On the Trinity — Book IX

We are certainly seeking a trinity—not just any trinity, but that Trinity which is God, the true and supreme and only God. My hearers should be patient, for we are still searching. No one can fairly criticize such a search, provided that the person seeking what is most difficult either to know or to express remains firm in the faith. But whoever sees or teaches better can quickly and justly criticize anyone who speaks confidently about these matters. Scripture says, "Seek God, and your heart shall live," and to prevent anyone from rashly thinking they have grasped it, Scripture says, "Seek His face evermore." The apostle says, "If anyone thinks he knows anything, he does not yet know as he ought to know. But if anyone loves God, he is known by Him." He did not say "has known Him," which would be dangerous presumption, but "is known by Him." Similarly, elsewhere, after saying "But now that you have known God," he immediately corrects himself: "or rather are known by God." And especially in another place: "Brothers, I do not count myself to have apprehended, but this one thing I do: forgetting what is behind and reaching forward to what is ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. Let us therefore, as many as are perfect, be thus minded." Perfection in this life, he tells us, is nothing other than to forget what is behind and to reach forward and press on toward what is ahead. For the one who seeks has the safest goal, who keeps seeking until that toward which we are heading and reaching is grasped. But the right goal starts from faith. For a certain faith is in some way the starting point of knowledge, but such knowledge will not be made perfect except after this life, when we shall see face to face. Let us therefore be thus minded, so as to know that the disposition to seek truth is safer than presuming that unknown things are known. Let us therefore seek as if we were going to find, and find as if we were going to keep seeking. For when a person has finished, then he begins. Let us doubt things to be believed without unbelief; let us affirm things to be understood without rashness. Authority must be held fast in the former; truth must be sought out in the latter. Concerning this question, then, let us believe that the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit is one God, the Creator and Ruler of all creation; and that the Father is not the Son, nor is the Holy Spirit either the Father or the Son, but a trinity of persons mutually interrelated and a unity of equal ousia. And let us seek to understand this, praying for help from Him whom we wish to understand. And as much as He grants, let us desire to explain what we understand with such pious care and anxiety that even if we say one thing instead of another, we may at least say nothing unworthy. For example, if we say anything concerning the Father that does not properly belong to the Father but does belong to the Son, or to the Holy Spirit, or to the Trinity itself; and if we say anything of the Son which does not properly suit the Son but does suit the Father, or the Holy Spirit, or the Trinity; or if we say anything concerning the Holy Spirit which is not fittingly a property of the Holy Spirit yet is not foreign to the Father, or to the Son, or to the one God, the Trinity itself. Just as now we wish to see whether the Holy Spirit is properly that most excellent love—and if He is not, then either the Father is love, or the Son, or the Trinity itself, since we cannot resist the most certain faith and weighty authority of Scripture saying "God is love." Yet we ought not to stray into profane error by saying anything of the Trinity that does not suit the Creator but rather the creature, or that is simply made up by empty thought.

1. We certainly seek a trinity — not any trinity, but that Trinity which is God, and the true and supreme and only God. Let my hearers then wait, for we are still seeking. And no one justly finds fault with such a search, if at least he who seeks that which either to know or to utter is most difficult, is steadfast in the faith. But whosoever either sees or teaches better, finds fault quickly and justly with any one who confidently affirms concerning it. Seek God, he says, and your heart shall live; and lest any one should rashly rejoice that he has, as it were, apprehended it, Seek, he says, His face evermore. And the apostle: If any man, he says, think that he knows anything, he knows nothing yet as he ought to know. But if any man love God, the same is known of Him. He has not said, has known Him, which is dangerous presumption, but is known of Him. So also in another place, when he had said, But now after that you have known God: immediately correcting himself, he says, or rather are known of God. And above all in that other place, Brethren, he says, I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press in purpose toward the mark, for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. Let us therefore, as many as be perfect, be thus minded. Perfection in this life, he tells us, is nothing else than to forget those things which are behind, and to reach forth and press in purpose toward those things which are before. For he that seeks has the safest purpose, [who seeks] until that is taken hold of whither we are tending, and for which we are reaching forth. But that is the right purpose which starts from faith. For a certain faith is in some way the starting-point of knowledge; but a certain knowledge will not be made perfect, except after this life, when we shall see face to face. Let us therefore be thus minded, so as to know that the disposition to seek the truth is more safe than that which presumes things unknown to be known. Let us therefore so seek as if we should find, and so find as if we were about to seek. For when a man has done, then he begins. Let us doubt without unbelief of things to be believed; let us affirm without rashness of things to be understood: authority must be held fast in the former, truth sought out in the latter. As regards this question, then, let us believe that the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit is one God, the Creator and Ruler of the whole creature; and that the Father is not the Son, nor the Holy Spirit either the Father or the Son, but a trinity of persons mutually interrelated, and a unity of an equal essence. And let us seek to understand this, praying for help from Himself, whom we wish to understand; and as much as He grants, desiring to explain what we understand with so much pious care and anxiety, that even if in any case we say one thing for another, we may at least say nothing unworthy. As, for the sake of example, if we say anything concerning the Father that does not properly belong to the Father, or does belong to the Son, or to the Holy Spirit, or to the Trinity itself; and if anything of the Son which does not properly suit with the Son, or at all events which does suit with the Father, or with the Holy Spirit, or with the Trinity; or if, again, anything concerning the Holy Spirit, which is not fitly a property of the Holy Spirit, yet is not alien from the Father, or from the Son, or from the one God the Trinity itself. Even as now our wish is to see whether the Holy Spirit is properly that love which is most excellent which if He is not, either the Father is love, or the Son, or the Trinity itself; since we cannot withstand the most certain faith and weighty authority of Scripture, saying, God is love. And yet we ought not to deviate into profane error, so as to say anything of the Trinity which does not suit the Creator, but rather the creature, or which is feigned outright by mere empty thought.

And this being so, let us direct our attention to those three things we think we have found. We are not yet speaking of heavenly things, nor of God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, but of that inadequate image—which is still an image—that is, man. Our weak mind can perhaps examine this more familiarly and more easily. So then, when I, who am conducting this inquiry, love anything, there are three things involved: myself, what I love, and love itself. For I do not love love unless I love a lover, since there is no love where nothing is loved. Therefore there are three things: the one who loves, what is loved, and love. But what if I love nothing except myself? Will there not then be two things: what I love, and love? For the one who loves and what is loved are the same when someone loves himself, just as to love and to be loved are the very same thing when someone loves himself. The same thing is being said when it is said "he loves himself" and "he is loved by himself." In that case, to love and to be loved are not two different things, just as the one who loves and the one who is loved are not two different persons. But even so, love and what is loved are still two things. For there is no love when someone loves himself unless love itself is loved. But it is one thing to love oneself, another to love one's own love. For love is not loved unless it is already loving something, since where nothing is loved there is no love. Therefore there are two things when someone loves himself: love and what is loved. For then the one who loves and what is loved are one. From this it seems that it does not necessarily follow that three things are to be understood wherever love is. Let us set aside from our inquiry all the other many things that make up a person, and in order that we may discover clearly what we are now seeking—as far as possible in such a subject—let us deal with the mind alone. The mind, then, when it loves itself, reveals two things: mind and love. But what is it to love oneself, except to wish to help oneself to the enjoyment of oneself? And when someone wishes to be just as much as he is, then the will matches the mind, and the love is equal to the one who loves. And if love is a substance, it is certainly not body but spirit; and the mind also is not body but spirit. Yet love and mind are not two spirits but one spirit, nor two essences but one. And yet here are two things that are one: the one who loves and love, or if you prefer, what is loved and love. And these two are indeed said in relation to each other, since the one who loves is referred to love, and love to the one who loves. For the one who loves loves with some love, and love is the love of someone who loves. But mind and spirit are not said relatively but express essence. For mind and spirit do not exist because the mind and spirit of some particular person exists. For if we remove the body from what is called man—which is so called with the body joined to it—the mind and spirit remain. But if we remove the one who loves, then there is no love; and if we remove love, then there is no one who loves. And therefore, insofar as they are mutually referred to one another, they are two; but when they are spoken of in respect to themselves, each is spirit, and both together are also one spirit; and each is mind, and both together one mind. Where, then, is the trinity? Let us pay attention as much as we can, and let us invoke the everlasting light, that He may illuminate our darkness and that we may see in ourselves, as much as we are permitted, the image of God.

