On the Trinity — Book XI

No one doubts that just as the inner man is equipped with understanding, so the outer man is equipped with bodily sense. Let us try, then, if we can, to discover in this outer man also some trace, however slight, of the Trinity—not that it too is in the same way the image of God. For the apostle's opinion is clear, which declares that the inner man is renewed in the knowledge of God after the image of Him who created him, whereas he also says in another place, "But though our outer man perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day." Let us seek, then, as far as we can, in that which perishes, some image of the Trinity, if not as clear, yet perhaps easier to discern. For that outer man is not called man for no reason, but because there is in it some likeness of the inner man. And because of that very arrangement of our condition by which we are made mortal and fleshly, we handle visible things more easily and more familiarly than intelligible things, since the former are outward and the latter inward; and the former are perceived by bodily sense while the latter are understood by the mind; and we ourselves—that is, our minds—are not sensible things, that is, bodies, but intelligible things, since we are life. And yet, as I said, we are so habitually occupied with bodies, and our thought has projected itself outward with such a remarkable tendency toward bodies, that when it has been withdrawn from the uncertainty of corporeal things so that it may be fixed with a much more certain and stable knowledge in that which is spirit, it flies back to those bodies and seeks rest there where it has drawn weakness. And we must adapt our argument to this feebleness, so that if we want to try at any time to distinguish more accurately and communicate more readily the inward spiritual thing, we must take examples of likenesses from outward things pertaining to the body. The outer man, then, equipped as he is with bodily sense, deals with bodies. And this bodily sense, as is easily observed, is fivefold: seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, touching. But it is both a great deal of trouble and is not necessary that we should inquire about all five of these senses regarding what we seek. For what one of them shows us holds true also in the rest. Let us use, then, principally the testimony of the eyes. For this bodily sense far surpasses the rest and, in proportion to its difference in kind, is closer to the sight of the mind.

1. No one doubts that, as the inner man is endued with understanding, so is the outer with bodily sense. Let us try, then, if we can, to discover in this outer man also, some trace, however slight, of the Trinity, not that itself also is in the same manner the image of God. For the opinion of the apostle is evident, which declares the inner man to be renewed in the knowledge of God after the image of Him that created him: whereas he says also in another place, But though our outer man perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day. Let us seek, then, so far as we can, in that which perishes, some image of the Trinity, if not so express, yet perhaps more easy to be discerned. For that outer man also is not called man to no purpose, but because there is in it some likeness of the inner man. And owing to that very order of our condition whereby we are made mortal and fleshly, we handle things visible more easily and more familiarly than things intelligible; since the former are outward, the latter inward; and the former are perceived by the bodily sense, the latter are understood by the mind; and we ourselves, i.e. our minds, are not sensible things, that is, bodies, but intelligible things, since we are life. And yet, as I said, we are so familiarly occupied with bodies, and our thought has projected itself outwardly with so wonderful a proclivity towards bodies, that, when it has been withdrawn from the uncertainty of things corporeal, that it may be fixed with a much more certain and stable knowledge in that which is spirit, it flies back to those bodies, and seeks rest there whence it has drawn weakness. And to this its feebleness we must suit our argument; so that, if we would endeavor at any time to distinguish more aptly, and intimate more readily, the inward spiritual thing, we must take examples of likenesses from outward things pertaining to the body. The outer man, then, endued as he is with the bodily sense, is conversant with bodies. And this bodily sense, as is easily observed, is fivefold; seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, touching. But it is both a good deal of trouble, and is not necessary, that we should inquire of all these five senses about that which we seek. For that which one of them declares to us, holds also good in the rest. Let us use, then, principally the testimony of the eyes. For this bodily sense far surpasses the rest; and in proportion to its difference of kind, is nearer to the sight of the mind.

When we see any physical object, we need to consider and distinguish three things, which is very easy to do. First, there is the object itself that we see, whether a stone, a flame, or anything else visible to the eyes. This object could have existed even before it was seen. Second, there is vision or the act of seeing, which did not exist before we perceived the object presented to our sense. Third, there is what keeps the eye's sense focused on the object being seen for as long as it is seen, namely the attention of the mind. These three things are not only clearly distinct, but also have different natures. The visible body has a very different nature from the sense of the eyes, and when that sense encounters the body, vision arises. What is vision itself other than perception shaped by what is perceived? Although there is no vision if the visible object is removed, and there could be no vision at all if there were no body to be seen, still the body that shapes the sense of the eyes when that body is seen, and the form itself that is imprinted by it upon the sense, which is called vision, are definitely not of the same substance. The body that is seen is, by its own nature, separable. But the sense, which already existed in the living subject even before it saw what it was able to see when it encountered something visible—or the vision that comes to be in the sense from the visible body when now connected with it and seen—the sense, I say, or the vision, that is, the sense formed from outside, belongs to the nature of the living subject, which is completely different from that body we perceive by seeing and by which the sense is formed not so as to be sense, but so as to be vision. For unless the sense were already in us before the sensible object was presented to us, we would not differ from the blind at times when we are seeing nothing, whether in darkness or when our eyes are closed. But we differ from them in this: even when we are not seeing, we have in us that by which we are able to see, which is called the sense. They do not have this, and they are called blind for no other reason than because they lack it. Furthermore, that attention of the mind which keeps the sense focused on what we see and connects both, not only differs from that visible thing in its nature (in that one is mind and the other is body), but also from the sense and vision itself, since this attention is the act of the mind alone. The sense of the eyes is called a bodily sense for no other reason than that the eyes themselves are also members of the body. Although an inanimate body does not perceive, the soul mixed with the body perceives through a bodily instrument, and that instrument is called sense. This sense is also cut off and destroyed by injury to the body when someone is blinded, while the mind remains the same. Its attention, since the eyes are lost, does not indeed have the sense of the body which it may join, by seeing, to the body outside it, and so fix its gaze upon it and see it. Yet by the very effort it shows that, even though the bodily sense is taken away, the mind itself can neither perish nor be diminished. For the desire to see remains unimpaired, whether it can be carried out or not. These three things, then—the body that is seen, vision itself, and the attention of mind that joins them together—are clearly distinguishable, not only because of the properties of each, but also because of the difference in their natures.

2. When, then, we see any corporeal object, these three things, as is most easy to do, are to be considered and distinguished: First, the object itself which we see; whether a stone, or flame, or any other thing that can be seen by the eyes; and this certainly might exist also already before it was seen; next, vision or the act of seeing, which did not exist before we perceived the object itself which is presented to the sense; in the third place, that which keeps the sense of the eye in the object seen, so long as it is seen, viz. the attention of the mind. In these three, then, not only is there an evident distinction, but also a diverse nature. For, first, that visible body is of a far different nature from the sense of the eyes, through the incidence of which sense upon it vision arises. And what plainly is vision itself other than perception informed by that thing which is perceived? Although there is no vision if the visible object be withdrawn, nor could there be any vision of the kind at all if there were no body that could be seen; yet the body by which the sense of the eyes is informed, when that body is seen, and the form itself which is imprinted by it upon the sense, which is called vision, are by no means of the same substance. For the body that is seen is, in its own nature, separable; but the sense, which was already in the living subject, even before it saw what it was able to see, when it fell in with something visible — or the vision which comes to be in the sense from the visible body when now brought into connection with it and seen — the sense, then, I say, or the vision, that is, the sense informed from without, belongs to the nature of the living subject, which is altogether other than that body which we perceive by seeing, and by which the sense is not so formed as to be sense, but as to be vision. For unless the sense were also in us before the presentation to us of the sensible object, we should not differ from the blind, at times when we are seeing nothing, whether in darkness, or when our eyes are closed. But we differ from them in this, that there is in us, even when we are not seeing, that whereby we are able to see, which is called the sense; whereas this is not in them, nor are they called blind for any other reason than because they have it not. Further also, that attention of the mind which keeps the sense in that thing which we see, and connects both, not only differs from that visible thing in its nature; in that the one is mind, and the other body; but also from the sense and the vision itself: since this attention is the act of the mind alone; but the sense of the eyes is called a bodily sense, for no other reason than because the eyes themselves also are members of the body; and although an inanimate body does not perceive, yet the soul commingled with the body perceives through a corporeal instrument, and that instrument is called sense. And this sense, too, is cut off and extinguished by suffering on the part of the body, when any one is blinded; while the mind remains the same; and its attention, since the eyes are lost, has not, indeed, the sense of the body which it may join, by seeing, to the body without it, and so fix its look thereupon and see it, yet by the very effort shows that, although the bodily sense be taken away, itself can neither perish nor be diminished. For there remains unimpaired a desire [ appetitus] of seeing, whether it can be carried into effect or not. These three, then, the body that is seen, and vision itself, and the attention of mind which joins both together, are manifestly distinguishable, not only on account of the properties of each, but also on account of the difference of their natures.

