Letter III.

(a.d. 387.)

To Nebridius Augustin Sends Greeting.8    The character of Nebridius, and the intimacy of friendship between him and Augustin, may be seen in the Confessions, b. ix. c. 3.

1. Whether I am to regard it as the effect of what I may call your flattering language, or whether the thing be really so, is a point which I am unable to decide. For the impression was sudden, and I am not yet resolved how far it deserves to be believed. You wonder what this can be. What do you think? You have almost made me believe, not indeed that I am happy—for that is the heritage of the wise alone—but that I am at least in a sense happy: as we apply the designation man to beings who deserve the name only in a sense if compared with Plato’s ideal man, or speak of things which we see as round or square, although they differ widely from the perfect figure which is discerned by the mind of a few. I read your letter beside my lamp after supper: immediately after which I lay down, but not at once to sleep; for on my bed I meditated long, and talked thus with myself—Augustin addressing and answering Augustin: “Is it not true, as Nebridius affirms, that I am happy?” “Absolutely true it cannot be, for that I am still far from wise he himself would not deny.” “But may not a happy life be the lot even of those who are not wise?” “That is scarcely possible; because, in that case, lack of wisdom would be a small misfortune, and not, as it actually is, the one and only source of unhappiness.” “How, then, did Nebridius come to esteem me happy? Was it that, after reading these little books of mine, he ventured to pronounce me wise? Surely the vehemence of joy could not make him so rash, especially seeing that he is a man to whose judgment I well know so much weight is to be attached. I have it now: he wrote what he thought would be most gratifying to me, because he had been gratified by what I had written in those treatises; and he wrote in a joyful mood, without accurately weighing the sentiments entrusted to his joyous pen. What, then, would he have said if he had read my Soliloquies? He would have rejoiced with much more exultation, and yet could find no loftier name to bestow on me than this which he has already given in calling me happy. All at once, then, he has lavished on me the highest possible name, and has not reserved a single word to add to my praises, if at any time he were made by me more joyful than he is now. See what joy does.”

2. But where is that truly happy life? where? ay, where? Oh! if it were attained, one would spurn the atomic theory of Epicurus. Oh! if it were attained, one would know that there is nothing here below but the visible world. Oh! if it were attained, one would know that in the rotation of a globe on its axis, the motion of points near the poles is less rapid than of those which lie half way between them,—and other such like things which we likewise know. But now, how or in what sense can I be called happy, who know not why the world is such in size as it is, when the proportions of the figures according to which it is framed do in no way hinder its being enlarged to any extent desired? Or how might it not be said to me—nay, might we not be compelled to admit that matter is infinitely divisible; so that, starting from any given base (so to speak), a definite number of corpuscles must rise to a definite and ascertainable quantity? Wherefore, seeing that we do not admit that any particle is so small as to be insusceptible of further diminution, what compels us to admit that any assemblage of parts is so great that it cannot possibly be increased? Is there perchance some important truth in what I once suggested confidentially to Alypius, that since number, as cognisable by the understanding, is susceptible of infinite augmentation, but not of infinite diminution,9    Had Augustin been acquainted with the decimal notation, he would not have made this remark to Alypius; for in the decimal scale, when the point is inserted, fractional parts go on diminishing according to the number of cyphers between them and the point (e.g .001), precisely as the integers increase according to the number of cyphers between them and the decimal point (e.g. 100.),—there being no limit to the descending series on the right hand of the decimal point, any more than to the ascending series on the left hand of the same point. because we cannot reduce it lower than to the units, number, as cognisable by the senses (and this, of course, just means quantity of material parts or bodies), is on the contrary susceptible of infinite diminution, but has a limit to its augmentation? This may perhaps be the reason why philosophers justly pronounce riches to be found in the things about which the understanding is exercised, and poverty in those things with which the senses have to do. For what is poorer than to be susceptible of endless diminution? and what more truly rich than to increase as much as you will, to go whither you will, to return when you will and as far as you will, and to have as the object of your love that which is large and cannot be made less? For whoever understands these numbers loves nothing so much as the unit; and no wonder, seeing that it is through it that all the other numbers can be loved by him. But to return: Why is the world the size that it is, seeing that it might have been greater or less? I do not know: its dimensions are what they are, and I can go no further. Again: Why is the world in the place it now occupies rather than in another? Here, too, it is better not to put the question; for whatever the answer might be, other questions would still remain. This one thing greatly perplexed me, that bodies could be infinitely subdivided. To this perhaps an answer has been given, by setting over against it the converse property of abstract number [viz. its susceptibility of infinite multiplication].

