let there remain to it that concerning which not even those doubted who supposed the mind to be one or another body. For not every mind supposes itself to be air, but some suppose fire, some the brain, and some one body and some another, as I mentioned above; yet all have known that they understand and are and live—but they refer 'understand' to that which they understand, while 'to be' and 'to live' they refer to their own selves. And to no one is there any doubt either that no one understands who does not live, or that no one lives who does not exist. It follows consequently that that which understands also both is and lives—not as a corpse is, which does not live, nor as a soul lives which does not understand, but in a certain proper and at the same time more excellent mode.
Likewise they know that they will, and they know equally that no one can do this who does not exist and who does not live; and likewise they refer this very will to something which they will by that will. They know also that they remember, and at the same time they know that no one would remember unless he existed and lived; but this very memory also we refer to something which we remember by it. Therefore in two of these three, memory and understanding, the notice and knowledge of many things is contained; but will is present, whereby we may enjoy or use them. For we enjoy things known, in which the will itself, delighted for their own sake, rests; but we use those things which we refer to something else that is to be enjoyed.
Nor is the life of men vicious and blameworthy anything other than one that uses ill and enjoys ill—concerning which matter this is not now the place to discourse. But since we are treating of the nature of the mind, let us remove from our consideration all the notices which are received from without through the senses of the body, and let us more diligently attend to that which we have laid down: that all minds know concerning their own selves and are certain of them. For men have doubted whether the power of living, of remembering, of understanding, of willing, of thinking, of knowing, of judging, be of air;
or of fire, or of the brain, or of the blood, or of atoms, or of a fifth I-know-not-what body besides the four customary elements, or whether the framing or tempering of our very flesh has the power to effect these things—of this men have doubted, and one has endeavored to affirm this, another that. But that he lives, and remembers, and understands, and wills, and thinks, and knows, and judges—who would doubt? Since, even if he doubts, he lives; if he doubts, he remembers whence he doubts; if he doubts, he understands that he doubts; if he doubts, he wills to be certain; if he doubts, he thinks; if he doubts, he knows that he does not know; if he doubts, he judges that he ought not rashly to consent.
Whoever therefore doubts about anything, ought not to doubt about all these things, which if they were not, he could not doubt about anything. All these things, those who suppose the mind to be either a body or the composition or tempering of a body, wish to seem to be in a subject, so that the substance is air or fire or some other body which they suppose to be the mind, but the understanding is so present in this body as its quality, so that that body be the subject, and these things be in the subject—namely, the subject being the mind, which they judge to be a body, and in the subject being the understanding or whatever else of those things which we have mentioned to be certain to us. Those also judge similarly who deny that the mind itself is a body, but a framing or tempering of a body.
For this is the difference: that those say the mind itself is the substance in which subject the understanding is; but these say that the mind itself is in a subject, namely the body, of which it is the composition or tempering. Whence consequently they also judge the understanding to be what else but in the same subject-body? All of whom do not notice that the mind knows itself even when it seeks itself, as we have already shown. But in no way is a thing rightly said to be known while its substance is unknown. Wherefore, while the mind knows itself, it knows its own substance; and when it is certain concerning itself, it is certain concerning its own substance. But it is certain concerning itself, as those things prove which have been said above.
But it is by no means certain whether it be air, or fire, or some body, or something of a body. Therefore it is none of those things. And that whole matter which it is bidden to know pertains to this: that it be certain that it is none of those things concerning which it is uncertain, and that it be certain that it is that alone which alone it is certain that it is. For it thinks upon fire as upon air, and whatever else of a body it thinks upon; nor could it in any way come to pass that it should so think upon that which it itself is, as it thinks upon that which it itself is not. For it thinks upon all these things through an imaginary phantasm—whether fire, or air, or this or that body, or a part of a body, or the framing and tempering of a body—nor indeed is it said to be all these things, but some one of them.
But if it were any of these things, it would think upon it otherwise than upon the rest—not, that is, through an imaginary figment, as absent things are thought upon which have been touched by the sense of the body, whether those things themselves, or some of the same kind, but by a certain more inward presence, not feigned but true (for nothing is more present to it than its own self)—just as it thinks that it lives, and remembers, and understands, and wills itself. For it knows these things in itself, nor does it imagine as though it had touched them by sense outside itself, as corporeal things whatsoever are touched. From the thoughts of which things, if it feign nothing to itself so as to suppose itself to be some such thing, then whatever remains to it of itself, that alone is it itself.