2. And this being so, let us direct our attention to those three things which we fancy we have found. We are not yet speaking of heavenly things, nor yet of God the Father, and Son, and Holy Spirit, but of that inadequate image, which yet is an image, that is, man; for our feeble mind perhaps can gaze upon this more familiarly and more easily. Well then, when I, who make this inquiry, love anything, there are three things concerned — myself, and that which I love, and love itself. For I do not love love, except I love a lover; for there is no love where nothing is loved. Therefore there are three things — he who loves, and that which is loved, and love. But what if I love none except myself? Will there not then be two things — that which I love, and love? For he who loves and that which is loved are the same when any one loves himself; just as to love and to be loved, in the same way, is the very same thing when any one loves himself. Since the same thing is said, when it is said, he loves himself, and he is loved by himself. For in that case to love and to be loved are not two different things: just as he who loves and he who is loved are not two different persons. But yet, even so, love and what is loved are still two things. For there is no love when any one loves himself, except when love itself is loved. But it is one thing to love one's self, another to love one's own love. For love is not loved, unless as already loving something; since where nothing is loved there is no love. Therefore there are two things when any one loves himself — love, and that which is loved. For then he that loves and that which is loved are one. Whence it seems that it does not follow that three things are to be understood wherever love is. For let us put aside from the inquiry all the other many things of which a man consists; and in order that we may discover clearly what we are now seeking, as far as in such a subject is possible, let us treat of the mind alone. The mind, then, when it loves itself, discloses two things — mind and love. But what is to love one's self, except to wish to help one's self to the enjoyment of self? And when any one wishes himself to be just as much as he is, then the will is on a par with the mind, and the love is equal to him who loves. And if love is a substance, it is certainly not body, but spirit; and the mind also is not body, but spirit. Yet love and mind are not two spirits, but one spirit; nor yet two essences, but one: and yet here are two things that are one, he that loves and love; or, if you like so to put it, that which is loved and love. And these two, indeed, are mutually said relatively. Since he who loves is referred to love, and love to him who loves. For he who loves, loves with some love, and love is the love of some one who loves. But mind and spirit are not said relatively, but express essence. For mind and spirit do not exist because the mind and spirit of some particular man exists. For if we subtract the body from that which is man, which is so called with the conjunction of body, the mind and spirit remain. But if we subtract him that loves, then there is no love; and if we subtract love, then there is no one that loves. And therefore, in so far as they are mutually referred to one another, they are two; but whereas they are spoken in respect to themselves, each are spirit, and both together also are one spirit; and each are mind, and both together one mind. Where, then, is the trinity? Let us attend as much as we can, and let us invoke the everlasting light, that He may illuminate our darkness, and that we may see in ourselves, as much as we are permitted, the image of God.

The mind cannot love itself unless it also knows itself, because how can it love what it does not know? If someone claims that the mind believes itself to be of a certain character based on general or specific knowledge—from what it has learned by observing others—and therefore loves itself, that person is speaking utter nonsense. How can a mind know another mind if it does not know itself? The mind does not know other minds while remaining ignorant of itself, the way the eye of the body sees other eyes but cannot see itself. We see physical bodies through the eyes of the body because, unless we are looking in a mirror, we cannot bend and reflect back the rays that shine out through our eyes and touch whatever we perceive. This is indeed a subject dealt with very subtly and obscurely, until it can be clearly shown whether this is actually how it works or not. But whatever the nature of the power by which we perceive through the eyes—whether it is rays or something else—we certainly cannot perceive that power itself with the eyes. Instead, we investigate it with the mind and, if possible, understand even this through the mind. Therefore, just as the mind gathers knowledge of physical things through the senses of the body, so it gathers knowledge of incorporeal things through itself. Consequently, it also knows itself through itself, since it is incorporeal. If it does not know itself, it does not love itself.

3. For the mind cannot love itself, except also it know itself; for how can it love what it does not know? Or if any body says that the mind, from either general or special knowledge, believes itself of such a character as it has by experience found others to be and therefore loves itself, he speaks most foolishly. For whence does a mind know another mind, if it does not know itself? For the mind does not know other minds and not know itself, as the eye of the body sees other eyes and does not see itself; for we see bodies through the eyes of the body, because, unless we are looking into a mirror, we cannot refract and reflect the rays into themselves which shine forth through those eyes, and touch whatever we discern — a subject, indeed, which is treated of most subtlely and obscurely, until it be clearly demonstrated whether the fact be so, or whether it be not. But whatever is the nature of the power by which we discern through the eyes, certainly, whether it be rays or anything else, we cannot discern with the eyes that power itself; but we inquire into it with the mind, and if possible, understand even this with the mind. As the mind, then, itself gathers the knowledge of corporeal things through the senses of the body, so of incorporeal things through itself. Therefore it knows itself also through itself, since it is incorporeal; for if it does not know itself, it does not love itself.

But just as there are two things—the mind and its love when it loves itself—so there are two things: the mind and its knowledge when it knows itself. Therefore the mind itself, its love, and its knowledge are three things, and these three are one. When they are perfect, they are equal. For if someone loves himself less than he truly is—for example, if a person's mind loves itself only as much as the human body ought to be loved, when the mind is greater than the body—then it is at fault, and its love is not perfect. Again, if it loves itself more than it truly is—for instance, if it loves itself as much as God is to be loved, when the mind is incomparably less than God—then it is also greatly at fault, and its self-love is not perfect. But it is even more perversely and wrongly at fault when it loves the body as much as God is to be loved. Likewise, if knowledge is less than the thing that is known and can be fully known, then the knowledge is not perfect. But if it is greater, then the nature that knows is above what is known, just as knowledge of the body is greater than the body itself, which is known by that knowledge. For knowledge is a kind of life in the reason of the knower, but the body is not life, and any life is greater than any body—not in size, but in power. But when the mind knows itself, its knowledge does not rise above itself, because it is both the knower and the known. Therefore, when it knows itself entirely and nothing else along with itself, then its knowledge is equal to itself, because its knowledge does not come from another nature, since it knows itself. And when it perceives itself entirely and nothing more, then it is neither less nor greater. We were right, therefore, to say that these three things—mind, love, and knowledge—when they are perfect, are consequently equal.