In this case, the sensation doesn't come from the body that is seen, but from the body of the living being who perceives it—the body with which the soul is joined together in its own remarkable way. Yet vision is produced (that is, the sense itself is informed) by the body that is seen. So now there is not only the capacity to sense, which can exist unimpaired even in darkness if the eyes are healthy, but also an actually informed sense, which is called vision. Vision, then, is produced from something visible, but not from that alone—there must also be someone who sees. Therefore vision is produced from a visible thing together with someone who sees. On the part of the person who sees, there is the sense of seeing and the intention to look and gaze at the object. But that information of the sense, which is called vision, is imprinted only by the body that is seen—that is, by some visible thing. When this is removed, the form that was in the sense as long as the thing was present no longer remains. Yet the sense itself remains, which existed even before anything was perceived. This is like the impression of a thing in water, which remains as long as the body itself that is impressed on it is in the water. If the body is taken away, there will no longer be any such impression, although the water remains, which existed before it took the form of that body. So we can't say that a visible thing produces the sense itself. But it does produce the form—its own likeness, as it were—which comes to be in the sense when we perceive something by seeing. However, we can't distinguish, through the same sense, the form of the body we see from the form that it produces in the sense of the one who sees, because the union of the two is so close that there's no room for distinguishing them. But we can rationally infer that we couldn't have sensation at all unless some likeness of the body seen were produced in our own sense. When a ring is pressed into wax, it doesn't follow that no image is produced just because we can't discern it until it has been separated. But since, after the wax is separated, what was made remains so that it can be seen, we are easily convinced that there was already a form impressed from the ring in the wax before it was separated from it. But if the ring were pressed into a liquid, no image would appear when it was withdrawn. Yet reason should still discern that there was in that liquid, before the ring was withdrawn, a form of the ring produced from the ring, which is to be distinguished from the form that is in the ring itself—the form from which was produced that other form which ceases to be when the ring is withdrawn, even though the form in the ring remains, from which the other was produced. So we shouldn't suppose that the perception of the eyes contains no image of the body that is seen as long as it is seen, just because when that body is withdrawn the image doesn't remain. This is why it's very difficult to persuade people of duller mind that an image of the visible thing is formed in our sense when we see it, and that this same form is vision.

3. And since, in this case, the sensation does not proceed from that body which is seen, but from the body of the living being that perceives, with which the soul is tempered together in some wonderful way of its own; yet vision is produced, that is, the sense itself is informed, by the body which is seen; so that now, not only is there the power of sense, which can exist also unimpaired even in darkness, provided the eyes are sound, but also a sense actually informed, which is called vision. Vision, then, is produced from a thing that is visible; but not from that alone, unless there be present also one who sees. Therefore vision is produced from a thing that is visible, together with one who sees; in such way that, on the part of him who sees, there is the sense of seeing and the intention of looking and gazing at the object; while yet that information of the sense, which is called vision, is imprinted only by the body which is seen, that is, by some visible thing; which being taken away, that form remains no more which was in the sense so long as that which was seen was present: yet the sense itself remains, which existed also before anything was perceived; just as the trace of a thing in water remains so long as the body itself, which is impressed on it, is in the water; but if this has been taken away, there will no longer be any such trace, although the water remains, which existed also before it took the form of that body. And therefore we cannot, indeed, say that a visible thing produces the sense; yet it produces the form, which is, as it were, its own likeness, which comes to be in the sense, when we perceive anything by seeing. But we do not distinguish, through the same sense, the form of the body which we see, from the form which is produced by it in the sense of him who sees; since the union of the two is so close that there is no room for distinguishing them. But we rationally infer that we could not have sensation at all, unless some similitude of the body seen was wrought in our own sense. For when a ring is imprinted on wax, it does not follow that no image is produced, because we cannot discern it unless when it has been separated. But since, after the wax is separated, what was made remains, so that it can be seen; we are on that account easily persuaded that there was already also in the wax a form impressed from the ring before it was separated from it. But if the ring were imprinted upon a fluid, no image at all would appear when it was withdrawn; and yet none the less for this ought the reason to discern that there was in that fluid before the ring was withdrawn a form of the ring produced from the ring, which is to be distinguished from that form which is in the ring, whence that form was produced which ceases to be when the ring is withdrawn, although that in the ring remains, whence the other was produced. And so the [sensuous] perception of the eyes may not be supposed to contain no image of the body, which is seen as long as it is seen, [merely] because when that is withdrawn the image does not remain. And hence it is very difficult to persuade men of duller mind that an image of the visible thing is formed in our sense, when we see it, and that this same form is vision.

However, if someone pays attention to what I am about to mention, they will find this investigation less difficult. Usually, when we have looked at a light for a little while and then close our eyes, certain bright colors seem to play before our eyes, changing in various ways and gradually growing dimmer until they completely disappear. We must understand that these are the remnants of the form that was produced in our sense while we were looking at the shining object, and that these changes occur as they slowly and gradually fade away. For example, if we happen to be gazing at window lattices, they often appear in these colors, making it clear that our sense is affected by such impressions from the thing being seen. Therefore, that form also existed while we were seeing, and at that time it was clearer and more distinct. But it was then closely united with the appearance of the thing being perceived, so that it could not be distinguished from it at all—and this was vision itself. In fact, even when a small lamp flame appears somehow doubled by the diverging rays of the eyes, double vision occurs, although the thing being seen is actually one. The rays shooting forth from each eye are affected separately because they are not allowed to meet evenly and together in viewing that physical object, so that one combined image might be formed from both. Therefore, if we close one eye, we will not see two flames but one, as it really is. But why, if we close the left eye, the image on the right disappears, and if we close the right eye, the one on the left vanishes—this is both tedious in itself and not at all necessary for our present subject to investigate and discuss. For it is sufficient for our current purpose to understand that unless some image exactly like the thing we perceive were produced in our sense, the appearance of the flame would not be doubled according to the number of eyes, since a particular mode of perception has been employed that could separate the union of rays. Certainly, nothing that is truly single can be seen as if it were double by one eye, no matter how you pull, press, or distort it, if the other eye is closed.

4. But if any perhaps attend to what I am about to mention, they will find no such trouble in this inquiry. Commonly, when we have looked for some little time at a light, and then shut our eyes, there seem to play before our eyes certain bright colors variously changing themselves, and shining less and less until they wholly cease; and these we must understand to be the remains of that form which was wrought in the sense, while the shining body was seen, and that these variations take place in them as they slowly and step by step fade away. For the lattices, too, of windows, should we happen to be gazing at them, appear often in these colors; so that it is evident that our sense is affected by such impressions from that thing which is seen. That form therefore existed also while we were seeing, and at that time it was more clear and express. But it was then closely joined with the species of that thing which was being perceived, so that it could not be at all distinguished from it; and this was vision itself. Why, even when the little flame of a lamp is in some way, as it were, doubled by the divergent rays of the eyes, a twofold vision comes to pass, although the thing which is seen is one. For the same rays, as they shoot forth each from its own eye, are affected severally, in that they are not allowed to meet evenly and conjointly, in regarding that corporeal thing, so that one combined view might be formed from both. And so, if we shut one eye, we shall not see two flames, but one as it really is. But why, if we shut the left eye, that appearance ceases to be seen, which was on the right; and if, in turn, we shut the right eye, that drops out of existence which was on the left, is a matter both tedious in itself, and not necessary at all to our present subject to inquire and discuss. For it is enough for the business in hand to consider, that unless some image, precisely like the thing we perceive, were produced in our sense, the appearance of the flame would not be doubled according to the number of the eyes; since a certain way of perceiving has been employed, which could separate the union of rays. Certainly nothing that is really single can be seen as if it were double by one eye, draw it down, or press, or distort it as you please, if the other is shut.

Since this is the case, let us remember how these three things, although different in nature, are blended together into a kind of unity: the form of the body that is seen, the image of it impressed on the sense (which is vision or informed sense), and the will of the mind that directs the sense to the sensible object and maintains the vision within it. The first of these—the visible object itself—does not belong to the nature of the living being, except when we perceive our own body. The second belongs to that nature to this extent: it is produced in the body and through the body in the soul, for it is produced in the sense, which exists neither without the body nor without the soul. The third belongs to the soul alone, because it is the will. Although the substances of these three are so different, they unite into such a oneness that the first two can scarcely be distinguished, even when reason serves as judge—namely, the form of the body that is seen and the image of it that is produced in the sense, which is vision. The will combines these two so powerfully that it both directs the sense to be informed by what is perceived and holds it fixed on that object once it is informed. If this will is so intense that it can be called love, desire, or lust, it strongly affects the rest of the living being's body as well; and where matter is not too dull and hard to resist, it transforms the body into a similar shape and color. One can see the small body of a chameleon change readily according to the colors it sees. In other animals, since their flesh is too dense to change easily, their offspring mostly reveal the particular interests of the mothers—whatever they have looked at with special pleasure. For the more tender and, so to speak, more shapeable the original seeds are, the more effectively and capably they follow the direction of the mother's soul and the image formed in it through the body she has gazed upon eagerly. Many examples could be given, but one is enough, taken from the most reliable books: what Jacob did so that the sheep and goats would give birth to offspring of various colors, by placing striped rods before them in the water troughs for them to look at while drinking, at the time when they had conceived.

