On the Trinity 11.2–11.6

When, therefore, we see some body, these three things, which is very easy, are to be considered and distinguished. First, the thing itself which we see, whether a stone, or some flame, or anything else that can be seen with the eyes; which certainly could exist already, even before it was seen. Next, the vision, which did not exist before we perceived that thing presented to the sense. Third, that which keeps the sense of the eyes on the thing that is seen as long as it is seen, that is, the attention of the mind. In these three, then, there is not only a plain distinction but also a different nature. For, first, that visible body is of a nature far other than the sense of the eyes, by whose meeting with it vision comes about. And what else does vision itself appear to be than sense informed by the thing that is perceived? Although if the visible thing is withdrawn there is no such vision, nor could there be any at all if there were no body that could be seen, yet in no way is the body by which the sense of the eyes is formed, when that body is seen, of the same substance as the very form which is impressed by it on the sense, which is called vision. For the body seen is separable in its own nature; but the sense, which was already in the living being even before it saw what it could see, when it came upon something visible, or the vision which comes about in the sense from the visible body when it is already joined to it and is seen, that is, the sense or the vision, the sense formed from outside, belongs to the nature of the living being, which is altogether other than that body which we perceive by seeing, by which the sense is formed not so as to be sense but so as to be vision. For unless the sense were in us even before the sensible thing is presented, we would not differ from the blind while we see nothing, whether in darkness or with closed eyes. But in this we do differ: there is in us, even when we are not seeing, that by which we can see, which is called sense; in them it is not, and they are called blind for no other reason than that they lack it. Likewise that attention of the mind which holds the sense on the thing we see, and joins the two together, differs in nature not only from that visible thing, since the one is mind and the other body, but also from the sense and the vision itself; because this attention belongs to the mind alone, whereas the sense of the eyes is called a sense of the body for no other reason than that the eyes themselves are members of the body; and although the lifeless body does not perceive, yet the soul, mingled with the body, perceives through a bodily instrument, and that instrument is called sense. This sense is cut off and extinguished by some affliction of the body when someone is blinded, while the mind remains the same; and its attention, though the eyes are lost, does not indeed have the bodily sense which it might join by seeing to a body outside and fix its gaze on what it sees, yet by its very effort it shows that, though the bodily sense has been taken away, it has neither been able to perish nor to be lessened. For a certain desire to see remains whole, whether it can be fulfilled or not. These three, then, the body that is seen, the vision itself, and the attention that joins the two, are plain to distinguish, not only because of what is proper to each but also because of the difference of their natures. And in these, although the sense does not proceed from the body that is seen but from the body of the perceiving living being, with which the soul is blended in its own wonderful way, yet vision is begotten from the body that is seen, that is, the sense itself is formed; so that now it is not only sense, which can be whole even in darkness as long as the eyes are unharmed, but also informed sense, which is called vision. Vision, then, is begotten from the visible thing, but not from it alone, unless a seer also is present. Therefore vision is begotten from the visible and the seer, in such a way indeed that from the seer come the sense of the eyes and the attention of one who looks and gazes, while that informing of the sense, which is called vision, is impressed by the body alone that is seen, that is, by some visible thing; and when it is withdrawn, no form remains of that which was in the sense while what was seen was present; yet the sense itself remains, which existed even before anything was perceived; just as a print in water lasts as long as the body that is pressed into it is in it; when this is removed there will be none, although the water remains, which existed even before it took that form of the body. And so we cannot say that the visible thing begets the sense; yet it begets a form, as it were its own likeness, which comes about in the sense when we perceive something by seeing. But we do not distinguish by that same sense the form of the body we see and the form which comes about from it in the sense of the seer; for the union is so close that there is no room for distinguishing them. But we gather by reason that we could not perceive at all unless some likeness of the body seen came about in our sense. For when a ring is pressed into wax, it is not that no image has been made because it is not distinguished until it has been separated. But since, after the wax has been separated, what was made remains so that it can be seen, it is easily accepted that the form impressed by the ring was already in the wax even before it was separated from it. But if the ring were put to a liquid, nothing of the image would appear when it was withdrawn; yet reason ought not on that account fail to discern that in that liquid, before the ring was withdrawn, there was a form of the ring made by the ring, which is to be distinguished from the form that is in the ring, from which this one was made, which will not exist when the ring is withdrawn, although that one remains in the ring from which this one was made. So the sense of the eyes does not fail to have an image of the body that is seen, as long as it is seen, just because it does not remain when that body is withdrawn. And for this reason it can only with great difficulty be made clear to slower minds that an image of the visible thing is formed in our sense when we see it, and that this same form is vision. But those who perhaps notice what I am about to mention will not labor so much in this inquiry. Often when we have looked for a little while at some lights and then closed our eyes, certain bright colors seem to turn about before our sight, changing variously and shining less and less until they cease altogether; and these we must understand to be the remains of that form which had been made in the sense when the shining body was seen, changing as they fade little by little and, in a way, by degrees. For the lattices of windows too, if we happened to be gazing at them, have often appeared in those colors; so that it is clear that this effect was impressed on our sense by the thing that was seen. It existed, then, also while we were seeing, and it was clearer and more distinct; but it was so