4. But as there are two things ( duo quædam), the mind and the love of it, when it loves itself; so there are two things, the mind and the knowledge of it, when it knows itself. Therefore the mind itself, and the love of it, and the knowledge of it, are three things ( tria quædam), and these three are one; and when they are perfect they are equal. For if one loves himself less than as he is — as for example, suppose that the mind of a man only loves itself as much as the body of a man ought to be loved, whereas the mind is more than the body — then it is in fault, and its love is not perfect. Again, if it loves itself more than as it is — as if, for instance, it loves itself as much as God is to be loved, whereas the mind is incomparably less than God — here also it is exceedingly in fault, and its love of self is not perfect. But it is in fault more perversely and wrongly still, when it loves the body as much as God is to be loved. Also, if knowledge is less than that thing which is known, and which can be fully known, then knowledge is not perfect; but if it is greater, then the nature which knows is above that which is known, as the knowledge of the body is greater than the body itself, which is known by that knowledge. For knowledge is a kind of life in the reason of the knower, but the body is not life; and any life is greater than any body, not in bulk, but in power. But when the mind knows itself, its own knowledge does not rise above itself, because itself knows, and itself is known. When, therefore, it knows itself entirely, and no other thing with itself, then its knowledge is equal to itself; because its knowledge is not from another nature, since it knows itself. And when it perceives itself entirely, and nothing more, then it is neither less nor greater. We said therefore rightly, that these three things, [ mind, love, and knowledge], when they are perfect, are by consequence equal.

Similar reasoning suggests to us, if we can understand the matter at all, that these things—that is, love and knowledge—exist in the soul. Being wrapped up in it, as it were, they are drawn out from it so that they can be perceived and counted as existing substantially, or, so to speak, essentially. They do not exist in the soul as if it were a subject, the way color or shape or any other quality or quantity exists in a body. For anything of this material kind does not extend beyond the subject in which it exists. The color or shape of one particular body cannot also be the color or shape of another body. But the mind can also love something besides itself with the same love by which it loves itself. Furthermore, the mind does not know only itself, but also many other things. Therefore love and knowledge are not contained in the mind as in a subject. Rather, these also exist substantially, just as the mind itself does. For even though they are mutually predicated relatively, each still exists separately in its own substance. Nor are they predicated relatively to one another in the way that color and a colored subject are, where the color is in the colored subject but has no proper substance in itself—colored body being a substance, but color being in a substance. Instead, they are like two friends who are also two human beings, which are substances. While they are called human beings not relatively but friends relatively, they remain substances.

5. Similar reasoning suggests to us, if indeed we can any way understand the matter, that these things [ i.e. love and knowledge] exist in the soul, and that, being as it were involved in it, they are so evolved from it as to be perceived and reckoned up substantially, or, so to say, essentially. Not as though in a subject; as color, or shape, or any other quality or quantity, are in the body. For anything of this [material] kind does not go beyond the subject in which it is; for the color or shape of this particular body cannot be also those of another body. But the mind can also love something besides itself, with that love with which it loves itself. And further, the mind does not know itself only, but also many other things. Wherefore love and knowledge are not contained in the mind as in a subject, but these also exist substantially, as the mind itself does; because, even if they are mutually predicated relatively, yet they exist each severally in their own substance. Nor are they so mutually predicated relatively as color and the colored subject are; so that color is in the colored subject, but has not any proper substance in itself, since colored body is a substance, but color is in a substance; but as two friends are also two men, which are substances, while they are said to be men not relatively, but friends relatively.

Moreover, although one who loves or one who knows is a substance, and knowledge is a substance, and love is a substance, still "the one who loves" and "love," or "the one who knows" and "knowledge," are spoken of in relation to each other, just as friends are. Yet mind or spirit are not relational terms, just as human beings are not relational terms. Nevertheless, the one who loves and love, or the one who knows and knowledge, cannot exist separately from each other, whereas human beings who are friends can. It might seem that friends can also be separated in body though not in mind, insofar as they are friends. Indeed, it can even happen that a friend may begin to hate a friend and therefore cease to be a friend while the other does not know it and still loves him. But if the love by which the mind loves itself ceases to exist, then at the same time the mind will also cease to love. Similarly, if the knowledge by which the mind knows itself ceases to exist, then at the same time the mind will also cease to know itself. Just as the head of anything that has a head is certainly a head, and they are predicated in relation to each other even though they are also substances—for both a head is a body and that which has a head is a body, and if there is no head, then there will be no thing that has a head—yet these things can be separated from each other by cutting them off, while those cannot.

6. But, further, although one who loves or one who knows is a substance, and knowledge is a substance, and love is a substance, but he that loves and love, or, he that knows and knowledge, are spoken of relatively to each other, as are friends: yet mind or spirit are not relatives, as neither are men relatives: nevertheless he that loves and love, or he that knows and knowledge, cannot exist separately from each other, as men can that are friends. Although it would seem that friends, too, can be separated in body, not in mind, in as far as they are friends: nay, it can even happen that a friend may even also begin to hate a friend and on this account cease to be a friend while the other does not know it, and still loves him. But if the love with which the mind loves itself ceases to be, then the mind also will at the same time cease to love. Likewise, if the knowledge by which the mind knows itself ceases to be, then the mind will also at the same time cease to know itself. Just as the head of anything that has a head is certainly a head, and they are predicated relatively to each other, although they are also substances: for both a head is a body, and so is that which has a head; and if there be no head, then neither will there be that which has a head. Only these things can be separated from each other by cutting off, those cannot.

Even if some bodies cannot be completely separated and divided, they would still not be bodies unless they were made up of their own distinct parts. A part, then, is spoken of in relation to a whole, since every part is a part of some whole, and a whole is a whole by possessing all its parts. But since both part and whole are bodies, these things are not only spoken of in relation to each other but also exist as substances. Perhaps, then, the mind is a whole, and the love with which it loves itself and the knowledge with which it knows itself are like its parts, two parts that make up that whole. Or are there three equal parts that make up the one whole? But no part embraces the whole of which it is a part. However, when the mind knows itself as a whole—that is, knows itself perfectly—then its knowledge extends through the whole of it. And when it loves itself perfectly, then it loves itself as a whole, and its love extends through the whole of it. Is it, then, like one drink made from wine and water and honey, where each individual ingredient extends through the whole, and yet they are three things (for there is no part of the drink that does not contain these three things; they are not joined like water and oil but are completely mixed together, and they are all substances, and the whole of that liquid composed of the three is one substance)—is it in some such way as this that we are to think these three are together: mind, love, and knowledge? But water, wine, and honey are not of one substance, although one substance results in the drink made from mixing them. And I cannot see how those other three are not of the same substance, since the mind itself loves itself and itself knows itself, and these three exist in such a way that the mind is neither loved nor known by anything else at all. These three, therefore, must be of one and the same essence. For this reason, if they were confused together as if by mixing, they could not in any way be three, nor could they be mutually related to each other. Just as if you were to make three similar rings from one and the same gold, even though connected to each other, they are mutually related to each other because they are similar. For everything similar is similar to something, and there is a trinity of rings and one gold. But if they are blended with each other and each mingled with the other through the whole of their bulk, then that trinity will collapse and will not exist at all. And not only will it be called one gold, as it was called in the case of those three rings, but now it will not be called three things of gold at all.