5. The case then being so, let us remember how these three things, although diverse in nature, are tempered together into a kind of unity; that is, the form of the body which is seen, and the image of it impressed on the sense, which is vision or sense informed, and the will of the mind which applies the sense to the sensible thing, and retains the vision itself in it. The first of these, that is, the visible thing itself, does not belong to the nature of the living being, except when we discern our own body. But the second belongs to that nature to this extent, that it is wrought in the body, and through the body in the soul; for it is wrought in the sense, which is neither without the body nor without the soul. But the third is of the soul alone, because it is the will. Although then the substances of these three are so different, yet they coalesce into such a unity that the two former can scarcely be distinguished, even with the intervention of the reason as judge, namely the form of the body which is seen, and the image of it which is wrought in the sense, that is, vision. And the will so powerfully combines these two, as both to apply the sense, in order to be informed, to that thing which is perceived, and to retain it when informed in that thing. And if it is so vehement that it can be called love, or desire, or lust, it vehemently affects also the rest of the body of the living being; and where a duller and harder matter does not resist, changes it into like shape and color. One may see the little body of a chameleon vary with ready change, according to the colors which it sees. And in the case of other animals, since their grossness of flesh does not easily admit change, the offspring, for the most part, betray the particular fancies of the mothers, whatever it is that they have beheld with special delight. For the more tender, and so to say, the more formable, are the primary seeds, the more effectually and capably they follow the bent of the soul of the mother, and the phantasy that is wrought in it through that body, which it has greedily beheld. Abundant instances might be adduced, but one is sufficient, taken from the most trustworthy books; viz. what Jacob did, that the sheep and goats might give birth to offspring of various colors, by placing variegated rods before them in the troughs of water for them to look at as they drank, at the time they had conceived.

The rational soul, however, lives in a corrupted way when it lives according to a trinity of the outer man. This happens when it directs toward things that create bodily sense from outside not a praiseworthy will that would refer them to some useful purpose, but a base desire that clings to them. Even when the physical form that was perceived through the body is removed, its likeness remains in the memory. The will can turn its eye back to this likeness so that it is formed from within, just as the sense was formed from outside by the presence of the physical body. This produces a trinity from memory, from internal vision, and from the will that unites both. When these three things are combined into one, they are called conception because of that very combination. In these three things there is no longer any diversity of substance. The physical body is not there, since it is completely distinct from the nature of the living being. The bodily sense that was formed to produce vision is not there. The will itself does not perform its function of applying the sense to be formed to the physical body and holding it there once formed. Instead of the physical form that was perceived from outside, there is now the memory retaining that form which the soul absorbed through the bodily sense. Instead of the outward vision that occurred when the sense was formed through the physical body, there is now a similar vision within, while the eye of the mind is formed from what the memory retains, and the physical things being thought of are absent. The will itself, just as it previously applied the sense waiting to be formed to the physical thing presented from outside and united it to that thing once formed, now turns the vision of the remembering mind to memory so that the mental sight may be formed by what the memory has retained, and so there may be in conception a similar vision. Reason distinguished the visible appearance by which the bodily sense was formed from the likeness of it that was created in the sense when formed to produce vision—otherwise they would have been so united as to seem completely one and the same. Similarly, the mental image that arises from the mind thinking of the appearance of a body it has seen consists of the likeness of the body that the memory retains together with what is formed from it in the eye of the mind that remembers. Yet it seems to be one single thing, so that it can only be discovered to be two things by the judgment of reason, by which we understand that what remains in memory even when we are thinking of something else is different from what is brought into being when we remember, that is, when we return again to the memory and find the same appearance there. If this were not now present there, we would say that we had so completely forgotten that we were utterly unable to remember. If the eye of the one remembering were not formed from what was in the memory, the vision of the thinker could in no way occur. But the joining of both—that is, of what the memory retains and of what is expressed from it so as to form the eye of the one remembering—makes them appear as if they were one because they are extremely similar. But when the eye of the one conceiving is turned away from there and stops looking at what was perceived in memory, then nothing of the form that was impressed on it will remain in that eye, and it will be formed by whatever it has turned to again, so as to bring about another conception. Yet what it has left in the memory remains there, so that the eye may be turned back to it when we remember, and being turned there may be formed by it and become one with that from which it is formed.

6. The rational soul, however, lives in a degenerate fashion, when it lives according to a trinity of the outer man; that is, when it applies to those things which form the bodily sense from without, not a praiseworthy will, by which to refer them to some useful end, but a base desire, by which to cleave to them. Since even if the form of the body, which was corporeally perceived, be withdrawn, its likeness remains in the memory, to which the will may again direct its eye, so as to be formed thence from within, as the sense was formed from without by the presentation of the sensible body. And so that trinity is produced from memory, from internal vision, and from the will which unites both. And when these three things are combined into one, from that combination itself they are called conception. And in these three there is no longer any diversity of substance. For neither is the sensible body there, which is altogether distinct from the nature of the living being, nor is the bodily sense there informed so as to produce vision, nor does the will itself perform its office of applying the sense, that is to be informed, to the sensible body, and of retaining it in it when informed; but in place of that bodily species which was perceived from without, there comes the memory retaining that species which the soul has imbibed through the bodily sense; and in place of that vision which was outward when the sense was informed through the sensible body, there comes a similar vision within, while the eye of the mind is informed from that which the memory retains, and the corporeal things that are thought of are absent; and the will itself, as before it applied the sense yet to be informed to the corporeal thing presented from without, and united it thereto when informed, so now converts the vision of the recollecting mind to memory, in order that the mental sight may be informed by that which the memory has retained, and so there may be in the conception a like vision. And as it was the reason that distinguished the visible appearance by which the bodily sense was informed, from the similitude of it, which was wrought in the sense when informed in order to produce vision (otherwise they had been so united as to be thought altogether one and the same); so, although that phantasy also, which arises from the mind thinking of the appearance of a body that it has seen, consists of the similitude of the body which the memory retains, together with that which is thence formed in the eye of the mind that recollects; yet it so seems to be one and single, that it can only be discovered to be two by the judgment of reason, by which we understand that which remains in the memory, even when we think it from some other source, to be a different thing from that which is brought into being when we remember, that is, come back again to the memory, and there find the same appearance. And if this were not now there, we should say that we had so forgotten as to be altogether unable to recollect. And if the eye of him who recollects were not informed from that thing which was in the memory, the vision of the thinker could in no way take place; but the conjunction of both, that is, of that which the memory retains, and of that which is thence expressed so as to inform the eye of him who recollects, makes them appear as if they were one, because they are exceedingly like. But when the eye of the concipient is turned away thence, and has ceased to look at that which was perceived in the memory, then nothing of the form that was impressed thereon will remain in that eye, and it will be informed by that to which it had again been turned, so as to bring about another conception. Yet that remains which it has left in the memory, to which it may again be turned when we recollect it, and being turned thereto may be informed by it, and become one with that whence it is informed.

When the will, which moves the eye back and forth to be formed and unites it once formed, has fully converged on the inner phantasy and has completely turned the mind's eye away from the physical bodies present to the senses and from the bodily senses themselves, turning it entirely toward the image perceived within, then such an exact likeness of the bodily form is produced from memory that even reason itself cannot discern whether the actual body is being seen externally or only something like it is being thought of internally. For people sometimes, either enticed or frightened by thinking too much about visible things, have suddenly spoken words accordingly, as if they were actually engaged in the midst of such actions or sufferings. And I remember someone telling me that he used to perceive in thought a female form so distinct and seemingly solid that he was moved as if it were real. The soul has such power over its own body and such influence in turning and changing the quality of its bodily garment, just as a clothed person may be affected when his clothing clings to him. This is the same kind of effect by which we are deceived through mental images in sleep. But it makes a very great difference whether the bodily senses are dulled as in sleepers, disturbed from their inner structure as in madmen, distracted in some other way as in diviners or prophets, and so by one or another of these causes the mind's attention is forced by a kind of necessity upon those images that come to it either from memory or by some other hidden force through certain spiritual mixtures of a similarly spiritual substance; or whether, as sometimes happens to people who are healthy and awake, the will occupied by thought turns itself away from the senses and forms the eye of the mind with various images of sensible things as though those sensible things themselves were actually being perceived. But these impressions of images occur not only when the will is directed toward such things by desiring them, but also when, in order to avoid and guard against them, the mind is carried away to look upon these very things so as to flee from them. And thus, not only desire but also fear causes both the bodily eye to be formed by the sensible things themselves and the mental eye (acies) by the images of those sensible things. Accordingly, the more intense the fear or desire has been, the more distinctly is the eye formed, whether in the case of someone who perceives through the body what is physically close to him, or in the case of someone who conceives from the image of the body contained in memory. Therefore, what a body in space is to the bodily sense, the likeness of a body in memory is to the eye of the mind; and what the vision of someone looking at something is to that appearance of the body from which the sense is formed, the vision of someone conceiving is to the image of the body established in memory from which the eye of the mind is formed; and what the intention of the will is toward a body being seen and the vision to be combined with it, in order that a certain unity of three things may occur there, although their nature is diverse, that same intention of the will is toward combining the image of the body which is in memory and the vision of the one conceiving, that is, the form which the eye of the mind has taken in turning back to memory, in order that here too a certain unity of three things may occur, no longer distinguished by diversity of nature but of one and the same substance, because this whole is within and the whole is one mind.

