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15. Im Sinnlichen befangen, kann er das Geistige nicht fassen.
Aber das Wesentliche bei einer solchen Sache in dem Kunstwerke deiner Schöpfung, Allmächtiger, „der du allein Wunderbares schaffst“1, erkannte ich noch nicht; mein Geist durchforschte die einzelnen körperlichen Formen, und ich erklärte, bestimmte und belegte mit Beispielen aus der Körperwelt das als schön, was für sich selbst, als schicklich aber, was wegen seiner Harmonie mit etwas anderem gefiel. Auch wandte ich mich zur Natur des Geistes; aber meine falsche Ansicht von der Natur des Geistigen ließ mich das Wahre nicht S. 76 erkennen. Vor meine Augen trat mit Gewalt das Bild der Wahrheit selbst; aber ich lenkte meinen schwankenden Geist vom Unkörperlichen hinweg zu Umrissen, Farben und bestimmten Größen. Und weil ich im Geiste solches nicht sehen konnte, glaubte ich auch, meinen Geist selbst nicht sehen zu können. Und da ich an der Tugend den Frieden liebte, bei der Lasterhaftigkeit aber die Zwietracht haßte, so erschien mir als charakteristisches Merkmal bei jener eine gewisse Einheit, bei dieser ein Zwiespalt. In jener Einheit schienen mir der vernünftige Sinn, die Natur der Wahrheit und des höchsten Gutes zu liegen, in jenem Zwiespalte des unvernünftigen Lebens aber wähnte ich Unglücklicher irgendeine Substanz und Wesenheit eines höchsten Bösen, die nicht nur Substanz, sondern überhaupt Leben und doch nicht von dir sein sollte, mein Gott, du Urheber von allem. Jene Einheit nannte ich Monas, ein geschlechtsloses Geisteswesen, diesen Zwiespalt aber Dyas, welche als Zorn in Gewalttat, als Wollust in schändlichen Verirrungen zutage trete ohne zu wissen, was ich meinte. Denn noch hatte ich nicht erkannt noch gelernt, daß das Böse weder eine Substanz noch auch unser Geist selbst ein höchstes, unveränderliches Gut ist.
Wie nämlich Gewalttaten entstehen, wenn jener Seelenteil, worin der Antrieb dazu liegt, sündhafte Regungen verspürt und sich unbändig und wüst gebärdet, Schandtaten aber aus der ungeordneten Begier des Herzens, welche die sinnliche Lust vermittelt, so beflecken Irrtümer und falsche Meinungen das Leben, wenn der vernünftige Seelenteil selbst verderbt ist. So war es damals der meine: ich wußte nicht, daß ein anderes Licht ihn erleuchten müsse, damit er zur Wahrheit gelange, da er selbst nicht das Wesen der Wahrheit ist; „denn du erleuchtest meine Leuchte, Herr, mein Gott, du erleuchtest meine Finsternis“2. „Von deiner Fülle haben wir alle empfangen“3. „Du bist ja das wahre Licht, das jeglichen Menschen erleuchtet, der in diese Welt S. 77 kommt“4, denn „in dir ist kein Wechsel und kein Schatten von Veränderlichkeit“5.