7. And even if there are some bodies which cannot be wholly separated and divided, yet they would not be bodies unless they consisted of their own proper parts. A part then is predicated relatively to a whole, since every part is a part of some whole, and a whole is a whole by having all its parts. But since both part and whole are bodies, these things are not only predicated relatively, but exist also substantially. Perhaps, then, the mind is a whole, and the love with which it loves itself, and the knowledge with which it knows itself, are as it were its parts, of which two parts that whole consists. Or are there three equal parts which make up the one whole? But no part embraces the whole, of which it is a part; whereas, when the mind knows itself as a whole, that is, knows itself perfectly, then the knowledge of it extends through the whole of it; and when it loves itself perfectly, then it loves itself as a whole, and the love of it extends through the whole of it. Is it, then, as one drink is made from wine and water and honey, and each single part extends through the whole, and yet they are three things (for there is no part of the drink which does not contain these three things; for they are not joined as if they were water and oil, but are entirely commingled: and they are all substances, and the whole of that liquor which is composed of the three is one substance), — is it, I say, in some such way as this we are to think these three to be together, mind, love, and knowledge? But water, wine, and honey are not of one substance, although one substance results in the drink made from the commingling of them. And I cannot see how those other three are not of the same substance, since the mind itself loves itself, and itself knows itself; and these three so exist, as that the mind is neither loved nor known by any other thing at all. These three, therefore, must needs be of one and the same essence; and for that reason, if they were confounded together as it were by a commingling, they could not be in any way three, neither could they be mutually referred to each other. Just as if you were to make from one and the same gold three similar rings, although connected with each other, they are mutually referred to each other, because they are similar. For everything similar is similar to something, and there is a trinity of rings, and one gold. But if they are blended with each other, and each mingled with the other through the whole of their own bulk, then that trinity will fall through, and it will not exist at all; and not only will it be called one gold, as it was called in the case of those three rings, but now it will not be called three things of gold at all.

But in these three, when the mind knows itself and loves itself, a trinity remains: mind, love, knowledge. And this trinity is not mixed up together by any blending. Although each one exists in itself, and mutually all are in all—or each one is in the other two, or each two are in each one—therefore all are in all. For certainly the mind is in itself, since it is called mind in relation to itself. Yet it is said to be knowing, or known, or knowable in relation to its own knowledge. And although as loving, and loved, or lovable, it is referred to love, by which it loves itself. And knowledge, although it is referred to the mind that knows or is known, is also spoken of both as known and knowing in relation to itself, for the knowledge by which the mind knows itself is not unknown to itself. And although love is referred to the mind that loves, whose love it is, it is also love in relation to itself, so as to exist also in itself, since love too is loved, yet cannot be loved with anything except with love, that is with itself. So these things each exist in themselves. But they also exist in each other, because both the mind that loves is in love, and love is in the knowledge of the one who loves, and knowledge is in the mind that knows. And each one likewise exists in the other two, because the mind which knows and loves itself is in its own love and knowledge. And the love of the mind that loves and knows itself is in the mind and in its knowledge. And the knowledge of the mind that knows and loves itself is in the mind and in its love, because it loves itself that knows, and knows itself that loves. And from this, each two are also in each one, since the mind which knows and loves itself is together with its own knowledge in love, and together with its own love in knowledge. And love itself and knowledge are together in the mind, which loves and knows itself. But we have already shown above how all are in all, since the mind loves itself as a whole and knows itself as a whole, and knows its own love wholly, and loves its own knowledge wholly, when these three things are perfect in relation to themselves. Therefore these three things are wonderfully inseparable from each other, and yet each of them is individually a substance, and all together are one substance or ousia, while they are mutually spoken of relatively.

8. But in these three, when the mind knows itself and loves itself, there remains a trinity: mind, love, knowledge; and this trinity is not confounded together by any commingling: although they are each severally in themselves and mutually all in all, or each severally in each two, or each two in each. Therefore all are in all. For certainly the mind is in itself, since it is called mind in respect to itself: although it is said to be knowing, or known, or knowable, relatively to its own knowledge; and although also as loving, and loved, or lovable, it is referred to love, by which it loves itself. And knowledge, although it is referred to the mind that knows or is known, nevertheless is also predicated both as known and knowing in respect to itself: for the knowledge by which the mind knows itself is not unknown to itself. And although love is referred to the mind that loves, whose love it is; nevertheless it is also love in respect to itself, so as to exist also in itself: since love too is loved, yet cannot be loved with anything except with love, that is with itself. So these things are severally in themselves. But so are they in each other; because both the mind that loves is in love, and love is in the knowledge of him that loves, and knowledge is in the mind that knows. And each severally is in like manner in each two, because the mind which knows and loves itself, is in its own love and knowledge: and the love of the mind that loves and knows itself, is in the mind and in its knowledge: and the knowledge of the mind that knows and loves itself is in the mind and in its love, because it loves itself that knows, and knows itself that loves. And hence also each two is in each severally, since the mind which knows and loves itself, is together with its own knowledge in love, and together with its own love in knowledge; and love too itself and knowledge are together in the mind, which loves and knows itself. But in what way all are in all, we have already shown above; since the mind loves itself as a whole, and knows itself as a whole, and knows its own love wholly, and loves its own knowledge wholly, when these three things are perfect in respect to themselves. Therefore these three things are marvellously inseparable from each other, and yet each of them is severally a substance, and all together are one substance or essence, while they are mutually predicated relatively. "Believest thou not that I am in the Father, and the Father in Me? I pray that they all may be one, as thou Father art in Me, and I in Thee." Athanasius ( Oratio, 3, 21) remarks that Christ here prays that the disciples "may imitate the trinitarian unity of essence, in their unity of affection." Had it been possible for the disciples to be in the essence of the Father as the Son is, he would have prayed that they all may be "one in Thee," instead of "one in Us." The Platonists, also, employed this figure of circulatory movement, to explain the self-reflecting and self-communing nature of the human mind. "It is not possible for us to know what our souls are, but only by their κινήσεις κυκλικαὶ, their circular and reflex motions and converse with themselves, which only can steal from them their own secrets." J. Smith: Immortality of the Soul, Ch. ii. Augustine's illustration, however, is imperfect, because "the three things" which circulate are not "each of them severally a substance." Only one of them, namely, the mind, is a substance.–W.G.T.S.] }}–>

When the human mind knows itself and loves itself, it does not know and love something unchangeable. Each individual person speaks about his own particular mind in one way, when he reflects on what happens within himself. But he defines the human mind in abstract terms through either specific or general knowledge. So when someone speaks to me about his own individual mind—whether he understands this or that, or does not understand it, or whether he wants or does not want this or that—I believe him. But when he speaks the truth about the human mind in general or specific terms, I recognize and approve it. From this it is clear that each person sees something in himself in such a way that another person can believe what he says about it but cannot see it directly. But another person sees something in the truth itself in such a way that another person can also look upon it. The former changes over time, while the latter exists in unchangeable eternity. For we do not acquire general or specific knowledge of the human mind through similarity by seeing many minds with our bodily eyes. Instead, we gaze upon indestructible truth, from which we can define perfectly, as far as we are able, not what sort of mind any particular person has, but what sort it ought to be according to the eternal plan.