7. But if that will which moves to and fro, hither and there, the eye that is to be informed, and unites it when formed, shall have wholly converged to the inward phantasy, and shall have absolutely turned the mind's eye from the presence of the bodies which lie around the senses, and from the very bodily senses themselves, and shall have wholly turned it to that image, which is perceived within; then so exact a likeness of the bodily species expressed from the memory is presented, that not even reason itself is permitted to discern whether the body itself is seen without, or only something of the kind thought of within. For men sometimes either allured or frightened by over-much thinking of visible things, have even suddenly uttered words accordingly, as if in real fact they were engaged in the very midst of such actions or sufferings. And I remember some one telling me that he was wont to perceive in thought, so distinct and as it were solid, a form of a female body, as to be moved, as though it were a reality. Such power has the soul over its own body, and such influence has it in turning and changing the quality of its [corporeal] garment; just as a man may be affected when clothed, to whom his clothing sticks. It is the same kind of affection, too, with which we are beguiled through imaginations in sleep. But it makes a very great difference, whether the senses of the body are lulled to torpor, as in the case of sleepers, or disturbed from their inward structure, as in the case of madmen, or distracted in some other mode, as in that of diviners or prophets; and so from one or other of these causes, the intention of the mind is forced by a kind of necessity upon those images which occur to it, either from memory, or by some other hidden force through certain spiritual commixtures of a similarly spiritual substance: or whether, as sometimes happens to people in health and awake, that the will occupied by thought turns itself away from the senses, and so informs the eye of the mind by various images of sensible things, as though those sensible things themselves were actually perceived. But these impressions of images not only take place when the will is directed upon such things by desiring them, but also when, in order to avoid and guard against them, the mind is carried away to look upon these very thing so as to flee from them. And hence, not only desire, but fear, causes both the bodily eye to be informed by the sensible things themselves, and the mental eye ( acies) by the images of those sensible things. Accordingly, the more vehement has been either fear or desire, the more distinctly is the eye informed, whether in the case of him who [sensuously] perceives by means of the body that which lies close to him in place, or in the case of him who conceives from the image of the body which is contained in the memory. What then a body in place is to the bodily sense, that, the similitude of a body in memory is to the eye of the mind; and what the vision of one who looks at a thing is to that appearance of the body from which the sense is informed, that, the vision of a concipient is to the image of the body established in the memory, from which the eye of the mind is informed; and what the intention of the will is towards a body seen and the vision to be combined with it, in order that a certain unity of three things may therein take place, although their nature is diverse, that, the same intention of the will is towards combining the image of the body which is in the memory, and the vision of the concipient, that is, the form which the eye of the mind has taken in returning to the memory, in order that here too a certain unity may take place of three things, not now distinguished by diversity of nature, but of one and the same substance; because this whole is within, and the whole is one mind.

When both the form and appearance of a body have disappeared, the will cannot bring back the sense of perception to it. Similarly, when the image that memory holds is erased by forgetfulness, the will cannot force the mind's eye back through recollection in order to be shaped by it. But because the mind has great power to imagine not only forgotten things but also things it never saw or experienced—by enlarging, reducing, changing, or combining things that have not slipped from its memory—it often imagines things to be what it either knows they are not or doesn't know whether they are. In this case we must be careful that the mind doesn't either speak falsely to deceive or hold an opinion that leads to being deceived. If it avoids these two evils, then imagined fantasies don't hinder it, just as sensible things experienced or retained in memory don't hinder it if they are neither passionately pursued when pleasant nor shamefully avoided when unpleasant. But when the will abandons better things and greedily wallows in these, it becomes unclean. These things are thought of harmfully when present, and even more harmfully when absent. Therefore, someone lives badly and degradedly who lives according to the trinity of the outer man, because it is the intention of using sensible and corporeal things that has also given birth to this trinity, which, although it imagines within, imagines things from without. For no one could use those things well unless the images of things perceived by the senses were kept in memory. And unless the will dwells for the most part in higher and interior things, and unless this will itself, which is directed either toward bodies outside or toward their images within, refers whatever it receives from them to a better and truer life and rests in that end by contemplating it, judging that those things ought to be done accordingly—what else are we doing but what the apostle forbids when he says, "Be not conformed to this world"? Therefore this trinity is not an image of God, since it is produced in the mind itself through the bodily sense, from the lowest thing, that is, the corporeal creature, than which the mind is higher. Yet it is not altogether unlike God, for what exists that doesn't have some likeness to God according to its kind and measure, seeing that God made all things very good, and for no other reason than that He Himself is supremely good? Therefore, insofar as anything that exists is good, it plainly still has some likeness of the supreme good, however distant. If it is a natural likeness, then it is certainly a right and well-ordered one; but if it is a faulty likeness, then it is certainly a debased and perverted one. For even souls in their very sins strive after nothing other than some kind of likeness to God, in a proud and backwards and, so to speak, slavish freedom. Thus our first parents could not have been persuaded to sin unless it had been said to them, "You shall be as gods." Certainly, not everything in creatures that is in some way like God is also to be called His image, but only that than which He Himself alone is higher. For that alone is completely copied from Him, between which and Himself no nature is placed in between.

8. But as, when [both] the form and species of a body have perished, the will cannot recall to it the sense of perceiving; so, when the image which memory bears is blotted out by forgetfulness, the will will be unable to force back the eye of the mind by recollection, so as to be formed thereby. But because the mind has great power to imagine not only things forgotten, but also things that it never saw, or experienced, either by increasing, or diminishing, or changing, or compounding, after its pleasure, those which have not dropped out of its remembrance, it often imagines things to be such as either it knows they are not, or does not know that they are. And in this case we have to take care, lest it either speak falsely that it may deceive, or hold an opinion so as to be deceived. And if it avoid these two evils, then imagined phantasms do not hinder it: just as sensible things experienced or retained by memory do not hinder it, if they are neither passionately sought for when pleasant, nor basely shunned when unpleasant. But when the will leaves better things, and greedily wallows in these, then it becomes unclean; and they are so thought of hurtfully, when they are present, and also more hurtfully when they are absent. And he therefore lives badly and degenerately who lives according to the trinity of the outer man; because it is the purpose of using things sensible and corporeal, that has begotten also that trinity, which although it imagines within, yet imagines things without. For no one could use those things even well, unless the images of things perceived by the senses were retained in the memory. And unless the will for the greatest part dwells in the higher and interior things, and unless that will itself, which is accommodated either to bodies without, or to the images of them within, refers whatever it receives in them to a better and truer life, and rests in that end by gazing at which it judges that those things ought to be done; what else do we do, but that which the apostle prohibits us from doing, when he says, Be not conformed to this world? And therefore that trinity is not an image of God since it is produced in the mind itself through the bodily sense, from the lowest, that is, the corporeal creature, than which the mind is higher. Yet neither is it altogether dissimilar: for what is there that has not a likeness of God, in proportion to its kind and measure, seeing that God made all things very good, and for no other reason except that He Himself is supremely good? In so far, therefore, as anything that is, is good, in so far plainly it has still some likeness of the supreme good, at however great a distance; and if a natural likeness, then certainly a right and well-ordered one; but if a faulty likeness, then certainly a debased and perverse one. For even souls in their very sins strive after nothing else but some kind of likeness of God, in a proud and preposterous, and, so to say, slavish liberty. So neither could our first parents have been persuaded to sin unless it had been said, You shall be as gods. No doubt every thing in the creatures which is in any way like God, is not also to be called His image; but that alone than which He Himself alone is higher. For that only is in all points copied from Him, between which and Himself no nature is interposed.