3. But stay: let us see what is that indefinable object10    Nescio quid. which is suggested to the mind. This world with which our senses acquaint us is surely the image of some world which the understanding apprehends. Now it is a strange phenomenon which we observe in the images which mirrors reflect to us,—that however great the mirrors be, they do not make the images larger than the objects placed before them, be they ever so small; but in small mirrors, such as the pupil of the eye, although a large surface be placed over against them, a very small image is formed, proportioned to the size of the mirror.11    Augustin’s acquaintance with the first principles of optics, and with the properties of reflection possessed by convex, plane, and concave mirrors, was very limited. Therefore if the mirrors be reduced in size, the images reflected in them are also reduced; but it is not possible for the images to be enlarged by enlarging the mirrors. Surely there is in this something which might reward further investigation; but meanwhile, I must sleep.12    Wisely resolved. Moreover, if I seem to Nebridius to be happy, it is not because I seek, but because perchance I have found something. What, then, is that something? Is it that chain of reasoning which I am wont so to caress as if it were my sole treasure, and in which perhaps I take too much delight?

4. “Of what parts do we consist?” “Of soul and body.” “Which of these is the nobler?” “Doubtless the soul.” “What do men praise in the body?” “Nothing that I see but comeliness.” “And what is comeliness of body?” “Harmony of parts in the form, together with a certain agreeableness of colour.” “Is this comeliness better where it is true or where it is illusive?” “Unquestionably it is better where it is true.” “And where is it found true? In the soul.” “The soul, therefore, is to be loved more than the body; but in what part of the soul does this truth reside?” “In the mind and understanding.” “With what has the understanding to contend?” “With the senses.” “Must we then resist the senses with all our might?” “Certainly.” “What, then, if the things with which the senses acquaint us give us pleasure?” “We must prevent them from doing so.” “How?” “By acquiring the habit of doing without them, and desiring better things.” “But if the soul die, what then?” “Why, then truth dies, or intelligence is not truth, or intelligence is not a part of the soul, or that which has some part immortal is liable to die: conclusions all of which I demonstrated long ago in my Soliloquies to be absurd because impossible; and I am firmly persuaded that this is the case, but somehow through the influence of custom in the experience of evils we are terrified, and hesitate. But even granting, finally, that the soul dies, which I do not see to be in any way possible, it remains nevertheless true that a happy life does not consist in the evanescent joy which sensible objects can yield: this I have pondered deliberately, and proved.”

Perhaps it is on account of reasonings such as these that I have been judged by my own Nebridius to be, if not absolutely happy, at least in a sense happy. Let me also judge myself to be happy: for what do I lose thereby, or why should I grudge to think well of my own estate? Thus I talked with myself, then prayed according to my custom, and fell asleep.

5. These things I have thought good to write to you. For it gratifies me that you should thank me when I write freely to you whatever crosses my mind; and to whom can I more willingly write nonsense13    Ineptiam. than to one whom I cannot displease? But if it depends upon fortune whether one man love another or not, look to it, I pray you, how can I be justly called happy when I am so elated with joy by fortune’s favours, and avowedly desire that my store of such good things may be largely increased? For those who are most truly wise, and whom alone it is right to pronounce happy, have maintained that fortune’s favours ought not to be the objects of either fear or desire.

