it can, and more gladly enjoys the pleasure that is within; and the more it declines into the senses, the more it makes man like a beast. Hence it is that even wailing babies, the further they are from reason, the more easily they distinguish by sense the touch and closeness of their nurses, and cannot bear the smell of other women with whom they have not been familiar. Therefore, although one thing has come out of another, I gladly linger on this discourse, by which the soul is warned not to pour itself out into the senses beyond what necessity compels, but rather to gather itself back from them to itself, and to become a child again to God: which is to become a new man by putting off the old, with which, because God's law was neglected, it was necessary to begin; and nothing truer or more hidden than this is contained in the divine Scriptures. I would like to say more on this, and to bind myself, so that, while seeming to teach you, I would be doing nothing else than giving myself back to myself, to whom I owe myself most; and so to become for God, as Horace says, “a slave who is his master's friend.” This cannot happen at all unless we are re-formed to his image, which he gave us to guard as something most precious and most dear, when he made us such for ourselves that nothing could be preferred to us but himself. Nothing seems to me more laborious than this activity, and nothing more like rest; yet the mind cannot undertake or complete it except with the help of him to whom it is given back. Hence it is that man must be re-formed by the clemency of him by whose goodness and power he was formed. But we are compelled to return to our subject. So see whether you are now convinced that wild animals do not have knowledge, and that all that image of knowledge, as it were, which we admire, is the power of perceiving. E. I am convinced indeed; and if anything needs to be inquired into more carefully about this, I shall look for another time; now I want to know what you conclude from it.

A. What else do you think but that that definition of sense, which before tottered because it included something more than sense, now totters by the contrary fault, because it could not include every sense? For wild animals have sense but do not have knowledge; and whatever is not hidden is known; and everything that is known certainly belongs to knowledge. On all these points we have already agreed. Either, then, it is not true that sense is an affection of the body not hidden from the soul, or beasts lack it because they lack knowledge. But we grant sense to beasts; therefore that definition is faulty. E. I admit I find nothing with which to resist. A. Take another point that should make us still more ashamed of this definition. For you remember, I think, that a third fault of definition was shown you, than which nothing is more shameful: when it is true in neither direction, like that definition of man, “man is a four-footed animal.” For whether one says “every man is a four-footed animal” or “every four-footed animal is a man,” whoever says and affirms it is surely mad, if he is not joking. E. You speak the truth. A. What? If this definition of ours too is caught in this fault, do you think there is anything that more deserves to be hissed off and banished from the mind? E. Who would refuse? But I would not want, if it can be helped, to be detained here too so long and tossed about with little questions. A. There is nothing to fear, for the business is now finished. Or are you not yet persuaded, from when the difference between wild animals and men was discussed, that perceiving is one thing and knowing another? E. On the contrary, entirely. A. So sense is one thing, knowledge another. E. That is so. A. But we do not perceive by reason, but by sight, or hearing, or smell, or taste, or touch. E. I agree. A. And everything we know, we know by reason; so no sense is knowledge. But whatever is not hidden belongs to knowledge; so not being hidden belongs to no sense, just as no man can rightly be called four-footed. Therefore this definition of ours, which you took up, has been convicted not only of invading another's territory and leaving nothing of its own right, but of having nothing at all of its own and occupying wholly what belonged to another. E. What then shall we do? Will you let it leave the court like this? For although I gave it such defense as I could, you composed the very formula of the suit that deceived us. And I, though I could not win, appeared in good faith, which is enough for me; but you, if you are charged with collusion, what will you do—you by whom it was both brought forward to argue boldly and attacked so as to yield shamefully? A. Is there any judge here from whom I need fear anything for this definition or for myself? I wanted to refute you privately, as if called in as a legal adviser, to instruct you, so that when it comes to court you may stand ready. E. Is there, then, something you can offer for this definition, which you commend to me, so very weak, to defend and protect rashly? A. There certainly is.