Regarding that act of seeing—that is, the form which is created in the sense of the person who sees—the form of the physical object from which it comes is like a parent. But it is not a true parent, which is why that form is not a true offspring either. It is not completely born from the physical object, because something else must be applied to that physical object in order for the form to be created from it, namely, the sense of the person who sees. For this reason, to love this kind of seeing is to become alienated from God. Therefore the will, which unites both the quasi-parent and the quasi-child, is more spiritual than either of them. The physical object that is perceived is not spiritual at all. The vision that comes into existence in the sense has something spiritual mixed with it, since it cannot exist without the soul. But it is not wholly spiritual, because what is being formed is a bodily sense. Therefore the will that unites both is clearly more spiritual, as I have said. And so it begins to suggest, as it were, the person of the Spirit in the Trinity. But the will belongs more to the sense that is formed than to the physical object from which it is formed. For the sense and will of a living being belong to the soul, not to the stone or other physical thing that is seen. The will does not, therefore, proceed from that physical thing as from a parent. Neither does it proceed from that other quasi-offspring, namely, the vision and form that exists in the sense. For the will existed before the vision occurred. This will directed the sense that was to be formed toward the physical object that was to be perceived, but it was not yet satisfied. For how could something that was not yet seen bring satisfaction? And satisfaction means a will that rests content. Therefore, we can neither call the will the quasi-offspring of vision, since it existed before vision, nor the quasi-parent, since that vision was not formed and expressed from the will, but from the physical object that was seen.

9. Of that vision then; that is, of the form which is wrought in the sense of him who sees; the form of the bodily thing from which it is wrought, is, as it were, the parent. But it is not a true parent; whence neither is that a true offspring; for it is not altogether born therefrom, since something else is applied to the bodily thing in order that it may be formed from it, namely, the sense of him who sees. And for this reason, to love this is to be estranged. Therefore the will which unites both, viz. the quasi-parent and the quasi-child, is more spiritual than either of them. For that bodily thing which is discerned, is not spiritual at all. But the vision which comes into existence in the sense, has something spiritual mingled with it, since it cannot come into existence without the soul. But it is not wholly spiritual; since that which is formed is a sense of the body. Therefore the will which unites both is confessedly more spiritual, as I have said; and so it begins to suggest ( insinuare), as it were, the person of the Spirit in the Trinity. But it belongs more to the sense that is formed, than to the bodily thing whence it is formed. For the sense and will of an animate being belongs to the soul, not to the stone or other bodily thing that is seen. It does not therefore proceed from that bodily thing as from a parent; yet neither does it proceed from that other as it were offspring, namely, the vision and form that is in the sense. For the will existed before the vision came to pass, which will applied the sense that was to be formed to the bodily thing that was to be discerned; but it was not yet satisfied. For how could that which was not yet seen satisfy? And satisfaction means a will that rests content. And, therefore, we can neither call the will the quasi-offspring of vision, since it existed before vision; nor the quasi-parent, since that vision was not formed and expressed from the will, but from the bodily thing that was seen.

Perhaps we can rightly call vision the end and rest of the will, but only with respect to this one object—namely, the bodily thing that is visible. For the will does not cease willing other things merely because it sees something it is currently willing to see. Therefore, this is not the whole will of the person, whose end is nothing other than blessedness. Rather, it is the will temporarily directed toward this one object, which has vision as its end in seeing, whether it refers the thing seen to anything else or not. For if it does not refer the vision to anything further, but wills only to see this, there can be no question about showing that the end of the will is the vision, for it is obvious. But if it does refer it to anything further, then certainly it does will something else, and it will no longer be simply a will to see; or if it is still a will to see, not one to see that particular thing. Just as, if someone wished to see the scar in order to learn from it that there had been a wound, or wished to see the window in order to see the passers-by through the window—all these and other such acts of will have their own proper immediate ends, which are referred to that final end of the will by which we will to live blessedly and to attain to that life which is not referred to anything else, but is sufficient in itself for the one who loves it. The will to see, then, has vision as its end; and the will to see this particular thing has the vision of this particular thing as its end. Therefore, the will to see the scar desires its own end, that is, the vision of the scar, and does not reach beyond it; for the will to prove that there had been a wound is a distinct will, although dependent upon that first will, which also has as its end to prove that there had been a wound. And the will to see the window has the vision of the window as its end; for that is another and further will which depends upon it, namely, to see the passers-by through the window, which also has the vision of the passers-by as its end. But all the individual wills that are bound to each other are at once right if the one to which all are referred is good; and if that is bad, then all are bad. And so the connected series of right wills is a kind of road which consists of certain steps, by which to ascend to blessedness; but the entanglement of depraved and distorted wills is a bond by which the one who thus acts will be bound, so as to be cast into outer darkness. Blessed therefore are they who in act and character sing the song of the steps; and woe to those who draw sin, as it were a long rope. And it is just the same to speak of the will being at rest, which we call its end, if it is still referred to something further, as if we should say that the foot is at rest in walking when it is placed there, from which yet another foot may be planted in the direction of the person's steps. But if something so satisfies that the will rests in it with a certain delight, it is nevertheless not yet that to which the person ultimately tends; but this too is referred to something further, so as to be regarded not as the native country of a citizen, but as a place of refreshment, or even of stopping, for a traveler.

10. Perhaps we can rightly call vision the end and rest of the will, only with respect to this one object [namely, the bodily thing that is visible]. For it will not will nothing else merely because it sees something which it is now willing. It is not therefore the whole will itself of the man, of which the end is nothing else than blessedness; but the will provisionally directed to this one object, which has as its end in seeing, nothing but vision, whether it refer the thing seen to any other thing or not. For if it does not refer the vision to anything further, but wills only to see this, there can be no question made about showing that the end of the will is the vision; for it is manifest. But if it does refer it to anything further, then certainly it does will something else, and it will not be now a will merely to see; or if to see, not one to see the particular thing. Just as, if any one wished to see the scar, that from thence he might learn that there had been a wound; or wished to see the window, that through the window he might see the passers-by: all these and other such acts of will have their own proper [proximate] ends, which are referred to that [final] end of the will by which we will to live blessedly, and to attain to that life which is not referred to anything else, but suffices of itself to him who loves it. The will then to see, has as its end vision; and the will to see this particular thing, has as its end the vision of this particular thing. Therefore the will to see the scar, desires its own end, that is, the vision of the scar, and does not reach beyond it; for the will to prove that there had been a wound, is a distinct will, although dependent upon that, of which the end also is to prove that there had been a wound. And the will to see the window, has as its end the vision of the window; for that is another and further will which depends upon it, viz. to see the passers-by through the window, of which also the end is the vision of the passers-by. But all the several wills that are bound to each other, are at once right, if that one is good, to which all are referred; and if that is bad, then all are bad. And so the connected series of right wills is a sort of road which consists as it were of certain steps, whereby to ascend to blessedness; but the entanglement of depraved and distorted wills is a bond by which he will be bound who thus acts, so as to be cast into outer darkness. Blessed therefore are they who in act and character sing the song of the steps [degrees]; and woe to those that draw sin, as it were a long rope. And it is just the same to speak of the will being in repose, which we call its end, if it is still referred to something further, as if we should say that the foot is at rest in walking, when it is placed there, whence yet another foot may be planted in the direction of the man's steps. But if something so satisfies, that the will acquiesces in it with a certain delight; it is nevertheless not yet that to which the man ultimately tends; but this too is referred to something further, so as to be regarded not as the native country of a citizen, but as a place of refreshment, or even of stopping, for a traveller.

But consider yet another trinity, one more inward than the trinity found in physical objects and in the senses, though still conceived from them. Now it is no longer the bodily sense that receives its form from a physical object, but the eye of the mind that receives its form from the memory, since the image of the body that we perceived from outside has become fixed in the memory itself. This image that resides in the memory we call the quasi-parent of what is produced in the imagination of the one who is thinking. For it was already in the memory before we thought about it, just as the physical body was already in a place before we perceived it through our senses, so that perception could occur. But when we think about it, then from that form which the memory holds, there is copied into the mind's eye (acie) of the one who is thinking, and through remembering there is formed that image which is the quasi-offspring of what the memory retains. But the one is not a true parent, nor is the other a true offspring. For the mind's vision that is formed from memory when we think something by recollection does not proceed from that image which we remember as having seen, since we could not have remembered those things unless we had seen them. Yet the mind's eye, which receives its form through recollection, also existed before we saw the body that we remember, and therefore how much more before we committed it to memory? Therefore, although the form that is produced in the mind's eye of the one who remembers is produced from that form which is in the memory, still the mind's eye itself does not come from there, but existed beforehand. And it follows that if the one is not a true parent, neither is the other a true offspring. But both that quasi-parent and that quasi-offspring suggest something from which the more inward and truer things may appear more clearly and more certainly.