Now here I used the word “cupi:”14    Present infinitive passive of cupere, to desire. will you tell me whether it should be “cupi” or “cupiri?” And I am glad this has come in the way, for I wish you to instruct me in the inflexion of this verb “cupio,” since, when I compare similar verbs with it, my uncertainty as to the proper inflexion increases. For “cupio” is like “fugio,” “sapio,” “jacio,” “capio;” but whether the infinitive mood is “fugiri” or “fugi,” “sapiri” or “sapi,” I do not know. I might regard “jaci” and “capi”15    Infinitive passive of verbs signifying respectively to “throw” and to “catch.” as parallel instances answering my question as to the others, were I not afraid lest some grammarian should “catch” and “throw” me like a ball in sport wherever he pleased, by reminding me that the form of the supines “jactum” and “captum” is different from that found in the other verbs “fugitum,” “cupitum” and “sapitum.” As to these three words, moreover, I am likewise ignorant whether the penultimate is to be pronounced long and with circumflex accent, or without accent and short. I would like to provoke you to write a reasonably long letter. I beg you to let me have what it will take some time to read. For it is far beyond my power to express the pleasure which I find in reading what you write.

EPISTOLA III . Nebridio respondet Augustinus immerito se ab ipso vocari beatum, qui tam multa ignoret. Qua in re sita sit vera beatitudo.

NEBRIDIO AUGUSTINUS.

1. Utrum nescio quo, ut ita dicam; blandiloquio tuo factum putem, an vere ita se res habeat; incertum apud me est. Nam repente accidit, nec satis deliberatum est, quatenus debeat committi fidei. Exspectas 0064 quid istuc sit. Quid censes? Prope persuasisti mihi, non quidem beatum esse me; nam id solius sapientis praedium est; sed certe quasi beatum: ut dicimus hominem, quasi hominem in comparatione hominis illius quem Plato noverat; aut quasi rotunda et quasi quadra ea quae videmus, cum longe ab eis absint quae paucorum animus videt. Legi enim litteras tuas ad lucernam jam coenatus; proxime erat cubitio, sed non ita etiam dormitio: quippe diu mecum in lecto situs cogitavi, atque has loquelas habui, Augustinus ipse cum Augustino: Nonne verum est quod Nebridio placet, beatos nos esse? Non utique; nam stultos adhuc esse, nec ipse audet negare. Quid, si etiam stultis beata vita contingit? Durum quasi vero parva, vel alia ulla miseria sit quam ipsa stultitia. Unde ergo illi visum est? an lectis illis libellis etiam sapientem me ausus est credere? Non usque adeo temeraria est laetitia gestiens, praesertim hominis cujus quanti ponderis consideratio sit, bene novimus. Illud igitur est: scripsit quod nobis putavit dulcissimum fore; quia et illi dulce factum est quidquid posuimus in illis litteris, et scripsit gaudens, nec curavit quid committendum gaudenti calamo esset. Quid, si Soliloquia legisset? Laetaretur multo exundantius, nec tamen reperiret plus aliquid, quod me appellaret, quam beatum. Cito ergo summum nomen effudit in me, nec sibi aliquid reservavit quod de me laetior asseveret. Vide laetitia quid faciat!

2. Sed ubi est ista beata vita? ubi? ubinam? O si ipsa esset, repelleret atomos Epicuri. O si ipsa esset, sciret nihil deorsum esse praeter mundum. O si ipsa esset, nosset extrema sphaerae tardius rotari quam medium, et alia similia quae similiter novimus. Nunc vero quomodo vel qualiscumque beatus sum, qui nescio cur tantus mundus sit, cum rationes figurarum per quas est, nihil prohibeant esse, quanto quis voluerit, ampliorem? Aut quomodo non mihi diceretur, imo non cogeremur confiteri corpora in infinitum secari, ut a certa velut basi in quantitatem certam certus corpusculorum numerus surgeret? Quare cum corpus nullum esse minimum sinitur, quo pacto sinamus esse amplissimum, quo amplius esse non possit; nisi forte illud quod Alypio aliquando dixi occultissime, habet magnam vim: ut quoniam numerus ille intelligibilis infinite crescit, non tamen infinite minuitur, nam non eum licet ultra monadem resolvere; contra sensibilis (nam quid est aliud sensibilis numerus, nisi corporeorum vel corporum quantitas?) minui quidem infinite, sed infinite crescere nequeat. Et ideo fortasse merito philosophi in rebus intelligibilibus divitias ponunt, in sensibilibus egestatem. Quid enim aerumnosius quam minus atque minus semper posse fieri? Quid ditius, quam crescere quantum velis, ire quo velis, redire cum velis, quousque velis, et hoc multum amare quod minui non potest? Quisquis namque intelligit istos numeros, nihil sic amat ut monadem; 0065 nec mirum, cum per eam fiat, ut caeteri amentur. Sed tamen cur tantus est mundus? poterat enim esse vel major, vel brevior. Nescio: tale est enim. Et cur hoc loco potius quam illo? Nec in ea re debet esse quaestio, ubi quidquid esset, quaestio esset. Unum illud multum movebat, quod infinite corpora secarentur. Cui fortasse responsum est, de vi contraria intelligibilis numeri.

