Letter 65

I divided yesterday with my ill health; it claimed the forenoon for itself, and yielded the afternoon to me. So first I tested my mind with reading. Then, when it had borne this, I dared to command it more — nay, to allow it more; I wrote something, and indeed more intently than usual, while I contend with a difficult subject and am unwilling to be conquered, until friends came in to use force on me and to restrain me like a sick man who has no self-control.

Conversation took the place of the pen, and from it I will bring on to you that part which is in dispute. We have appointed you the arbiter. You have more business than you suppose; the case is threefold. Our Stoics, as you know, say that there are two things in the nature of things from which all things come to be: cause and matter. Matter lies inert, a thing ready for all uses, destined to lie idle if no one moves it. But cause, that is, reason, shapes matter and turns it whichever way it will, and produces from it various works. There must therefore be that from which a thing is made, and then that by which it is made. The latter is the cause, the former the matter.

Every art is an imitation of Nature. Therefore what I was saying of the universe, transfer to these things which are to be made by man. A statue both had matter to submit to the artist, and an artist to give the matter a face. Therefore in the statue the matter was the bronze, the cause was the workman. The same condition holds for all things: they consist of that which is made, and of that which makes.

The Stoics hold that the cause is one — that which makes. Aristotle thinks the cause is spoken of in three ways. "The first cause," he says, "is the matter itself, without which nothing can be brought about; the second is the workman. The third is the form, which is imposed on each work as upon a statue"; for this Aristotle calls eidos. "And a fourth too," he says, "is added to these: the purpose of the whole work."

What this is, I will explain. The bronze is the first cause of the statue. For it would never have been made unless there had been that from which it might be cast or drawn. The second cause is the artist. For that bronze could not have been shaped into the figure of a statue unless skilled hands had come to it. The third cause is the form. For that statue would not be called the Spear-bearer or the Fillet-binder unless this face had been impressed upon it. The fourth cause is the purpose of the making. For unless this had been, it would not have been made.

What is the purpose? That which invited the artist, which he followed and made; it is either money, if he fashioned it to sell, or glory, if he labored for a name, or religion, if he prepared a gift for a temple. Therefore this too is a cause, on account of which a thing is made; or do you not think that among the causes of a finished work that must be counted whose removal would have meant the work was never made?

To these Plato adds a fifth, the pattern, which he himself calls the Idea; for this is that to which the artist looks in effecting what he had purposed. Now it matters nothing to the point whether he has his pattern outside, to which he turns his eyes, or within, which he himself has conceived and set there. These patterns of all things god has within himself, and he has embraced in his mind the numbers and measures of all the things that are to be done; he is full of these figures which Plato calls Ideas — immortal, unchangeable, untiring. And so men perish, but humanity itself, on which man is modeled, abides, and though men labor and pass away, it suffers nothing.

There are, then, five causes, as Plato says: that from which, that by which, that in which, that toward which, that on account of which. Lastly, that which is from these. As in a statue — since we began to speak of this — that from which is the bronze, that by which is the artist, that in which is the form which is fitted to it, that toward which is the pattern which he who makes imitates, that on account of which is the purpose of the maker, and that which is from these is the statue itself.

All these the universe too has, as Plato says: the maker — this is god; that from which it is made — this is matter; the form — this is the disposition and order of the universe which we see; the pattern — namely, that toward which god made this magnitude of a most beautiful work;

the purpose, on account of which he made it. You ask what god's purpose was? Goodness. So at least Plato says: "What was god's cause for making the universe? He is good; the good grudges no one any good. And so he made it as good as he could." Give your sentence, then, judge, and pronounce who seems to you to speak most truly — not who speaks most truly. For that is as far above us as truth itself.

This crowd of causes set down by Aristotle and Plato comprehends either too many or too few. For if they judge that to be a cause of the making whose removal makes a thing impossible to effect, they have named too few. Let them put time among the causes; nothing can be made without time. Let them put place; if there is no place where a thing may be made, it will not be made at all. Let them put motion; without this nothing comes to be or perishes. There is no art without motion, no change.