11. But yet again, take the case of another trinity, more inward indeed than that which is in things sensible, and in the senses, but which is yet conceived from thence; while now it is no longer the sense of the body that is informed from the body, but the eye of the mind that is informed from the memory, since the species of the body which we perceived from without has inhered in the memory itself. And that species, which is in the memory, we call the quasi-parent of that which is wrought in the phantasy of one who conceives. For it was in the memory also, before we conceived it, just as the body was in place also before we [sensuously] perceived it, in order that vision might take place. But when it is conceived, then from that form which the memory retains, there is copied in the mind's eye ( acie) of him who conceives, and by remembrance is formed, that species, which is the quasi-offspring of that which the memory retains. But neither is the one a true parent, nor the other a true offspring. For the mind's vision which is formed from memory when we think anything by recollection, does not proceed from that species which we remember as seen; since we could not indeed have remembered those things, unless we had seen them; yet the mind's eye, which is informed by the recollection, existed also before we saw the body that we remember; and therefore how much more before we committed it to memory? Although therefore the form which is wrought in the mind's eye of him who remembers, is wrought from that form which is in the memory; yet the mind's eye itself does not exist from thence, but existed before it. And it follows, that if the one is not a true parent, neither is the other a true offspring. But both that quasi-parent and that quasi-offspring suggest something, whence the inner and truer things may appear more practically and more certainly.

When we look more closely, it's harder to see clearly whether the will that connects the vision to the memory is the parent or offspring of either one. The difficulty in distinguishing comes from the likeness and equality of the same nature and substance. We can't do what we did with the bodily sense being formed from outside (where we could easily tell apart the physical object, the sense, and the will, because of the difference in nature among all three, which we discussed thoroughly before). Although this trinity we're now talking about enters the mind from outside, it operates within, and no part of it exists outside the mind's own nature. So how can we show that the will is neither the quasi-parent nor the quasi-offspring of the bodily image stored in memory or of the image copied from it when remembering? The will unites both in the act of thinking so completely that they appear as one thing and can only be distinguished by reason. First we need to consider that there can be no will to remember unless we keep in the depths of memory either all or some part of what we want to remember. The will to remember simply cannot arise for something we have completely and totally forgotten, because we must already have remembered that the thing we want to remember is or was in our memory. For example, if I want to remember what I had for dinner yesterday, I must already have remembered that I did eat dinner, or at least something about that time itself, if nothing else—I've remembered yesterday and that part of yesterday when people usually eat dinner, and what eating dinner is. If I hadn't remembered anything at all like this, I couldn't want to remember what I had for dinner yesterday. From this we can see that the will to remember proceeds from those things kept in memory, along with those things copied from it through recollection by the act of discerning—that is, from the combination of something we've remembered and the vision created in the mind's eye of the person thinking when we remembered. But the will itself, which unites both, also requires something else that is, so to speak, close at hand and nearby to the one remembering. There are as many trinities of this kind as there are acts of remembering, because in every one of them these three things exist: what was stored in memory before it was thought about, what occurs in thinking when this is discerned, and the will that unites both and from both and itself as a third completes one single thing. Or should we instead recognize just one trinity of this kind, so that we speak generally of all the bodily forms lying hidden in memory as a single unity, and again of the general vision of the mind that remembers and thinks about such things as a single unity, and to the combination of these two we add as a third the will that combines them, so that this whole becomes a single unity made up of three?

12. Further, it is more difficult to discern clearly, whether the will which connects the vision to the memory is not either the parent or the offspring of some one of them; and the likeness and equality of the same nature and substance cause this difficulty of distinguishing. For it is not possible to do in this case, as with the sense that is formed from without (which is easily discerned from the sensible body, and again the will from both), on account of the difference of nature which is mutually in all three, and of which we have treated sufficiently above. For although this trinity, of which we at present speak, is introduced into the mind from without; yet it is transacted within, and there is no part of it outside of the nature of the mind itself. In what way, then, can it be demonstrated that the will is neither the quasi-parent, nor the quasi-offspring, either of the corporeal likeness which is contained in the memory, or of that which is copied thence in recollecting; when it so unites both in the act of conceiving, as that they appear singly as one, and cannot be discerned except by reason? It is then first to be considered that there cannot be any will to remember, unless we retain in the recesses of the memory either the whole, or some part, of that thing which we wish to remember. For the very will to remember cannot arise in the case of a thing which we have forgotten altogether and absolutely; since we have already remembered that the thing which we wish to remember is or has been, in our memory. For example, if I wish to remember what I supped on yesterday, either I have already remembered that I did sup, or if not yet this, at least I have remembered something about that time itself, if nothing else; at all events, I have remembered yesterday, and that part of yesterday in which people usually sup, and what supping is. For if I had not remembered anything at all of this kind, I could not wish to remember what I supped on yesterday. Whence we may perceive that the will of remembering proceeds, indeed, from those things which are retained in the memory, with the addition also of those which, by the act of discerning, are copied thence through recollection; that is, from the combination of something which we have remembered, and of the vision which was thence wrought, when we remembered, in the mind's eye of him who thinks. But the will itself which unites both requires also some other thing, which is, as it were, close at hand, and adjacent to him who remembers. There are, then, as many trinities of this kind as there are remembrances; because there is no one of them wherein there are not these three things, viz. that which was stored up in the memory also before it was thought, and that which takes place in the conception when this is discerned, and the will that unites both, and from both and itself as a third, completes one single thing. Or is it rather that we so recognize some one trinity in this kind, as that we are to speak generally, of whatever corporeal species lie hidden in the memory, as of a single unity, and again of the general vision of the mind which remembers and conceives such things, as of a single unity, to the combination of which two there is to be joined as a third the will that combines them, that this whole may be a certain unity made up from three?

But since the mind's eye cannot look at everything together in one glance that the memory holds, these trinities of thought alternate in a series of withdrawals and successions, and so that trinity becomes extremely numerous beyond counting; yet not infinite, if it does not go beyond the number of things stored up in the memory. For, although we begin to count from the earliest perception anyone has of material things through any bodily sense, and even include those things he has forgotten, the number would undoubtedly be certain and fixed, although innumerable. For we call not only infinite things innumerable, but also those things which, although finite, exceed anyone's ability to count.

But since the eye of the mind cannot look at all things together, in one glance, which the memory retains, these trinities of thought alternate in a series of withdrawals and successions, and so that trinity becomes most innumerably numerous; and yet not infinite, if it pass not beyond the number of things stored up in the memory. For, although we begin to reckon from the earliest perception which any one has of material things through any bodily sense, and even take in also those things which he has forgotten, yet the number would undoubtedly be certain and determined, although innumerable. For we not only call infinite things innumerable, but also those, which, although finite, exceed any one's power of reckoning.

We can understand a bit more clearly from this that what the memory stores and retains is different from what is copied from it into the mental image of the person who remembers, even though when both are combined together they seem to be one and the same. This is because we can only remember as many kinds of bodies as we have actually seen, and only as large and of such a kind as we have actually seen, since the mind absorbs them into memory through the bodily senses. However, the things seen in mental conception, although drawn from what is in the memory, are multiplied and varied infinitely and without any limit. For instance, I remember only one sun, because in fact I have seen only one. But if I choose, I can conceive of two, or three, or as many as I want. Yet the mental vision when I conceive of many suns is formed from the same memory by which I remember one. And I remember it exactly as large as I saw it. For if I remember it as larger or smaller than I saw it, then I no longer remember what I saw, and so I do not remember it at all. But because I do remember it, I remember it as large as I saw it. Nevertheless, I conceive of it as greater or smaller according to my will. And I remember it as I saw it, but I conceive of it as moving along its course as I wish, and as standing still where I wish, and as coming from wherever I wish and going wherever I wish. For it is in my power to conceive of it as square, although I remember it as round. And again, I can conceive of it as any color I please, even though I have never seen, and therefore do not remember, a green sun. The same applies to all other things as to the sun. But because of the bodily and sensible nature of these mental forms of things, the mind falls into error when it imagines that they exist outside in the same way it conceives them inside, either when they have already ceased to exist outside but are still retained in memory, or when in any other way what we remember is formed in the mind not by faithful recollection but according to the variations of thought.

13. But we can hence perceive a little more clearly that what the memory stores up and retains is a different thing from that which is thence copied in the conception of the man who remembers, although, when both are combined together, they appear to be one and the same; because we can only remember just as many species of bodies as we have actually seen, and so great, and such, as we have actually seen; for the mind imbibes them into the memory from the bodily sense; whereas the things seen in conception, although drawn from those things which are in the memory, yet are multiplied and varied innumerably, and altogether without end. For I remember, no doubt, but one sun, because according to the fact, I have seen but one; but if I please, I conceive of two, or three, or as many as I will; but the vision of my mind, when I conceive of many, is formed from the same memory by which I remember one. And I remember it just as large as I saw it. For if I remember it as larger or smaller than I saw it, then I no longer remember what I saw, and so I do not remember it. But because I remember it, I remember it as large as I saw it; yet I conceive of it as greater or as less according to my will. And I remember it as I saw it; but I conceive of it as running its course as I will, and as standing still where I will, and as coming whence I will, and whither I will. For it is in my power to conceive of it as square, although I remember it as round; and again, of what color I please, although I have never seen, and therefore do not remember, a green sun; and as the sun, so all other things. But owing to the corporeal and sensible nature of these forms of things, the mind falls into error when it imagines them to exist without, in the same mode in which it conceives them within, either when they have already ceased to exist without, but are still retained in the memory, or when in any other way also, that which we remember is formed in the mind, not by faithful recollection, but after the variations of thought.