closely joined with the appearance of the thing that was being seen that it could not be distinguished at all; and it was the vision itself. Moreover, when the little flame of a lamp is, as it were, doubled by the rays of the eyes being in some way drawn apart, two visions come about, although the thing seen is one. For the same rays, darting out each from its own eye, are affected separately while they are not allowed to converge equally and jointly in looking at that body, so that one gaze is made from both. And so, if we close one eye, we shall see not a double fire but one, as it is. Why, when the left eye is closed, that appearance which was on the right ceases to be seen, and in turn, when the right is closed, that which was on the left dies away, would be long, and is not needed for the present subject, to inquire and discuss now. For, as far as is enough for the question we have taken up, unless an image very like the thing we see came about in our sense, the appearance of the flame would not be doubled according to the number of the eyes when some way of seeing has been applied that can separate the meeting of the rays. For from one eye, however it is turned down, or pressed, or twisted, if the other is closed, something that is one can in no way be seen double. Since these things are so, let us remember how these three, though of different nature, are blended into a certain unity: that is, the appearance of the body that is seen, and its image impressed on the sense, which is vision or formed sense, and the will of the mind, which applies the sense to the sensible thing and holds the vision itself on it. Of these, the first, that is, the visible thing itself, does not belong to the nature of the living being, except when we see our own body. The second belongs to it in such a way that it comes about in the body and, through the body, in the soul; for it comes about in the sense, which is neither without body nor without soul. But the third belongs to the soul alone, because it is will. Although, then, the substances of these three are so different, yet they come together into so great a unity that the first two can scarcely be distinguished even with reason intervening as judge, namely the appearance of the body that is seen and its image which comes about in the sense, that is, the vision. And the will has such power of joining these two that it both applies the sense, to be formed, to the thing that is seen, and holds it, once formed, on that thing. And if it is so violent that it can be called love, or desire, or lust, it strongly affects the rest of the living being's body as well; and where a more sluggish and harder matter does not resist, it changes it into a like appearance and color. One may see the little body of the chameleon change with the greatest ease to the colors it sees. But in other animals, whose bodily mass is not easily changed, the offspring often betray the longings of their mothers, what they have gazed on with great delight. For the more tender and, so to speak, the more formable the first beginnings of the seeds are, the more effectively and receptively they follow the attention of the mother's soul and the image that has been made in it through the body it gazed on with desire. There are examples that could be mentioned in plenty; but one from the most trustworthy books is enough: what Jacob did so that the sheep and goats bore young of varied colors, by setting before them in the water troughs streaked rods, which they looked at as they drank at the time they conceived.

But the rational soul lives in a deformed way when it lives according to the trinity of the outer man; that is, when to the things that form the bodily sense from outside it brings, not a praiseworthy will by which it refers them to some useful end, but a shameful desire by which it clings to them. For even when the appearance of the body which was being perceived bodily is withdrawn, its likeness remains in the memory, to which the will may again turn the gaze, so that it may be formed by it from within, as the sense was formed from outside by the sensible body presented to it. And so there comes about that trinity from memory, and inner vision, and the will which joins the two. And when these three are brought together into one, from that very bringing together it is called thought. Nor is there now a different substance in these three. For neither is that sensible body there, which is altogether separate from the nature of the living being, nor is the bodily sense formed there so that vision comes about, nor does the will itself act so as to apply the sense, to be formed, to the sensible body and hold it formed on it; but in place of that appearance of the body which was perceived from outside there succeeds memory, retaining that appearance which the soul drank in through the bodily sense; and in place of that vision which was outside when the sense was being formed by the sensible body, there succeeds within a like vision, when the gaze of the mind is formed from what the memory holds, and absent bodies are thought of; and the will itself, as it applied the sense, to be formed, to the body presented outside, and joined it once formed, so turns the gaze of the remembering mind to the memory, so that it may be formed from what the memory has retained, and there may be a like vision in thought. And just as the visible appearance by which the bodily sense was formed, and its likeness which came about in the formed sense so that there was vision, were distinguished by reason (otherwise they were so joined that they were thought to be altogether one and the same), so that image, when the mind thinks of the appearance of a body seen, although it consists of the likeness of the body which the memory holds and of that which is formed from it in the gaze of the remembering mind, yet appears so one and single that they are not found to be two things except by reason judging, by which we understand that what remains in the memory, even when we are thinking of something else, is one thing, and that what comes about when we remember, that is, return to the memory and find there the same appearance, is another. If this were no longer there, we would say that we had forgotten in such a way that we could not recall it at all. But if the gaze of the one remembering were not formed from that which was in the memory, there would in no way be the vision of one thinking; but the joining of the two, that is, of the one which the memory holds and of the one which is expressed from it so that the gaze of the one remembering is formed, makes them appear as one, because they are very alike. And when the gaze of the one thinking has been turned away from it, and what was being seen in the memory has ceased to be looked at, nothing of the form which had been impressed on that gaze will remain; and it will be formed from whatever it turns to again so that another thought comes about. Yet what it left remains in the memory, to which it may turn again when we remember it, and, once turned, be formed and become one with that from which it is formed.