Ich aber gedachte mich zu dir zu erheben, doch wurde ich von dir zurückgestoßen, so daß ich den Tod kostete, da „du den Stolzen widerstehest“6. Was aber zeugt von größerem Stolze als die Behauptung, die ich in unglaublicher Torheit aufstellte, ich sei dem Wesen nach das, was du bist? Denn obwohl ich veränderlich war - dessen war ich mir bewußt, weil ich ja deswegen nach Weisheit strebte, um aus dem Zustand der Unvollkommenheit in den der Vollkommenheit überzutreten -, so wollte ich doch lieber auch dich veränderlich wähnen als nicht sein, was du bist. Dabei stießest du mich von dir und widerstandest meinem stolzen Dünkel; ich träumte von körperlichen Gestalten und klagte, selbst Fleisch, das Fleisch an. „Ein irrender Geist“7, kehrte ich nicht zu dir zurück, sondern auf meinen Irrwegen verirrte ich mich zu Dingen, die überhaupt nicht existieren, weder in dir noch in mir noch in der Körperwelt. Nicht deine Wahrheit schuf, sondern mein Wahn erdichtete sie mir nach den Eindrücken der Körper. Schwatzhaft und albern sprach ich zu den Kleinen, deinen Gläubigen, meinen Mitbürgern, aus deren Nähe ich ohne es zu wissen verbannt war: "Warum irrt denn die Seele, wenn Gott sie geschaffen hat?" Aber ich wollte nicht, daß man mich frage: "Warum also irrt Gott?" Lieber behauptete ich, dein unveränderliches Wesen irre mit Notwendigkeit, als daß ich zugab, mein veränderliches Wesen sei freiwillig vom rechten Wege abgewichen und dem Irrtum zur Strafe verfallen.
Ungefähr sechsundzwanzig oder siebenundzwanzig Jahre war ich alt, als ich jenes Werk schrieb. Mein Geist war ganz von phantastischen Körpergebilden in Anspruch genommen, welche die Ohren meines Herzens umtönten, die ich doch auf deine innere Melodie, o süße Wahrheit, hingerichtet hielt. Gewiß, in meinen Forschungen über das Schöne und Schickliche suchte ich S. 78 einen festen Standpunkt zu gewinnen, „dich zu hören und aufzujauchzen vor Freude wegen der Stimme des Bräutigams“8; aber ich war dazu unfähig, denn die Stimmen meines Irrtums rissen mich nach außen, und das Gewicht meines Stolzes ließ mich in die Tiefe sinken. Denn nicht „verliehest du meinem Gehör Freude und Wonne“9, noch „frohlockten meine Gebeine“10, weil sie noch nicht „gedemütigt“11 waren.
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The Confessions of St. Augustin In Thirteen Books
Chapter XV.--While Writing, Being Blinded by Corporeal Images, He Failed to Recognise the Spiritual Nature of God.
24. But not yet did I perceive the hinge on which this impotent matter turned in Thy wisdom, O Thou Omnipotent, "who alone doest great wonders;" 1 and my mind ranged through corporeal forms, and I defined and distinguished as "fair," that which is so in itself, and "fit," that which is beautiful as it corresponds to some other thing; and this I supported by corporeal examples. And I turned my attention to the nature of the mind, but the false opinions which I entertained of spiritual things prevented me from seeing the truth. Yet the very power of truth forced itself on my gaze, and I turned away my throbbing soul from incorporeal substance, to lineaments, and colours, and bulky magnitudes. And not being able to perceive these in the mind, I thought I could not perceive my mind. And whereas in virtue I loved peace, and in viciousness I hated discord, in the former I distinguished unity, but in the latter a kind of division. And in that unity I conceived the rational soul and the nature of truth and of the chief good 2 to consist. But in this division I, unfortunate one, imagined there was I know not what substance of irrational life, and the nature of the chief evil, which should not be a substance only, but real life also, and yet not emanating from Thee, O my God, from whom are all things. And yet the first I called a Monad, as if it had been a soul without sex, 3 but the other a Duad,--anger in deeds of violence, in deeds of passion, lust,--not knowing of what I talked. For I had not known or learned that neither was evil a substance, nor our soul that chief and unchangeable good.