Yet it very often happens that we also believe a true account told to us by others about things the narrators themselves have perceived with their senses. In this case, when we conceive the things narrated to us as we hear them, the eye of the mind does not seem to be turned back to the memory in order to bring up images in our thoughts, for we do not conceive these things from our own recollection but from another person's account. Here that trinity does not seem to reach its completion—the one that is formed when the form lying hidden in the memory and the vision of the person who remembers are combined by the will as a third element. For I do not conceive what lay hidden in my memory, but what I hear when something is narrated to me. I am not speaking of the narrator's actual words, lest anyone suppose I have shifted to that other trinity that takes place externally in sensible things or in the senses. Rather, I am conceiving the forms of material things that the narrator signifies to me through words and sounds. I certainly conceive these forms not by remembering but by hearing. However, if we consider the matter more carefully, even in this case we do not overstep the boundary of memory. For I could not even understand the narrator unless I remembered generically the individual things he speaks of, even though I am hearing them for the first time as connected together in one story. For instance, someone who describes to me a mountain stripped of timber and covered with olive trees describes it to me who remembers the forms both of mountains and of timber and of olive trees. If I had forgotten these, I would not know at all what he was talking about and therefore could not conceive his description. So it happens that everyone who conceives corporeal things—whether he himself imagines something, or hears or reads either a narrative of past things or a prediction of future things—has recourse to his memory and finds there the boundary and measure of all the forms at which he gazes in his thought. For no one can conceive at all either a color or a bodily form he has never seen, or a sound he has never heard, or a flavor he has never tasted, or a scent he has never smelled, or any touch of a corporeal thing he has never felt. But if no one conceives anything corporeal except what he has perceived through the senses, because no one remembers anything corporeal except what he has thus perceived, then just as the boundary of perceiving lies in bodies, so the boundary of thinking lies in the memory. For the sense receives the form from the body we perceive, the memory receives it from the sense, and the mental eye of the one conceiving receives it from the memory.

14. Yet it very often happens that we believe also a true narrative, told us by others, of things which the narrators have themselves perceived by their senses. And in this case, when we conceive the things narrated to us, as we hear them, the eye of the mind does not seem to be turned back to the memory, in order to bring up visions in our thoughts; for we do not conceive these things from our own recollection, but upon the narration of another; and that trinity does not here seem to come to its completion, which is made when the species lying hid in the memory, and the vision of the man that remembers, are combined by will as a third. For I do not conceive that which lay hid in my memory, but that which I hear, when anything is narrated to me. I am not speaking of the words themselves of the speaker, lest any one should suppose that I have gone off to that other trinity, which is transacted without, in sensible things, or in the senses: but I am conceiving of those species of material things, which the narrator signifies to me by words and sounds; which species certainly I conceive of not by remembering, but by hearing. But if we consider the matter more carefully, even in this case, the limit of the memory is not overstepped. For I could not even understand the narrator, if I did not remember generically the individual things of which he speaks, even although I then hear them for the first time as connected together in one tale. For he who, for instance, describes to me some mountain stripped of timber, and clothed with olive trees, describes it to me who remembers the species both of mountains, and of timber, and of olive trees; and if I had forgotten these, I should not know at all of what he was speaking, and therefore could not conceive that description. And so it comes to pass, that every one who conceives things corporeal, whether he himself imagine anything, or hear, or read, either a narrative of things past, or a foretelling of things future, has recourse to his memory, and finds there the limit and measure of all the forms at which he gazes in his thought. For no one can conceive at all, either a color or a form of body, which he never saw, or a sound which he never heard, or a flavor which he never tasted, or a scent which he never smelt, or any touch of a corporeal thing which he never felt. But if no one conceives anything corporeal except what he has [sensuously] perceived, because no one remembers anything corporeal except what he has thus perceived, then, as is the limit of perceiving in bodies, so is the limit of thinking in the memory. For the sense receives the species from that body which we perceive, and the memory from the sense; but the mental eye of the concipient, from the memory.

Further, just as the will directs the sense to the bodily object, so it directs the memory to the sense, and the eye of the mind of the one conceiving to the memory. The very thing that brings these together and unites them is the same thing that separates and divides them—that is, the will. The will separates the bodily senses from the objects to be perceived through bodily movement, either to prevent us from perceiving the thing or to make us stop perceiving it. For example, we turn our eyes away from what we don't want to see, or we close them. Similarly with the ears from sounds, or the nostrils from smells. We also turn away from tastes by closing the mouth or spitting something out. In the case of touch, we either move away the physical object so we won't touch what we don't want to, or if we were already touching it, we throw or push it away. In this way the will acts through bodily movement to prevent the bodily sense from being joined to sensible things. It does this according to its power. But when it suffers difficulty in doing so because of our condition of slavish mortality, the result is torment, such that nothing remains to the will except endurance. The will turns the memory away from the sense when, by being focused on something else, it doesn't allow present things to stick to it. Anyone can see this when we often don't seem to ourselves to have heard someone who was speaking to us, because we were thinking of something else. But this is a mistake—we did hear, but we don't remember, because the speaker's words immediately slipped out of our ears' perception when the will's attention was diverted elsewhere, since the will is what normally fixes things in the memory. Therefore, we should more accurately say in such cases that we don't remember, rather than that we didn't hear. This even happens in reading, and very often to me, when I've read through a page or a letter and don't know what I've read, and I start again. Because the will's purpose was fixed on something else, the memory wasn't applied to the bodily sense in the way the sense itself was applied to the letters. Similarly, anyone who walks with the will focused on something else doesn't know where he has ended up. If he hadn't seen, he wouldn't have walked there, or would have felt his way more carefully while walking, especially if passing through an unfamiliar place. Yet because he walked easily, he certainly saw. But because the memory wasn't applied to the sense itself in the same way the sense of the eyes was applied to the places he was passing through, he couldn't remember at all even the last thing he saw. Now, to will to turn away the eye of the mind from what is in the memory is nothing other than not to think about it.

15. Further, as the will applies the sense to the bodily object, so it applies the memory to the sense, and the eye of the mind of the concipient to the memory. But that which harmonizes those things and unites them, itself also disjoins and separates them, that is, the will. But it separates the bodily senses from the bodies that are to be perceived, by movement of the body, either to hinder our perceiving the thing, or that we may cease to perceive it: as when we avert our eyes from that which we are unwilling to see, or shut them; so, again, the ears from sounds, or the nostrils from smells. So also we turn away from tastes, either by shutting the mouth, or by casting the thing out of the mouth. In touch, also, we either remove the bodily thing, that we may not touch what we do not wish, or if we were already touching it, we fling or push it away. Thus the will acts by movement of the body, so that the bodily sense shall not be joined to the sensible things. And it does this according to its power; for when it endures hardship in so doing, on account of the condition of slavish mortality, then torment is the result, in such wise that nothing remains to the will save endurance. But the will averts the memory from the sense; when, through its being intent on something else, it does not suffer things present to cleave to it. As any one may see, when often we do not seem to ourselves to have heard some one who was speaking to us, because we were thinking of something else. But this is a mistake; for we did hear, but we do not remember, because the words of the speaker presently slipped out of the perception of our ears, through the bidding of the will being diverted elsewhere, by which they are usually fixed in the memory. Therefore, we should say more accurately in such a case, we do not remember, than, we did not hear; for it happens even in reading, and to myself very frequently, that when I have read through a page or an epistle, I do not know what I have read, and I begin it again. For the purpose of the will being fixed on something else, the memory was not so applied to the bodily sense, as the sense itself was applied to the letters. So, too, any one who walks with the will intent on something else, does not know where he has got to; for if he had not seen, he would not have walked there, or would have felt his way in walking with greater attention, especially if he was passing through a place he did not know; yet, because he walked easily, certainly he saw; but because the memory was not applied to the sense itself in the same way as the sense of the eyes was applied to the places through which he was passing, he could not remember at all even the last thing he saw. Now, to will to turn away the eye of the mind from that which is in the memory, is nothing else but not to think thereupon.