9. But when the human mind knows itself and loves itself, it does not know and love anything unchangeable: and each individual man declares his own particular mind by one manner of speech, when he considers what takes place in himself; but defines the human mind abstractly by special or general knowledge. And so, when he speaks to me of his own individual mind, as to whether he understands this or that, or does not understand it, or whether he wishes or does not wish this or that, I believe; but when he speaks the truth of the mind of man generally or specially, I recognize and approve. Whence it is manifest, that each sees a thing in himself, in such way that another person may believe what he says of it, yet may not see it; but another [sees a thing] in the truth itself, in such way that another person also can gaze upon it; of which the former undergoes changes at successive times, the latter consists in an unchangeable eternity. For we do not gather a generic or specific knowledge of the human mind by means of resemblance by seeing many minds with the eyes of the body: but we gaze upon indestructible truth, from which to define perfectly, as far as we can, not of what sort is the mind of any one particular man, but of what sort it ought to be upon the eternal plan.

Therefore, even in the case of images of physical things that are drawn in through our bodily senses and somehow infused into the memory—from which things we have not seen are also thought about under an imagined form, whether differently from how they really are or perhaps as they actually are—even here we are shown to accept or reject things within ourselves by other rules that remain completely unchangeable above our mind, whenever we approve or reject something correctly. For example, when I recall the walls of Carthage which I have seen, and imagine for myself the walls of Alexandria which I have not seen, and in preferring one to the other among forms that in both cases are imaginary, I make that preference on rational grounds; the judgment of truth from above is still strong and clear, and rests firmly upon the utterly indestructible rules of its own rightness. And even if it is covered, so to speak, by the cloudiness of physical images, it is nevertheless not wrapped up and confused by them.

10. Whence also, even in the case of the images of things corporeal which are drawn in through the bodily sense, and in some way infused into the memory, from which also those things which have not been seen are thought under a fancied image, whether otherwise than they really are, or even perchance as they are — even here too, we are proved either to accept or reject, within ourselves, by other rules which remain altogether unchangeable above our mind, when we approve or reject anything rightly. For both when I recall the walls of Carthage which I have seen, and imagine to myself the walls of Alexandria which I have not seen, and, in preferring this to that among forms which in both cases are imaginary, make that preference upon grounds of reason; the judgment of truth from above is still strong and clear, and rests firmly upon the utterly indestructible rules of its own right; and if it is covered as it were by cloudiness of corporeal images, yet is not wrapt up and confounded in them.

But it makes a difference whether I am shut off from the clear sky as if trapped in that darkness, or whether (as usually happens on high mountains) I enjoy the open air between both, looking up at once to the calmest light above and down to the densest clouds below. For why is the fire of brotherly love kindled in me when I hear that some man has endured bitter torments for the excellence and steadfastness of faith? And if that man is pointed out to me, I am eager to join myself to him, to become acquainted with him, to bind him to myself in friendship. And so, if opportunity offers, I approach him, I speak to him, I talk with him, I express my goodwill toward him in whatever words I can, and I wish that goodwill toward me might also be brought about and expressed in him in turn. I strive after a spiritual embrace through belief, since I cannot so quickly search out and fully discern his innermost heart. I therefore love the faithful and courageous man with a pure and genuine love. But if he were to confess to me in conversation, or were to show through carelessness in some way, that he either believes something unseemly about God and also desires something carnal in Him, and that he endured these torments on behalf of such an error, or from desire for money which he hoped for, or from empty greed for human praise, immediately the love with which I was carried toward him, now displeased and as it were repelled and taken away from an unworthy man, remains in that form according to which, believing him to be such as I did, I had loved him—unless perhaps I have come to love him to this end, that he may become such, when I have found that he is not in fact such. And in that man, nothing is changed, although it can be changed so that he may become what I had believed him already to be. But in my mind something is certainly changed, namely the estimate I had formed of him, which was previously of one sort and now is of another. And the same love, at the command from above of unchangeable righteousness, is turned aside from the purpose of enjoying to the purpose of seeking his correction. But the form itself of unshaken and stable truth, by which I should have enjoyed the man, believing him to be good, and by which I likewise seek counsel that he may be good, sheds in immovable eternity the same light of incorruptible and most sound reason, both upon the sight of my mind and upon that cloud of images which I discern from above when I think of the same man whom I had seen. Again, when I recall to my mind some arch, turned beautifully and symmetrically, which, let us say, I saw at Carthage, a certain reality that had been made known to the mind through the eyes and transferred to the memory causes the imaginary view. But I behold in my mind yet another thing, according to which that work of art pleases me, and from which also, if it displeased me, I should correct it. We judge therefore those particular things according to that form of eternal truth, and discern that form by the intuition of the rational mind. But those things themselves we either touch when present by the bodily sense, or when absent remember their images as fixed in our memory, or picture, in the way of likeness to them, such things as we ourselves also, if we wished and were able, would laboriously build up: figuring in the mind after one fashion the images of bodies, or seeing bodies through the body, but after another fashion, grasping by simple intelligence what is above the eye of the mind, namely the reasons and the unspeakably beautiful skill of such forms.

11. But it makes a difference, whether, under that or in that darkness, I am shut off as it were from the clear heaven; or whether (as usually happens on lofty mountains), enjoying the free air between both, I at once look up above to the calmest light, and down below upon the densest clouds. For whence is the ardor of brotherly love kindled in me, when I hear that some man has borne bitter torments for the excellence and steadfastness of faith? And if that man is shown to me with the finger, I am eager to join myself to him, to become acquainted with him, to bind him to myself in friendship. And accordingly, if opportunity offers, I draw near, I address him, I converse with him, I express my goodwill towards him in what words I can, and wish that in him too in turn should be brought to pass and expressed goodwill towards me; and I endeavor after a spiritual embrace in the way of belief, since I cannot search out so quickly and discern altogether his innermost heart. I love therefore the faithful and courageous man with a pure and genuine love. But if he were to confess to me in the course of conversation, or were through unguardedness to show in any way, that either he believes something unseemly of God, and desires also something carnal in Him, and that he bore these torments on behalf of such an error, or from the desire of money for which he hoped, or from empty greediness of human praise: immediately it follows that the love with which I was borne towards him, displeased, and as it were repelled, and taken away from an unworthy man, remains in that form, after which, believing him such as I did, I had loved him; unless perhaps I have come to love him to this end, that he may become such, while I have found him not to be such in fact. And in that man, too, nothing is changed: although it can be changed, so that he may become that which I had believed him to be already. But in my mind there certainly is something changed, viz., the estimate I had formed of him, which was before of one sort, and now is of another: and the same love, at the bidding from above of unchangeable righteousness, is turned aside from the purpose of enjoying, to the purpose of taking counsel. But the form itself of unshaken and stable truth, wherein I should have enjoyed the fruition of the man, believing him to be good, and wherein likewise I take counsel that he may be good, sheds in an immoveable eternity the same light of incorruptible and most sound reason, both upon the sight of my mind, and upon that cloud of images, which I discern from above, when I think of the same man whom I had seen. Again, when I call back to my mind some arch, turned beautifully and symmetrically, which, let us say, I saw at Carthage; a certain reality that had been made known to the mind through the eyes, and transferred to the memory, causes the imaginary view. But I behold in my mind yet another thing, according to which that work of art pleases me; and whence also, if it displeased me, I should correct it. We judge therefore of those particular things according to that [form of eternal truth], and discern that form by the intuition of the rational mind. But those things themselves we either touch if present by the bodily sense, or if absent remember their images as fixed in our memory, or picture, in the way of likeness to them, such things as we ourselves also, if we wished and were able, would laboriously build up: figuring in the mind after one fashion the images of bodies, or seeing bodies through the body; but after another, grasping by simple intelligence what is above the eye of the mind, viz., the reasons and the unspeakably beautiful skill of such forms.