25. For even as it is in the case of deeds of violence, if that emotion of the soul from whence the stimulus comes be depraved, and carry itself insolently and mutinously; and in acts of passion, if that affection of the soul whereby carnal pleasures are imbibed is unrestrained,--so do errors and false opinions contaminate the life, if the reasonable soul itself be depraved, as it was at that time in me, who was ignorant that it must be enlightened by another light that it may be partaker of truth, seeing that itself is not that nature of truth. "For Thou wilt light my candle; the Lord my God will enlighten my darkness; 4 and "of His fulness have all we received," 5 for "that was the true Light which lighted every man that cometh into the world;" 6 for in Thee there is "no variableness, neither shadow of turning." 7
26. But I pressed towards Thee, and was repelled by Thee that I might taste of death, for Thou "resistest the proud." 8 But what prouder than for me, with a marvellous madness, to assert myself to be that by nature which Thou art? For whereas I was mutable,--so much being clear to me, for my very longing to become wise arose from the wish from worse to become better,--yet chose I rather to think Thee mutable, than myself not to be that which Thou art. Therefore was I repelled by Thee, and Thou resistedst my changeable stiffneckedness; and I imagined corporeal forms, and, being flesh, I accused flesh, and, being "a wind that passeth away," 9 I returned not to Thee, but went wandering and wandering on towards those things that have no being, neither in Thee, nor in me, nor in the body. Neither were they created for me by Thy truth, but conceived by my vain conceit out of corporeal things. And I used to ask Thy faithful little ones, my fellow-citizens,--from whom I unconsciously stood exiled,--I used flippantly and foolishly to ask, "Why, then, doth the soul which God created err?" But I would not permit any one to ask me, "Why, then, doth God err?" And I contended that Thy immutable substance erred of constraint, rather than admit that my mutable substance had gone astray of free will, and erred as a punishment. 10
27. I was about six or seven and twenty years of age when I wrote those volumes--meditating upon corporeal fictions, which clamoured in the ears of my heart. These I directed, O sweet Truth, to Thy inward melody, pondering on the "fair and fit," and longing to stay and listen to Thee, and to rejoice greatly at the Bridegroom's voice, 11 and I could not; for by the voices of my own errors was I driven forth, and by the weight of my own pride was I sinking into the lowest pit. For Thou didst not "make me to hear joy and gladness;" nor did the bones which were not yet humbled rejoice. 12
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Ps. cxxxvi. 4. ↩
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Augustin tells us (De Civ. Dei, xix. 1) that Varro, in his lost book De Philosophia, gives two hundred and eighty-eight different opinions as regards the chief good, and shows us how readily they may be reduced in number. Now, as then, philosophers ask the same questions. We have our hedonists, whose "good" is their own pleasure and happiness; our materialists, who would seek the common good of all; and our intuitionists, who aim at following the dictates of conscience. When the pretensions of these various schools are examined without prejudice, the conclusion is forced upon us that we must have recourse to Revelation for a reconcilement of the difficulties of the various systems; and that the philosophers, to employ Davidson's happy illustration (Prophecies, Introd.), forgetting that their faded taper has been insensibly kindled by gospel light, are attempting now, as in Augustin's time (ibid. sec. 4), "to fabricate for themselves a happiness in this life based upon a virtue as deceitful as it is proud." Christianity gives the golden key to the attainment of happiness, when it declares that "godliness is profitable for all things, having the promise of the life which now is, and of that which is to come " (1 Tim. iv. 8). It was a saying of Bacon (Essay on Adversity), that while "prosperity is the blessing of the old Testament, adversity is the blessing of the New." He would have been nearer the truth had he said that while temporal rewards were the special promise of the Old Testament, spiritual rewards are the special promise of the New. For though Christ's immediate followers had to suffer "adversity" in the planting of our faith, adversity cannot properly be said to be the result of following Christ. It has yet to be shown that, on the whole, the greatest amount of real happiness does not result, even in this life, from a Christian life, for virtue is, even here, its own reward. The fulness of the reward, however, will only be received in the life to come. Augustin's remark, therefore, still holds good that "life eternal is the supreme good, and death eternal the supreme evil, and that to obtain the one and escape the other we must live rightly" (ibid. sec. 4); and again, that even in the midst of the troubles of life, "as we are saved, so we are made happy, by hope. And as we do not as yet possess a present, but look for a future salvation, so it is with our happiness,...we ought patiently to endure till we come to the ineffable enjoyment of unmixed good." See Abbé Anselme, Sur le Souverain Bien, vol. v. serm. 1; and the last Chapter of Professor Sidgwick's Methods of Ethics, for the conclusions at which a mind at once lucid and dispassionate has arrived on this question. ↩