In this arrangement, when we start from the bodily species and finally arrive at the species that comes to be in the intuition (contuitu) of the one conceiving, we find four species born, so to speak, step by step one from the other: the second from the first, the third from the second, the fourth from the third. From the species of the body itself arises the species that comes to be in the sense of the one perceiving; from this arises what comes to be in the memory; and from this arises what comes to be in the mind's eye of the one conceiving. Therefore, the will three times combines, as it were, parent with offspring: first, the species of the body with what it gives birth to in the bodily sense; then that species again with what comes to be from it in the memory; and third, this with what is born from it in the intuition of the conceiving mind. But the middle combination, which is the second, although it is closer to the first, is not as similar to the first as the third is. For there are two kinds of vision: one belonging to sensuous perception (sentientis), the other belonging to conception (cogitantis). But for the vision of conception to come to be, something like the vision of sensuous perception is produced in the memory for this purpose, to which the eye of the mind turns itself in conceiving, just as the glance (acies) of the eyes turns itself to the bodily object in sensuous perceiving. Therefore, I have chosen to present two trinities of this kind: one when the vision of sensuous perception is formed from the bodily object, the other when the vision of conception is formed from the memory. But I have refrained from commending the intermediate one, because we do not commonly call it vision when the form that comes to be in the sense of the one perceiving is committed to the memory. Yet in all cases the will appears only as the combiner, so to speak, of parent and offspring; and so, wherever it proceeds from, it can be called neither parent nor offspring.

16. In this arrangement, then, while we begin from the bodily species and arrive finally at the species which comes to be in the intuition ( contuitu) of the concipient, we find four species born, as it were, step by step one from the other, the second from the first, the third from the second, the fourth from the third: since from the species of the body itself, there arises that which comes to be in the sense of the percipient; and from this, that which comes to be in the memory; and from this, that which comes to be in the mind's eye of the concipient. And the will, therefore, thrice combines as it were parent with offspring: first the species of the body with that to which it gives birth in the sense of the body; and that again with that which from it comes to be in the memory; and this also, thirdly, with that which is born from it in the intuition of the concipient's mind. But the intermediate combination which is the second, although it is nearer to the first, is yet not so like the first as the third is. For there are two kinds of vision, the one of [sensuous] perception ( sentientis), the other of conception ( cogitantis). But in order that the vision of conception may come to be, there is wrought for the purpose, in the memory, from the vision of [sensuous] perception something like it, to which the eye of the mind may turn itself in conceiving, as the glance ( acies) of the eyes turns itself in [sensuously] perceiving to the bodily object. I have, therefore, chosen to put forward two trinities in this kind: one when the vision of [sensuous] perception is formed from the bodily object, the other when the vision of conception is formed from the memory. But I have refrained from commending an intermediate one; because we do not commonly call it vision, when the form which comes to be in the sense of him who perceives, is entrusted to the memory. Yet in all cases the will does not appear unless as the combiner as it were of parent and offspring; and so, proceed from whence it may, it can be called neither parent nor offspring.

But if we only remember what we have perceived through the senses, and only conceive what we remember, why do we often conceive false things? We certainly do not remember falsely what we have actually perceived. The reason is that the will—which I have already worked hard to show is what unites and separates such things—guides the mental image being formed according to its own preference and desire, drawing from the hidden storehouses of memory. To imagine things we do not actually remember, the will drives us to take one thing from here and another from there, from among the things we do remember. When these combine into a single mental image, they produce something called false, either because it does not exist outside us in the nature of physical things, or because it does not appear to be copied from memory, since we do not remember ever seeing such a thing. For who has ever seen a black swan? Therefore no one remembers a black swan. Yet who cannot imagine it? It is easy to apply a black color, which we have seen in other objects, to the shape we have come to know by seeing swans. Because we have seen both, we remember both. I do not remember a four-footed bird, because I have never seen one, but I can easily imagine such a thing by adding to some winged shape I have seen two additional feet such as I have also seen. Therefore, when we imagine together what we have remembered seeing separately, we seem not to be imagining what we remember, while we are actually doing this according to the law of memory, from which we take everything we combine in various and diverse ways according to our own pleasure. We cannot even imagine the sizes of bodies that we have never seen without help from memory, because the measure of space that our gaze normally reaches through the vastness of the world is also the measure to which we enlarge the size of bodies, whatever they may be, when we imagine them as large as we can. Reason proceeds even beyond this, but mental imagery does not follow. For example, reason declares that numbers are infinite, yet no mental image of someone conceiving according to bodily things can grasp this. The same reason also teaches that the smallest atoms are infinitely divisible, yet when we reach those tiny and minute particles we remember having seen, we can no longer form mental images that are thinner and smaller, although reason does not stop dividing them further. Thus we imagine no physical things except either those we remember or things derived from what we remember.

17. But if we do not remember except what we have [sensuously] perceived, nor conceive except what we remember; why do we often conceive things that are false, when certainly we do not remember falsely those things which we have perceived, unless it be because that will (which I have already taken pains to show as much as I can to be the uniter and the separater of things of this kind) leads the vision of the conceiver that is to be formed, after its own will and pleasure, through the hidden stores of the memory; and, in order to conceive [ imagine] those things which we do not remember, impels it to take one thing from hence, and another from thence, from those which we do remember; and these things combining into one vision make something which is called false, because it either does not exist externally in the nature of corporeal things, or does not seem copied from the memory, in that we do not remember that we ever saw such a thing. For who ever saw a black swan? And therefore no one remembers a black swan; yet who is there that cannot conceive it? For it is easy to apply to that shape which we have come to know by seeing it, a black color, which we have not the less seen in other bodies; and because we have seen both, we remember both. Neither do I remember a bird with four feet, because I never saw one; but I contemplate such a phantasy very easily, by adding to some winged shape such as I have seen, two other feet, such as I have likewise seen. And therefore, in conceiving conjointly, what we remember to have seen singly, we seem not to conceive that which we remember; while we really do this under the law of the memory, whence we take everything which we join together after our own pleasure in manifold and diverse ways. For we do not conceive even the very magnitudes of bodies, which magnitudes we never saw, without help of the memory; for the measure of space to which our gaze commonly reaches through the magnitude of the world, is the measure also to which we enlarge the bulk of bodies, whatever they may be, when we conceive them as great as we can. And reason, indeed, proceeds still beyond, but phantasy does not follow her; as when reason announces the infinity of number also, which no vision of him who conceives according to corporeal things can apprehend. The same reason also teaches that the most minute atoms are infinitely divisible; yet when we have come to those slight and minute particles which we remember to have seen, then we can no longer behold phantasms more slender and more minute, although reason does not cease to continue to divide them. So we conceive no corporeal things, except either those we remember, or from those things which we remember.

Those things that are imprinted on the memory individually can be conceived according to number, and measure seems to belong to the memory, while number belongs to vision. Although the multiplicity of such visions is innumerable, a limit that cannot be transgressed is set for each one in the memory. Therefore, measure appears in the memory, and number in the vision of things. Just as there is a certain measure in visible bodies themselves, to which the sense of those who see is adapted in great number, and from one visible object the vision of many observers is formed—so that even a single person commonly sees a single thing in a double appearance because of the two eyes, as we explained above—so there is a certain measure in those things from which visions are copied, but in the visions themselves there is number. The will, which unites and regulates these things and combines them into a certain unity, and does not quietly rest its desire to perceive or to conceive except in those things from which the visions are formed, resembles weight. Therefore I want to point out in anticipation these three things—measure, number, weight—which are to be perceived in all other things as well. Meanwhile, I have now shown as much as I can, and to those to whom I can, that the will is the uniter of the visible thing and the vision, like a parent and offspring, whether in perception or in conception, and that it cannot be called either parent or offspring. Therefore the time has come for us to seek this same trinity in the inner man, and to strive to pass inward from that animal and carnal and (as he is called) outward man, about whom I have spoken for so long. Here we hope to be able to find an image of God according to the Trinity, with His help in our efforts, who, as things themselves show and as Holy Scripture also witnesses, has regulated all things in measure, and number, and weight.

18. But because those things which are impressed on the memory singly, can be conceived according to number, measure seems to belong to the memory, but number to the vision; because, although the multiplicity of such visions is innumerable, yet a limit not to be transgressed is prescribed for each in the memory. Therefore, measure appears in the memory, number in the vision of things: as there is some measure in visible bodies themselves, to which measure the sense of those who see is most numerously adjusted, and from one visible object is formed the vision of many beholders, so that even a single person sees commonly a single thing under a double appearance, on account of the number of his two eyes, as we have laid down above. Therefore there is some measure in those things whence visions are copied, but in the visions themselves there is number. But the will which unites and regulates these things, and combines them into a certain unity, and does not quietly rest its desire of [sensuously] perceiving or of conceiving, except in those things from whence the visions are formed, resembles weight. And therefore I would just notice by way of anticipation these three things, measure, number, weight, which are to be perceived in all other things also. In the meantime, I have now shown as much as I can, and to whom I can, that the will is the uniter of the visible thing and of the vision; as it were, of parent and of offspring; whether in [sensuous] perception or in conception, and that it cannot be called either parent or offspring. Wherefore time admonishes us to seek for this same trinity in the inner man, and to strive to pass inwards from that animal and carnal and (as he is called) outward man, of whom I have so long spoken. And here we hope to be able to find an image of God according to the Trinity, He Himself helping our efforts, who as things themselves show, and as Holy Scripture also witnesses, has regulated all things in measure, and number, and weight.