We behold with the mind's eye, in that eternal truth from which all temporal things are made, the form according to which we exist and according to which we do anything through true and right reason, whether in ourselves or in physical things. We possess true knowledge of things conceived from that eternal truth, like a word within us, and by speaking we bring it forth from within. Yet even when born forth, it does not leave us. When we speak to others, we employ the service of our voice or some physical sign alongside the word that remains within us, so that through a kind of sensory reminder, something similar may be produced in the mind of the one who hears—similar, I mean, to what does not depart from the mind of the one who speaks. Therefore, we do nothing through our bodily members in our words and actions, by which human conduct is either approved or condemned, that we have not first anticipated by a word uttered within ourselves. For no one willingly does anything that he has not first spoken in his heart.

12. We behold, then, by the sight of the mind, in that eternal truth from which all things temporal are made, the form according to which we are, and according to which we do anything by true and right reason, either in ourselves, or in things corporeal; and we have the true knowledge of things, thence conceived, as it were as a word within us, and by speaking we beget it from within; nor by being born does it depart from us. And when we speak to others, we apply to the word, remaining within us, the ministry of the voice or of some bodily sign, that by some kind of sensible remembrance some similar thing may be wrought also in the mind of him that hears — similar, I say, to that which does not depart from the mind of him that speaks. We do nothing, therefore, through the members of the body in our words and actions, by which the behavior of men is either approved or blamed, which we do not anticipate by a word uttered within ourselves. For no one willingly does anything, which he has not first said in his heart.

This word is conceived by love, whether of the creature or of the Creator—that is, whether by love of changeable nature or by love of unchangeable truth.

13. And this word is conceived by love, either of the creature or of the Creator, that is, either of changeable nature or of unchangeable truth.

The word is therefore conceived either by desire or by love—not that the creature should not be loved at all, but if that love for the creature is directed back to the Creator, then it will not be desire (cupiditas) but love (charitas). For it is desire when the creature is loved for its own sake. And then it does not help a person by being used properly, but corrupts him by being enjoyed for itself. Therefore, when the creature is either equal to us or lower than us, we must use the lower one for the sake of God, but we must enjoy the equal one rightly in God. For just as you ought to enjoy yourself not in yourself but in Him who made you, so also should you enjoy the person whom you love as yourself. Let us therefore enjoy both ourselves and our brothers and sisters in the Lord, and let us not dare to give ourselves over and, so to speak, let ourselves slide downward toward ourselves. Now a word is born when, after being thought through, it pleases us either with the result of sinning or of doing what is right. Therefore love, acting as a kind of middle term, joins together our word and the mind from which it is conceived, and binds itself as a third element with them in an incorporeal embrace without any confusion.

[Conceived] therefore, either by desire or by love: not that the creature ought not to be loved; but if that love [of the creature] is referred to the Creator, then it will not be desire ( cupiditas), but love ( charitas). For it is desire when the creature is loved for itself. And then it does not help a man through making use of it, but corrupts him in the enjoying it. When, therefore, the creature is either equal to us or inferior, we must use the inferior in order to God, but we must enjoy the equal duly in God. For as you ought to enjoy yourself, not in yourself, but in Him who made you, so also him whom you love as yourself. Let us enjoy, therefore, both ourselves and our brethren in the Lord; and hence let us not dare to yield, and as it were to relax, ourselves to ourselves in the direction downwards. Now a word is born, when, being thought out, it pleases us either to the effect of sinning, or to that of doing right. Therefore love, as it were a mean, conjoins our word and the mind from which it is conceived, and without any confusion binds itself as a third with them, in an incorporeal embrace.

But the word conceived and the word born are the very same when the will finds rest in knowledge itself, as happens in the love of spiritual things. For instance, whoever knows righteousness perfectly and loves it perfectly is already righteous, even if no necessity exists to work it out externally through the bodily members. But in the love of carnal and temporal things, as in the offspring of animals, conceiving the word is one thing and bringing it forth is another. For here what is conceived through desire is born through attaining. Since it is not enough for greed to know and love gold unless it also possesses it, nor to know and love eating or lying with someone unless one actually does it, nor to know and love honors and power unless they actually happen. In fact, all these things, even when obtained, are not enough. Whoever drinks of this water, He says, will thirst again. And so also the Psalmist says, He has conceived pain and brought forth iniquity. And he speaks of pain or labor as conceived when those things are conceived which it is not sufficient merely to know and will, and when the mind burns and grows sick with longing until it arrives at those things and, as it were, brings them forth. Hence in the Latin language we have the word parta used elegantly for both reperta and comperta, which words sound as if derived from bringing forth. Since lust, when it has conceived, brings forth sin. Therefore the Lord proclaims, Come to me all you who labor and are heavy laden, and in another place, Woe to those who are with child and to those who give suck in those days! And so when He referred all either right actions or sins to the bringing forth of the word, By your words, He says, you will be justified, and by your words you will be condemned, meaning by this not the visible mouth but the one that is within and invisible, of the thought and of the heart.

14. But the word conceived and the word born are the very same when the will finds rest in knowledge itself, as is the case in the love of spiritual things. For instance, he who knows righteousness perfectly, and loves it perfectly, is already righteous; even if no necessity exist of working according to it outwardly through the members of the body. But in the love of carnal and temporal things, as in the offspring of animals, the conception of the word is one thing, the bringing forth another. For here what is conceived by desiring is born by attaining. Since it does not suffice to avarice to know and to love gold, except it also have it; nor to know and love to eat, or to lie with any one, unless also one does it; nor to know and love honors and power, unless they actually come to pass. Nay, all these things, even if obtained, do not suffice. Whosoever drinks of this water, He says, shall thirst again. And so also the Psalmist, He has conceived pain and brought forth iniquity. And he speaks of pain or labor as conceived, when those things are conceived which it is not sufficient to know and will, and when the mind burns and grows sick with want, until it arrives at those things, and, as it were, brings them forth. Whence in the Latin language we have the word parta used elegantly for both reperta and comperta, which words sound as if derived from bringing forth. Since lust, when it has conceived, brings forth sin. Wherefore the Lord proclaims, Come unto me all you that labor and are heavy laden; and in another place Woe unto them that are with child, and to them that give suck, in those days! And when therefore He referred all either right actions or sins to the bringing forth of the word, By your mouth, He says, you shall be justified, and by your mouth you shall be condemned, intending thereby not the visible mouth, but that which is within and invisible, of the thought and of the heart.

