On the Immortality of the Soul 11–16

Again, then, if anything is to be feared, it is to be feared that the mind may perish by failing, that is, by being deprived of the very form of existing. Although I think enough has been said about this, and it has been shown by sure reasoning that this cannot happen, still this too must be noted: that there is no other cause of this fear except that it must be admitted that the foolish mind is in a certain failing, and the wise mind in a more certain and fuller being. But if, as no one doubts, the mind is wisest when it beholds the truth, which is always in the same way, and clings to it unmoved, joined to it by divine love; and if all the things that exist in any way exist from that being which exists supremely and in the highest degree, then either the mind exists from it in so far as it exists, or it exists through itself. But if it exists through itself, since it is itself the cause of its own existing and never leaves itself, it never perishes, as we also argued above. But if it exists from that being, we must carefully ask what thing could be contrary to it, to take from the mind the being-mind that that being gives. What is it, then? Perhaps falsity, since that being is truth? But it is clear and plain how far falsity can harm the mind. For can it do more than deceive? But no one is deceived unless he lives. So falsity cannot destroy the mind. And if falsity, which is contrary to truth, cannot take from the mind the being-mind that truth gave it (so utterly invincible is truth), what else will be found to take from the mind that which makes it mind? Nothing at all; for nothing is stronger for taking away what is made by its contrary than that contrary itself.

But suppose we look for the contrary of truth not in so far as it is truth, but in so far as it exists supremely and in the highest degree (although it is this precisely in so far as it is truth, since we call truth that by which all things are true in whatever degree they exist, and they exist in so far as they are true); still I would by no means shun what supports me more evidently. For if no being, in so far as it is being, has any contrary, much less has that first being, which is called truth, any contrary in so far as it is being. And the first is true. For every being is being for no other reason than that it is. And being has no contrary except not being; hence nothing is contrary to being. So in no way can anything be contrary to that substance which exists in the highest degree and first. And if the mind has from it the very thing that it is (for it cannot have this from elsewhere, since it does not even have itself except from that thing which is more excellent than the mind itself), there is nothing by which it may lose it, because there is nothing contrary to that from which it has it; and therefore it does not cease to be. But wisdom, because it has it by turning toward that from which it is, it can lose by turning away. For turning away is the contrary of turning toward. But what it has from that to which nothing is contrary, there is nothing by which it can lose. So it cannot perish.

Here perhaps some question may arise: whether, as the mind does not perish, so it is also not changed into a worse being. For it may seem to someone, and not without reason, that this reasoning has established that the mind cannot come to nothing, but that perhaps it could be turned into a body. For if what was before a mind becomes a body, it will certainly not wholly cease to exist. But this cannot happen unless either the mind itself wills it or it is compelled by another. Yet even if the mind either desired it or were compelled, it would not straightway be able to be a body. For this follows: that if it is a body, it wills or is compelled. But this does not follow: that if it wills or is compelled, it is a body. But it will never will it: for every desire of the mind toward a body is either to possess it, or to give it life, or in some way to fashion it, or to care for it in some manner. But none of these can happen unless it is better than the body. And if it is a body, it will certainly not be better than the body. So it will not will to be a body. And there is no surer proof of this than when the mind questions itself on this point. For so it easily finds that it has no desire except to do something, or to know, or to perceive, or only to live, as far as it has power. And if it is compelled to be a body, by whom, pray, is it compelled? By anyone at all, certainly by one more powerful. So it cannot be compelled by the body itself. For in no way is any body more powerful than any mind. And a more powerful mind compels only to what is subject to its power. And in no way is a mind subject to the power of another mind except through its own desires. So that mind compels no further than the desires of the one it compels allow. But it has been said that the mind cannot have the desire to be a body. It is also clear that it reaches no fulfilment of its desire while it loses all desire; and it loses it when it becomes a body. So it cannot be compelled to become one by him who has no right of compelling except through the desires of the one subject to him. Further, whatever mind has another mind in its power must want to have it in its power more than a body, and must want either to care for it in goodness or to rule it in malice. So it will not want it to be a body. Finally, this compelling mind is either an animal or lacks a body. But if it lacks a body, it is not in this world. And if so, it is supremely good, and cannot will so shameful a change for another. And if it is an animal, either the one it compels is also an animal, or it is not. But if it is not, it cannot be compelled to anything by another; for one who is at the summit has no one more powerful. And if it is in a body, it is compelled, to whatever it is compelled, by one who is in a body, through a body. But who would doubt that in no way could so great a change be brought about in the mind through a body? For it would be if body were more powerful than mind; although whatever that is to which it is compelled through a body, it is compelled not at all through the body but through its own desires, of which enough has been said. And what is better than the rational soul is, by the agreement of all, God. He surely cares for the soul, and therefore the soul cannot be compelled by him to be changed into a body.