But that will which carries the gaze hither and thither to be formed and brings it back, and joins it once formed, if it has flowed wholly toward the inner image and has turned the mind's gaze entirely away from the presence of the bodies that lie around the senses, and from the very senses of the body, and has turned it completely toward the image that is seen within, then so great a likeness of the bodily appearance, expressed from the memory, is met with that not even reason itself is allowed to discern whether the body itself is seen outside or something of the kind is thought of within. For sometimes people, either enticed or terrified by too much thinking of visible things, have even suddenly uttered cries of that kind, as if they were really engaged in such actions or sufferings. And I remember hearing from someone that he used to see, in thinking, so distinct and as it were solid an appearance of a woman's body that, feeling as if he were joined with her, he even had an emission. So much power has the soul over its body, and so much is it able to turn and change the quality of its garment, as a man who is clothed, who is attached to his garment, is affected. Of the same kind of affection is also the fact that in sleep we are deceived by images. But there is a great difference whether, when the senses of the body are put to sleep, as in those who sleep, or disturbed from their inner structure, as in the insane, or estranged in some other way, as in those who divine or prophesy, the attention of the mind by a certain necessity runs into the images that present themselves, whether from the memory or by some other hidden power through certain spiritual mixtures of a likewise spiritual substance; or whether, as sometimes happens to the healthy and the waking, the will, occupied in thought, turns itself away from the senses and so forms the mind's gaze with various images of sensible things, as though the sensible things themselves were perceived. And these impressions of images come about not only when the will is directed to such things by desiring them, but also when the mind is snatched into looking at the things it would flee, for the sake of avoiding and guarding against them. Hence not only by desiring but also by fearing, either the sense is brought to the sensible things themselves, or the mind's gaze to be formed by images of sensible things. And so the more vehement fear or desire has been, the more distinctly the gaze is formed, whether of one perceiving from a body that lies in a place, or of one thinking from the image of a body which is contained in the memory. What, then, a body in a place is to the bodily sense, that the likeness of a body in the memory is to the mind's gaze; and what the vision of one looking is to that appearance of a body from which the sense is formed, that the vision of one thinking is to the image of a body set in the memory, from which the mind's gaze is formed; and what the attention of the will is to the body seen and the vision, to join them so that a certain unity of three comes about there, although their nature is different, that same attention of the will is to the joining of the image of the body which is in the memory and the vision of one thinking, that is, the form which the mind's gaze took in returning to the memory; so that here too a certain unity comes about from three, now not separated by difference of nature but of one and the same substance; because all this is within, and all of it is one mind.