It's rightly asked whether all knowledge is a word, or only knowledge that is loved. We also know things we hate, but what we don't like cannot be said to be conceived or brought forth by the mind. Not everything that touches the mind in some way is conceived by it; some things only reach the point of being known but are not spoken as words, like the things we're discussing now. The term "words" has different meanings: in one sense, words occupy spaces of time through their syllables, whether spoken or merely thought. In another sense, everything known is called a word imprinted on the mind, as long as it can be brought forth from memory and defined, even if we dislike the thing itself. In still another sense, we mean what we like that is conceived in the mind. What the apostle says must be understood according to this last kind of word: "No man can say that Jesus is the Lord, but by the Holy Ghost." Those also say this, but according to another meaning of the term word, of whom the Lord himself says, "Not every one that says unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven." Even with things we hate, when we rightly dislike and rightly censure them, we approve and like the censure given to them, and it becomes a word. It's not the knowledge of vices that displeases us, but the vices themselves. I like to know and define what intemperance is, and this is its word. Just as there are known faults in art, and knowledge of them is rightly approved when an expert discerns the presence or absence of excellence, affirming or denying whether it exists or not—yet lacking excellence and falling into fault is worthy of condemnation. Defining intemperance and stating its word belongs to the art of morals, but being intemperate belongs to what that art censures. Just as knowing and defining what a solecism is belongs to the art of speaking, but committing one is a fault that the same art condemns. A word, then, which is what we now want to discern and explain, is knowledge together with love. Whenever the mind knows and loves itself, its word is joined to it by love. Since it loves knowledge and knows love, both the word is in love and love is in the word, and both are in the one who loves and speaks.

15. It is rightly asked then, whether all knowledge is a word, or only knowledge that is loved. For we also know the things which we hate; but what we do not like, cannot be said to be either conceived or brought forth by the mind. For not all things which in anyway touch it, are conceived by it; but some only reach the point of being known, but yet are not spoken as words, as for instance those of which we speak now. For those are called words in one way, which occupy spaces of time by their syllables, whether they are pronounced or only thought; and in another way, all that is known is called a word imprinted on the mind, as long as it can be brought forth from the memory and defined, even though we dislike the thing itself; and in another way still, when we like that which is conceived in the mind. And that which the apostle says, must be taken according to this last kind of word, No man can say that Jesus is the Lord, but by the Holy Ghost; since those also say this, but according to another meaning of the term word, of whom the Lord Himself says, Not every one that says unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven. Nay, even in the case of things which we hate, when we rightly dislike and rightly censure them, we approve and like the censure bestowed upon them, and it becomes a word. Nor is it the knowledge of vices that displeases us, but the vices themselves. For I like to know and define what intemperance is; and this is its word. Just as there are known faults in art, and the knowledge of them is rightly approved, when a connoisseur discerns the species or the privation of excellence, as to affirm and deny that it is or that it is not; yet to be without excellence and to fall away into fault, is worthy of condemnation. And to define intemperance, and to say its word, belongs to the art of morals; but to be intemperate belongs to that which that art censures. Just as to know and define what a solecism is, belongs to the art of speaking; but to be guilty of one, is a fault which the same art reprehends. A word, then, which is the point we wish now to discern and intimate, is knowledge together with love. Whenever, then, the mind knows and loves itself, its word is joined to it by love. And since it loves knowledge and knows love, both the word is in love and love is in the word, and both are in him who loves and speaks.

All knowledge of something in its species (positive form) is like the thing it knows. There is another kind of knowledge based on privation (absence or lack), which we use when we condemn something. Condemning a privation amounts to praising the species, and so it is approved. The mind, then, contains some likeness to a known species, whether when it likes that species or when it dislikes its privation. Therefore, when we know God, we are like Him, but not to the point of equality, since we do not know Him to the extent that He actually exists. When we perceive bodies through bodily sense, a likeness of them arises in our mind, which is a mental image in the memory. The bodies themselves are not actually in the mind when we think of them, but only their likenesses. When we mistake the latter for the former, we make an error, since approving one thing as if it were another is a mistake. Yet the image of the body in the mind is something better than the bodily species itself, because it exists in a better nature—in a living substance, which the mind is. Similarly, when we know God, although we become better than we were before knowing Him, and especially when that same knowledge is also loved and becomes a word, so that this knowledge becomes a kind of likeness of God, still that knowledge is of a lower kind because it exists in a lower nature—the mind is a creature, but God is Creator. From this we can infer that when the mind knows and approves itself, this same knowledge is its word in such a way that it is completely on equal terms with it, because it is neither knowledge of a lower essence, like a body, nor of a higher essence, like God. Since knowledge bears a likeness to what it knows, that is, to what it is knowledge of, in this case it has a perfect and equal likeness when the mind itself that knows is what is known. Therefore it is both image and word, because it is expressed in relation to the mind with which it is equal in knowing, and what is begotten is equal to the begetter.

16. But all knowledge according to species is like the thing which it knows. For there is another knowledge according to privation, according to which we speak a word only when we condemn. And this condemnation of a privation is equivalent to praise of the species, and so is approved. The mind, then, contains some likeness to a known species, whether when liking that species or when disliking its privation. And hence, in so far as we know God, we are like Him, but not like to the point of equality, since we do not know Him to the extent of His own being. And as, when we speak of bodies by means of the bodily sense, there arises in our mind some likeness of them, which is a phantasm of the memory; for the bodies themselves are not at all in the mind, when we think them, but only the likenesses of those bodies; therefore, when we approve the latter for the former, we err, for the approving of one thing for another is an error; yet the image of the body in the mind is a thing of a better sort than the species of the body itself, inasmuch as the former is in a better nature, viz. in a living substance, as the mind is: so when we know God, although we are made better than we were before we knew Him, and above all when the same knowledge being also liked and worthily loved becomes a word, and so that knowledge becomes a kind of likeness of God; yet that knowledge is of a lower kind, since it is in a lower nature; for the mind is creature, but God is Creator. And from this it may be inferred, that when the mind knows and approves itself, this same knowledge is in such way its word, as that it is altogether on a par and equal with it, and the same; because it is neither the knowledge of a lower essence, as of the body, nor of a higher, as of God. And whereas knowledge bears a likeness to that which it knows, that is, of which it is the knowledge; in this case it has perfect and equal likeness, when the mind itself, which knows, is known. And so it is both image and word; because it is uttered concerning that mind to which it is equalled in knowing, and that which is begotten is equal to the begetter.

What then is love? Is it not an image? Is it not a word? Is it not begotten? If the mind begets its knowledge when it knows itself, why does it not beget its love when it loves itself? If the mind causes its own knowing because it is knowable, then it also causes its own love because it is lovable. It is difficult, then, to explain why it does not beget both. There is also a further question concerning the supreme Trinity itself, the omnipotent God the Creator, in whose image man is made, which troubles people whom the truth of God invites to faith through human speech: why is the Holy Spirit not to be believed or understood as begotten by God the Father, so that He too might be called a Son? We are trying to investigate this question in some way through the human mind, so that from this lower image, in which our own nature answers when questioned in a way more familiar to us, we may be able to direct a more practiced mental vision from the enlightened creature to the unchangeable light. However, we assume that the truth itself has convinced us that just as no Christian doubts the Word of God is the Son, so the Holy Spirit is love. Let us return, then, to a more careful questioning and examination of this subject using that image which is the creature, that is, the rational mind. In the mind, knowledge of some things comes into existence in time that did not exist before, and love of some things arises that were not loved before. This opens to us more clearly what to say, because that which is grasped in the order of time is easier to explain in speech itself, which must also be arranged in time.