But we are now seeking the first and general cause. This must be simple; for matter too is simple. We ask what the cause is? Plainly reason that makes — that is, god. For all those things which you have brought forward are not many separate causes, but hang from one, from that which will make.

Do you say the form is a cause? This the artist imposes upon his work; it is part of the cause, not the cause. The pattern too is not a cause, but a necessary instrument of the cause. The pattern is necessary to the artist as the chisel is, as the file; without these the art cannot proceed. Yet these are not parts of the art, nor causes.

"The purpose of the artist," he says, "on account of which he comes to the making of a thing, is a cause." Granted it is a cause, it is not the efficient cause, but an accessory one. But these are innumerable; we are asking about the general cause. And that the whole universe and the finished work is a cause — this they said not with their wonted subtlety. For there is a great difference between a work and the cause of a work.

Either give your sentence, or — what is easier in matters of this kind — say that it is not clear to you, and bid us come back to it. "What delights you," you say, "in wearing away time on these things, which take from you no passion, drive off no desire?" I, for my part, treat and handle them as more important, by which the mind is calmed, and I examine first myself, then this universe.

Not even now do I waste time, as you suppose. For all these things, if they are not cut up and torn apart into this useless subtlety, raise and lighten the mind, which, pressed by its heavy burden, longs to unfold itself and return to those things of which it was a part. For this body is the weight and the penalty of the mind; under its pressure the mind is hard pressed, it is in chains, unless philosophy has come to it and bidden it breathe again at the spectacle of Nature, and dismissed it from things earthly to things divine. This is its liberty, this its roaming; meanwhile it withdraws itself from the guard in which it is held, and is refreshed in the heavens.

Just as craftsmen of some finer work, which wearies the eyes with strain, if they have a grudging and scanty light, go out into the open and in some quarter dedicated to the people's leisure delight their eyes in the free daylight; so the mind, cooped up in this sad and dark dwelling, whenever it can, seeks the open and rests in the contemplation of Nature.

The wise man and the follower of wisdom does indeed cling to his body, but with the best part of himself he is away, and bends his thoughts to lofty things. As though bound by a soldier's oath, he counts this life that he lives as his term of service. And he is so formed that he has for it neither love of life nor hatred, and he endures mortal things, although he knows that ampler things remain.

Do you forbid me the inspection of Nature, and, drawing me away from the whole, force me back into a part? Shall I not ask what are the beginnings of all things? Who is the fashioner of the world? Who has separated all things that were sunk in one and wrapped up in inert matter? Shall I not ask who is the artificer of this universe? By what reason so great a magnitude has come into law and order? Who has gathered what was scattered, distinguished what was confused, and parted out a face for the things that lay in one shapeless mass? Whence is poured so great a light? Is it fire, or something more luminous than fire?

Shall I not ask these things? Shall I not know whence I have come down? Whether I am to see these things but once, or must be born again often? Whither shall I go from here? What abode awaits the soul released from the laws of human servitude? Do you forbid me to take part in the heavens — that is, do you bid me live with my head bowed down?

I am greater, and born for greater things, than to be the slave of my body, which I regard as nothing else than a chain thrown about my liberty. This, therefore, I set against fortune for her to halt at, nor do I let any wound pass through it to me. Whatever in me can suffer injury is this. In this dwelling, exposed though it is, a free mind has its home.

Never shall this flesh drive me to fear, never to a pretense unworthy of a good man; never shall I lie for the honor of this poor little body. When it seems good, I will dissolve my partnership with it. And even now, while we cling together, we shall not be partners on equal terms; the mind will claim the whole right to itself. Contempt of one's own body is sure liberty.

To return to my purpose, to this liberty much will be contributed also by that inspection of which we were just now speaking. Surely all things consist of matter and of god. God governs these things, which, surrounding him, follow their ruler and guide. But that which makes — that is, god — is more powerful and more precious than matter, which submits to god.

The place which god holds in this universe, the mind holds in man. What there is matter, in us is body; let the worse, then, serve the better. Let us be brave against chance happenings. Let us not tremble at injuries, at wounds, at chains, at want. What is death? Either an end or a passage. I do not fear to cease, for it is the same as not to have begun; nor to pass over, because nowhere shall I be in such narrow quarters. Farewell.