3. Sed exspecta; videamus quid sit hoc nescio quid, quod suggeritur menti: certe sensibilis mundus nescio cujus intelligibilis imago esse dicitur. Mirum autem est quod in imaginibus videmus, quas specula referunt: nam quamvis ingentia specula sint, non reddunt majores imagines, quam sunt corpora etiam brevissima objecta. In parvis autem specillis, sicut in pupillis oculorum, etsi magna facies sese opponat, brevissima imago pro modo speculi formatur. Ergo et imagines corporum minui licet, si specula minuantur: augeri, si augeantur, non licet. Hic profecto aliquid latet, sed nunc dormiendum est. Neque enim Nebridio beatus quaerendo videor, sed fortasse aliquid inveniendo. Id autem aliquid quid est? an illa ratiocinatio, cui tanquam unicae meae blandiri soleo, et ea me nimis oblectare?

4. Unde constamus? Ex animo et corpore. Quid horum melius? Videlicet animus. Quid laudant in corpore? Nihil aliud video quam pulchritudinem. Quid est corporis pulchritudo? Congruentia partium cum quadam coloris suavitate. Haec forma ubi vera melior, an ubi falsa? Quis dubitet ubi vera est, esse meliorem? Ubi ergo vera est? In animo scilicet. Animus igitur magis amandus est quam corpus. Sed in qua parte animi ista est veritas? In mente atque intelligentia. Quid huic adversatur? Sensus. Resistendum ergo sensibus totis animi viribus? Liquet. Quid si sensibilia nimium delectant? Fiat ut non delectent. Unde fit? Consuetudine iis carendi appetendique meliora. Quid si moritur animus? Ergo moritur veritas, aut non est intelligentia veritas, aut intelligentia non est in animo, aut potest mori aliquid in quo aliquid immortale est: nihil autem horum fieri posse Soliloquia nostra jam continent, satisque persuasum est; sed nescio qua consuetudine malorum territamur atque titubamus. Postremo etiamsi moritur animus, quod nullo modo posse fieri video, non esse tamen beatam vitam in laetitia sensibilium, hoc otio satis exploratum est. His rebus fortasse atque talibus Nebridio meo si non beatus, at certe quasi beatus videor: videar et mihi; quid inde perdo, aut cur parcam bonae opinioni? Haec mihi dixi: deinde oravi, ut solebam, atque dormivi.

5. Haec placuit scribere tibi. Delectat enim me quod mihi gratias agis, si nihil te quod in buccam venerit celem; et gaudeo, quia sic tibi placeo. Apud quem igitur libentius ineptiam, quam cui displicere non possum? At si in potestate fortunae est, ut hominem amet homo, vide quam beatus sim, qui de fortuitis tam multum gaudeo, et talia bona, fateor, desidero mihi ubertim accrescere. Fortunae autem bona verissimi 0066 sapientes, quos solos beatos fas est vocari, nec timeri voluerunt, nec cupi, an cupiri, tu videris. Et belle accidit. Nam volo me declinationis hujus gnarum facias. Cum enim adjungo verba similia, incertior fio. Nam ita est cupio, ut fugio, ut sapio, ut jacio, ut capio; sed utrum fugiri an fugi, utrum sapiri an sapi, sit modus infinitus, ignoro. Possem attendere jaci et capi, ni vererer ne me caperet, et pro ludibrio jaceret quo vellet, qui aliud jactum et captum, aliud fugitum, cupitum, sapitum esse convinceret. Quae item tria, utrum penultima longa et inflexa, an gravi brevique pronuntianda sint, similiter nescio. Provocaverim te ad epistolam longiorem; peto, ut paulo diutius te legam. Nam non queo tantum dicere, quantum volupe est legere te.