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"Or an unintelligent soul;' very good mss. reading sensu,' the majority, it appears, sexu.' If we read sexu,' the absolute unity of the first principle or Monad, may be insisted upon, and in the inferior principle, divided into violence' and lust,' violence,' as implying strength, may be looked on as the male, lust' was, in mythology, represented as female; if we take sensu,' it will express the living but unintelligent soul of the world in the Manichaean, as a pantheistic system."--E. B. P. ↩
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Ps. xviii. 28. Augustin constantly urges our recognition of the truth that God is the "Father of lights." From Him as our central sun, all light, whether of wisdom or knowledge proceedeth, and if changing the figure, our candle which He hath lighted be blown out, He again must light it. Compare Enar. in Ps. xciii. 147; and Sermons, 67 and 341. ↩
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John i. 16. ↩
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John i. 9. ↩
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Jas. i. 17. ↩
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Jas. iv. 6, and 1 Pet. v. 5. ↩
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Ps. lxxviii. 39. ↩
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It may assist those unacquainted with Augustin's writings to understand the last three sections, if we set before them a brief view of the Manichaean speculations as to the good and evil principles, and the nature of the human soul:--(1) The Manichaeans believed that there were two principles or substances, one good and the other evil, and that both were eternal and opposed one to the other. The good principle they called God, and the evil, matter or Hyle (Con. Faust. xxi. 1, 2). Faustus, in his argument with Augustin, admits that they sometimes called the evil nature "God," but simply as a conventional usage. Augustin says thereon (ibid. sec. 4): "Faustus glibly defends himself by saying, We speak not of two gods, but of God and Hyle;' but when you ask for the meaning of Hyle, you find that it is in fact another god. If the Manichaeans gave the name of Hyle, as the ancients did, to the unformed matter which is susceptible of bodily forms, we should not accuse them of making two gods. But it is pure folly and madness to give to matter the power of forming bodies, or to deny that what has this power is God." Augustin alludes in the above passage to the Platonic theory of matter, which, as the late Dean Mansel has shown us (Gnostic Heresies, Basilides, etc.), resulted after his time in Pantheism, and which was entirely opposed to the dualism of Manichaeus. It is to this "power of forming bodies" claimed for matter, then, that Augustin alludes in our text (sec. 24) as "not only a substance but real life also." (2) The human soul the Manichaeans declared to be of the same nature as God, though not created by Him--it having originated in the intermingling of part of His being with the evil principle, in the conflict between the kingdoms of light and darkness (in Ps. cxl. sec. 10). Augustin says to Faustus: "You generally call your soul not a temple, but a part or member of God " (Con. Faust. xx. 15); and thus, "identifying themselves with the nature and substance of God" (ibid. xii. 13), they did not refer their sin to themselves, but to the race of darkness, and so did not "prevail over their sin." That is, they denied original sin, and asserted that it necessarily resulted from the soul's contact with the body. To this Augustin steadily replied, that as the soul was not of the nature of God, but created by Him and endowed with free will, man was responsible for his transgressions. Again, referring to the Confessions, we find Augustin speaking consistently with his then belief, when he says that he had not then learned that the soul was not a "chief and unchangeable good" (sec. 24), or that "it was not that nature of truth" (sec. 25); and that when he transgressed "he accused flesh" rather than himself; and, as a result of his Manichaean errors (sec. 26), "contended that God's immutable substance erred of constraint, rather than admit that his mutable substance had gone astray of free will, and erred as a punishment." ↩
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John iii. 29. ↩
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Ps. li. 8, Vulg. ↩