[XI 17] Having therefore removed for a little while the rest of the things concerning which the mind is certain of its own self, let us treat, as most important, these three considered: memory, understanding, will. For in these three the natural abilities of little children are wont also to be examined, of what disposition they give promise. For by how much the more tenaciously and easily a child remembers, and by how much the more keenly he understands and more ardently strives, by so much is his ability the more praiseworthy. But when inquiry is made concerning anyone's learning, it is asked not with how great firmness and ease he remembers, or with how great acumen he understands, but what he remembers and what he understands.
And because a praiseworthy mind is measured not only by how learned it is but also by how good it is, we attend not only to what it remembers and what it understands but also to what it wills; not to how ardently it wills, but first to what it wills, and then to how much it wills. For a mind that loves vehemently is to be praised only when that which it loves is worthy of being loved vehemently. When therefore these three are named—natural talent, learning, and practice—the first of them is considered in those three faculties: how much each person is capable of in memory, in understanding, and in will. The second is considered in what each person holds in memory and understanding, whither he has arrived by a zealous will.
Now the third, practice, resides in the will as it deals with those things that are contained in memory and understanding—whether it refers them to some further end, or rests satisfied, delighting in them as in an end. For to use is to take up something into the power of the will; but to enjoy is to use with joy, no longer of hope but now of the thing possessed. Accordingly, everyone who enjoys uses, for he takes up something into the power of the will with the end of delight. But not everyone who uses enjoys, if he has sought that which he takes up into the power of the will not for its own sake but for the sake of something else.
These three, then—memory, understanding, and will—since they are not three lives but one life, nor three minds but one mind, are consequently also not three substances but one substance. For when memory is called life, and mind, and substance, it is called so with reference to itself; but when it is called memory, it is called so relatively, with reference to something. The same I would say of understanding and of will as well, for both understanding and will are so called with reference to something. But each of them is life in respect to itself, and mind, and essence. Wherefore these three are one in that they are one life, one mind, one essence; and whatever else each is severally called in respect to itself, they are so called even together, not in the plural but in the singular.
But they are three in that they are referred to one another. And if they were not equal—not only each to each, but also each to all together—they would surely not comprehend one another. For not only is each comprehended by each, but all are comprehended by each. For I remember that I have memory and understanding and will; I understand that I understand and will and remember; I will that I will and remember and understand; and I remember together my whole memory and understanding and will. For whatever of my memory I do not remember is not in my memory. But nothing is so much in the memory as the memory itself. Therefore I remember the whole of it. Likewise, whatever I understand, I know that I understand it; and I know that I will whatever I will;
but whatever I know, I remember. Therefore I remember my whole understanding and my whole will. Likewise, when I understand these three, I understand them wholly and together. For there is nothing among intelligible things that I do not understand, except what I am ignorant of; but what I am ignorant of I neither remember nor will. Whatever intelligible things, therefore, I do not understand, I consequently neither remember nor will. Whatever intelligible things, then, I remember and will, I consequently understand. My will also embraces my whole understanding and my whole memory, when I use the whole of that which I understand and remember.
Wherefore, since each and all are mutually comprehended by each, the wholes are equal severally to the wholes severally, and each whole is at once equal to all the wholes; and these three are one—one life, one mind, one essence. [XII 19] Are we then now to ascend, with whatever powers of attention we may command, to that supreme and highest essence, of which the human mind is an unequal image, yet an image nonetheless? Or are these same three still to be shown more distinctly in the soul, by means of those things which we grasp from without through the bodily senses, wherein the knowledge of corporeal things is imprinted temporally?
For we found the mind itself, in the memory, understanding, and will of its own self, to be such that, since it was understood always to know itself and always to will itself, it was at the same time understood always to remember itself and always to understand and love itself—although it does not always think of itself as distinct from those things which are not what it itself is. And on this account it is difficult to distinguish in it its memory of itself and its understanding of itself. For, as if these two were not two but one thing called by two names, so it appears in that matter where these are very closely joined and neither is preceded by the other in any time; and love itself is not so felt to exist, since no want betrays it, because what is loved is always at hand.
Wherefore these things can become clear even to the slower-witted, when those things are treated which come to the soul in time and befall it temporally: when it remembers what it did not remember before, and when it sees what it did not see before, and when it loves what it did not love before. But this treatment now demands another beginning, on account of the measure of this little book.