And just as, when the form and appearance of a body has perished, the will cannot recall the sense of the one seeing to it, so when the image which the memory bears has been wiped out by forgetfulness, there will be nothing to which the will may turn back the mind's gaze by remembering, so that it may be formed. But because the mind is strong enough to imagine not only things forgotten but also things not perceived or experienced, by enlarging, diminishing, changing, and putting together at will those things that have not slipped away, it often imagines something as if it were so, which it either knows is not so or does not know to be so. In this kind of thing one must beware either of lying in order to deceive or of holding an opinion so as to be deceived. If these two evils are avoided, imagined images do it no harm; just as sensible things experienced and retained in memory do no harm if they are neither desired greedily when they please nor shunned shamefully when they offend. But when the will, leaving better things, wallows greedily in them, it becomes unclean; and so they are thought of harmfully when they are present, and more harmfully when they are absent. Life is therefore lived badly and in a deformed way according to the trinity of the outer man; because it has also brought forth that trinity which, although it imagines within, yet imagines outward things, for the sake of using sensible and bodily things. For no one could use them, even well, unless the images of the things perceived were held in the memory; and unless the greatest part of the will dwells in higher and more inward things, and unless that very part which is lent, whether outside to bodies or inside to their images, refers whatever it takes in them to a better and truer life, and rests in that end with a view to which it judges these things are to be done, what else are we doing but what the apostle forbids us to do when he says, “Do not be conformed to this world”? Therefore this trinity is not the image of God; for it comes about in the soul itself through the bodily sense from the lowest, that is the bodily, creation, than which the soul is higher. Yet it is not altogether unlike; for what does not have, after its own kind and in its own measure, a likeness to God, since God made all things very good, for no other reason than that he himself is supremely good? So far, then, as whatever exists is good, so far certainly, although far distant, it nevertheless has some likeness to the supreme good; and if natural, certainly right and well ordered; but if faulty, certainly shameful and perverse. For souls too, in their very sins, pursue nothing but a certain likeness of God, with a proud and preposterous and, so to speak, slavish freedom. So too sin could not have been urged on our first parents unless it had been said, “You will be like gods.” Not everything in creatures that is in some way like God is to be called his image as well, but only that than which he alone is higher. For that alone is expressed directly from him, between which and himself no nature is placed. Of that vision, then, that is, of the form which comes about in the sense of one seeing, the form of the body from which it comes about is, as it were, the parent. But that is not a true parent; hence neither is this a true offspring; for it is not begotten wholly from it, since something else is applied to the body so that it may be formed from it, namely the sense of the one seeing. Therefore to love it is to be estranged. And so the will which joins both, as it were the parent and as it were the offspring, is more spiritual than either of them. For that body which is seen is not spiritual at all. But the vision which comes about in the sense has something spiritual mixed in, because it cannot come about without the soul. But it is not wholly so, since what is formed is a sense of the body. The will, then, which joins both, is recognized, as I said, as more spiritual, and so it begins to suggest, as it were, the person of the Spirit in that trinity. But it belongs more to the formed sense than to that body from which it is formed. For the sense is of the living being and the will is of the soul, not of the stone or of any body that is seen. It does not therefore proceed from that, as from a parent; but neither from this, as from an offspring, that is, from the vision and form that is in the sense. For before the vision came about, the will already existed, which applied the sense, to be formed, to the body by seeing it; but it was not yet satisfied. For how could what had not yet been seen give satisfaction? And satisfaction is the will at rest. And so we can call the will neither, as it were, the offspring of the vision, because it existed before the vision; nor, as it were, its parent, because the vision was formed and expressed not from the will but from the body seen.

We can perhaps rightly call the vision the end and rest of the will, with regard to this one thing only. For one will not want nothing else just because one sees something one wanted. So it is not the whole will of man, whose end is nothing but happiness, but, for this one thing for the time being, the will to see has no end but vision, whether it refers this to something else or not. For if it does not refer the vision to something else, but wanted only to see, there is no need to argue how the vision is shown to be the end of the will; for it is plain. But if it refers it to something else, then it certainly wants something else, and it will no longer be a will to see; or if to see, then not to see this. As if someone wanted to see a scar so as to show by it that there had been a wound; or wanted to see a window so as to see the passers-by through the window; all these and other such wills have their own proper ends, which are referred to the end of that will by which we want to live happily and to attain that life which is not referred to anything else but suffices of itself to the one who loves it. The will to see, then, has vision as its end; and the will to see this thing has the vision of this thing as its end. So the will to see a scar seeks its own end, that is, the vision of the scar, and does not reach further than that; for the will to prove that there was a wound is another will, although it is bound to that one, and its end in turn is the proof of the wound. And the will to see a window has as its end the vision of the window; for another will, to see the passers-by through the window, is linked to it, and its end in turn is the vision of the passers-by. And all wills bound to one another are right if that one to which they are all referred is good; but if that is wicked, all are wicked. And so the connection of right wills is a certain road of those ascending to happiness, which is traveled as it were by sure steps; but the entanglement of wicked and distorted wills is a chain by which whoever does this will be bound, so as to be cast into the outer darkness. Blessed, then, are those who by deeds and conduct sing the song of ascents; and woe to those who drag their sins like a long rope. Now the rest of the will which we call its end, if it is still referred to something else, is as we might say that the rest of the foot in walking is when it is set down so that the other may lean on it as one goes forward by steps. But if something so pleases that the will rests in it with some delight, it is nevertheless not yet that toward which one is going, but this too is referred to something else, so that it is reckoned not as the homeland of a citizen but as the refreshment or even the lodging of a traveler.