If, then, the mind suffers this neither by its own will nor by another's compulsion, from what can it suffer it? Because sleep often overpowers us against our will, are we to fear that by some such failing the mind may be turned into a body? As if, because our limbs grow languid in sleep, the mind therefore became weaker in any part! It only does not perceive sensible things, because whatever it is that causes sleep comes from the body and works in the body. For it lulls the bodily senses and in a way closes them, so that the soul indeed yields with pleasure to such a change of the body, because such a change, which restores the body from its labors, is according to nature; yet it does not take from the mind either the power of perceiving or that of understanding. For it has the images of sensible things at hand, with such vivid likeness that at that very time they cannot be distinguished from the things of which they are images; and if it understands anything, it is equally true to the sleeper as to the waker. For example, if in a dream someone seemed to himself to be disputing, and, following true principles in the dispute, learned something, these same principles remain unchangeable even when he has awakened, although the rest is found to be false, such as the place where the dispute was, and the person with whom it seemed to take place, and the very words, as far as their sound goes, in which the dispute seemed to be carried on, and other things of the kind. These things, even when they are perceived by the senses themselves and done by those who are awake, still pass away, and in no part attain the everlasting presence of true principles. From this it is gathered that by such a change of the body as sleep is, the soul's use of that body, not its own life, can be diminished.

Finally, if the soul, though not in place, is joined to the body, which occupies place, then the soul is affected by those highest and eternal principles, which remain unchangeably and are certainly not contained in place, before the body is; and not only before it, but also more. For it is before it in the degree that it is nearer, and for the same reason it is also more, in the degree that it is better than the body. And let this nearness be understood not of place but of the order of nature. By this order it is understood that form is given to the body by the supreme being through the soul, form by which it exists in whatever degree it exists. Through the soul, then, the body subsists, and it exists by the very fact that it is animated, whether universally, as the world, or individually, as each living creature within the world. Therefore it would follow that the soul would become a body through a soul, or not at all otherwise. And since this does not happen (for while the soul remains in that by which it is soul, the body subsists through it, as it gives form and does not take it away), the soul cannot be changed into a body. For if it does not hand on the form which it receives from the supreme good, the body does not come to be through it; and if it does not come to be through it, either it does not come to be at all, or it receives its form as nearly as the soul does. But the body does come to be; and if it received its form as nearly, it would be what the soul is: for this is the difference, and the soul is the better in that it receives more nearly. And the body too would receive as nearly if it did not receive through the soul. For with nothing interposed it would certainly receive as nearly. And nothing is found between the supreme life, which is unchangeable wisdom and truth, and that which is given life last, that is, the body, except the soul that gives life. And if the soul hands on form to the body, so that the body exists in so far as it exists, it certainly does not take form away by handing it on. But it would take it away by changing the soul into a body. So the soul does not become a body either through itself, since a body comes to be through it only while the soul remains, or through another, since a body comes to be through a soul only by the handing on of form, and the soul would be changed into a body by the taking away of form, if it were changed.

This can also be said of the irrational soul or life: that the rational soul is not changed into it either. For it too, unless it were subjected to the rational soul in a lower order, would receive form equally and would be such as the rational soul is. So the more powerful things hand on to the weaker, by natural order, the form received from the supreme beauty. And surely when they hand it on, they do not take it away. And the weaker things exist, in so far as they exist, by the fact that form, by which they exist, is handed on to them by the more powerful, which are also better. This has been given to those natures which are not more powerful than smaller masses by having a greater mass, but which, without any swelling of spatial size, are more powerful by the same form by which they are better. Of this kind is the soul, better and more powerful than the body. Therefore, since the body subsists through it, as has been said, the soul itself can in no way be turned into a body. For no body comes to be except by receiving form through the soul. But for the soul to become a body, it could come to be not by receiving form but by losing it; and therefore it cannot come to be. Unless perhaps the soul is contained in place and joined to the body in place. For if so, a greater mass might perhaps turn it, though it is more beautiful, into its own inferior form, as a greater mass of air turns a smaller fire. But it is not so. For every mass that occupies place is not whole in each of its parts, but in all of them together. So one part of it is in one place, and another in another. But the soul is present whole at once not only to the whole mass of its body, but also to every smallest part of it. For it feels as a whole the affection of a part of the body, yet not in the whole body. For when something hurts in the foot, the eye turns to it, the tongue speaks, the hand moves toward it. This would not happen unless that of the soul which is in those parts also felt in the foot; nor could it, if absent, feel what happened there. For it is not credible that this comes about by some messenger that does not itself feel what it reports, since the affection that occurs does not run through the continuity of the mass in such a way as not to let the other parts of the soul that are elsewhere be unaware of it; but the whole soul feels what happens in the small part of the foot, and feels it only where it happens. So it is present whole at once to each part, since it feels whole at once in each. Yet it is not present whole in the way that whiteness or another quality of this kind is whole in each part of the body. For what the body suffers in one part by a change of whiteness can have nothing to do with the whiteness that is in another part. Therefore whiteness is proved to be distant from itself according to the parts of the mass that are distant from one another. But that it is not so in the soul is proved by the sensation that has been spoken of.