17. What then is love? Will it not be an image? Will it not be a word? Will it not be begotten? For why does the mind beget its knowledge when it knows itself, and not beget its love when it loves itself? For if it is the cause of its own knowing, for the reason that it is knowable, it is also the cause of its own love because it is lovable. It is hard, then, to say why it does not beget both. For there is a further question also respecting the supreme Trinity itself, the omnipotent God the Creator, after whose image man is made, which troubles men, whom the truth of God invites to the faith by human speech; viz. why the Holy Spirit is not also to be either believed or understood to be begotten by God the Father, so that He also may be called a Son. And this question we are endeavoring in some way to investigate in the human mind, in order that from a lower image, in which our own nature itself as it were answers, upon being questioned, in a way more familiar to ourselves, we may be able to direct a more practised mental vision from the enlightened creature to the unchangeable light; assuming, however, that the truth itself has persuaded us, that as no Christian doubts the Word of God to be the Son, so that the Holy Spirit is love. Let us return, then, to a more careful questioning and consideration upon this subject of that image which is the creature, that is, of the rational mind; wherein the knowledge of some things coming into existence in time, but which did not exist before, and the love of some things which were not loved before, opens to us more clearly what to say: because to speech also itself, which must be disposed in time, that thing is easier of explanation which is comprehended in the order of time.

First, it is clear that something may be knowable—that is, able to be known—and yet remain unknown. But it is impossible for something to be known if it is not knowable. Therefore, we must clearly maintain that everything we know simultaneously begets knowledge of itself within us, for knowledge is produced from both the knower and the thing known. When the mind knows itself, it alone is the parent of its own knowledge, since it is both the thing known and the one who knows it. But the mind was knowable to itself even before it knew itself; only the knowledge of itself did not exist within it as long as it did not know itself. In knowing itself, then, it begets knowledge of itself equal to itself, since it does not know itself as less than it is, nor is its knowledge the knowledge of someone else's essence. This is true not only because it knows, but because it knows itself, as we said above. What then should be said about love? Why, when the mind loves itself, should it not also seem to have begotten its love of itself? For it was lovable to itself even before it loved itself, since it was able to love itself, just as it was knowable to itself even before it knew itself, since it could know itself. For if it were not knowable to itself, it could never have known itself; and likewise, if it were not lovable to itself, it could never have loved itself. Why then can we not say that by loving itself it has begotten its own love, just as by knowing itself it has begotten its own knowledge? The reason is this: it is clearly shown that this is the source of love, from which it proceeds. For it proceeds from the mind itself, which is lovable to itself before it loves itself, and so is the source of its own love by which it loves itself. But this love is not properly said to be begotten by the mind, as knowledge of itself is begotten when the mind knows itself, because in the case of knowledge, the thing has been found, which is what we call brought forth or discovered, and this is commonly preceded by a search that finds rest when its goal is reached. For inquiry is the desire to find or discover. But those things which are discovered are, as it were, brought forth, and so they are like offspring. And how are they offspring except in knowledge itself? For in knowledge they are, as it were, spoken and formed. Although the things we found by seeking already existed, the knowledge of them did not exist, and we regard this knowledge as an offspring that is born. Furthermore, the desire (appetitus) involved in seeking proceeds from the one who seeks and is somehow suspended, and does not rest in its goal except when what is sought is found and joined with the seeker. And this desire, that is, inquiry—although it does not seem to be the love by which what is known is loved, since in this case we are still trying to know—is nevertheless something of the same kind. For it can be called will (voluntas), since everyone who seeks wills (vult) to find; and if what is sought belongs to knowledge, everyone who seeks wills to know. And if someone wills ardently and earnestly, he is said to study (studere), a word most commonly used for pursuing and obtaining learning. Therefore, the bringing forth of the mind is preceded by a certain desire by which, through seeking and finding what we wish to know, the offspring, namely knowledge itself, is born. For this reason, that desire by which knowledge is conceived and brought forth cannot properly be called the bringing forth and the offspring itself. The same desire that led us to long for knowing the thing becomes love of the thing when known, as it holds and embraces its received offspring, that is, knowledge, and unites it to its begetter. And so there is a kind of image of the Trinity in the mind itself, along with the knowledge of it, which is its offspring and its word concerning itself, and love as a third, and these three are one and one substance. Neither is the offspring less, since the mind knows itself according to the measure of its own being; nor is the love less, since it loves itself according to the measure both of its own knowledge and of its own being.

18. First, therefore, it is clear that a thing may possibly be knowable, that is, such as can be known, and yet that it may be unknown; but that it is not possible for that to be known which is not knowable. Wherefore it must be clearly held that everything whatsoever that we know begets at the same time in us the knowledge of itself; for knowledge is brought forth from both, from the knower and from the thing known. When, therefore, the mind knows itself, it alone is the parent of its own knowledge; for it is itself both the thing known and the knower of it. But it was knowable to itself also before it knew itself, only the knowledge of itself was not in itself so long as it did not know itself. In knowing itself, then, it begets a knowledge of itself equal to itself; since it does not know itself as less than itself is, nor is its knowledge the knowledge of the essence of some one else, not only because itself knows, but also because it knows itself, as we have said above. What then is to be said of love; why, when the mind loves itself, it should not seem also to have begotten the love of itself? For it was lovable to itself even before it loved itself since it could love itself; just as it was knowable to itself even before it knew itself, since it could know itself. For if it were not knowable to itself, it never could have known itself; and so, if it were not lovable to itself, it never could have loved itself. Why therefore may it not be said by loving itself to have begotten its own love, as by knowing itself it has begotten its own knowledge? Is it because it is thereby indeed plainly shown that this is the principle of love, whence it proceeds? For it proceeds from the mind itself, which is lovable to itself before it loves itself, and so is the principle of its own love by which it loves itself: but that this love is not therefore rightly said to be begotten by the mind, as is the knowledge of itself by which the mind knows itself, because in the case of knowledge the thing has been found already, which is what we call brought forth or discovered; and this is commonly preceded by an inquiry such as to find rest when that end is attained. For inquiry is the desire of finding, or, what is the same thing, of discovering. But those things which are discovered are as it were brought forth, whence they are like offspring; but wherein, except in the case itself of knowledge? For in that case they are as it were uttered and fashioned. For although the things existed already which we found by seeking, yet the knowledge of them did not exist, which knowledge we regard as an offspring that is born. Further, the desire ( appetitus) which there is in seeking proceeds from him who seeks, and is in some way in suspense, and does not rest in the end whither it is directed, except that which is sought be found and conjoined with him who seeks. And this desire, that is, inquiry — although it does not seem to be love, by which that which is known is loved, for in this case we are still striving to know — yet it is something of the same kind. For it can be called will ( voluntas),since every one who seeks wills ( vult) to find; and if that is sought which belongs to knowledge, every one who seeks wills to know. But if he wills ardently and earnestly, he is said to study ( studere): a word that is most commonly employed in the case of pursuing and obtaining any branches of learning. Therefore, the bringing forth of the mind is preceded by some desire, by which, through seeking and finding what we wish to know, the offspring, viz. knowledge itself, is born. And for this reason, that desire by which knowledge is conceived and brought forth, cannot rightly be called the bringing forth and the offspring; and the same desire which led us to long for the knowing of the thing, becomes the love of the thing when known, while it holds and embraces its accepted offspring, that is, knowledge, and unites it to its begetter. And so there is a kind of image of the Trinity in the mind itself, and the knowledge of it, which is its offspring and its word concerning itself, and love as a third, and these three are one, and one substance. Neither is the offspring less, since the mind knows itself according to the measure of its own being; nor is the love less, since it loves itself according to the measure both of its own knowledge and of its own being.