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8/17/2015 Introduction ­ Oxford Scholarship

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Image, Identity, and the Forming of the Augustinian Soul

Matthew Drever

Print publication date: 2013

Print ISBN­13: 9780199916337
Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2013
DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199916337.001.0001 поменять
прокси

Introduction
Matthew Drever

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199916337.003.0001

Abstract and Keywords

This chapter lays out the book’s aims as a study of Augustine’s anthropology in light of his understanding of the origin (creatio ex
nihilo) and identity (imago dei) of the human being in relation to God. The interdisciplinary framework of the book is established as
one that works between historical and constructive methods, and the approach of the book is placed within the wider context of
Augustinian scholarship. In taking up the issue of human identity in relation to God, one of the key issues this book explores is the
nature of human participation in the divine. This chapter surveys and introduces this issue through an overview of Augustine’s model
of deification.

Keywords: Deification, divine image, self

1. An Augustinian Voice in Our Midst

Were we to trace the genealogy of what has been called the modern crisis of the Western “self”—the problems associated with the
proto­Cartesian and proto­Kantian conceptions of the self—we could locate its roots in a confluence of trends associated with the rise
of historical consciousness. The increased awareness of how thought is conditioned by historical environment has been attended by
the destabilizing and decentering of the rational self, valued so highly during the Enlightenment, through various lines of criticism:
the increased awareness of the effects of history and culture on the self (e.g., Hegel, Marx, feminist theory, critical theory); the depth
of the self beyond the rational, self­present “I” (e.g., Nietzsche, Freud, Heidegger); the penetration of language into the self (e.g.,
Wittgenstein, Gadamer, Derrida). As in the Enlightenment, so also in the post­Enlightenment period many such intellectual trends

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8/17/2015 Introduction ­ Oxford Scholarship

have given rise to critiques of religion. The Enlightenment call to science and reason saw corresponding critiques of miracles (Hume),
religious morality (French philosophes), and more generally “positive” religion (English Deism). The post­Enlightenment, within the
nexus of themes just mentioned, has given rise to projection theories (e.g., Feuerbach, Marx); critiques of religious ethics (e.g.,
Nietzsche); critiques of religious metaphysics (e.g., Heidegger, Wittgenstein); and critiques of hierarchies of authority (e.g.,
liberation, feminism).

This study of Augustine takes its orientation from contemporary theological and philosophical problems associated with post­

Sci­Hub
Enlightenment conceptions of the human being and critiques of religion. I say orientation because these themes form the background
set of concerns that prompt my inquiry into an Augustinian anthropology relevant to, and plausible in, our current context, dominated
as it is by postmodern trajectories. Though difficult to characterize with exact precision, the postmodern milieu has (p.2) a few
general tendencies that develop in conjunction with the lines of previously noted criticism. 1 These tendencies are often positioned,
explicitly or not, against the perceived anthropology of Enlightenment modernity. Against modernist universal systems of human
culture and history (e.g., Hegelianism, Marxism), postmodernism argues for a perspectivalism that splinters and localizes analysis
within the cultural, gender, political, and economic context of the theorist. Against modernist anthropologies that ground human
identity within the autonomous rationality and freewill of the individual, postmodern theorists argue that human identity emerges
from a web of rational and subconscious influences that are only partially determined by the individual. Against modernist claims
that human identity is (more or less) stable, fixed, unified, and coherently organized, postmodern theorists contend human identity is
unstable, malleable, and without a determinate center or unity.

Against this backdrop Augustine is an intriguing case study. Though he has convictions at odds with our post­Enlightenment
context, such as holding absolute claims about truth, beauty, and goodness, his anthropology has a surprising resonance today. In
Augustine we find a conception of the human person that is fluid, tenuous, prone to great good and vice, and influenced deeply by
language, history, and society. In a post­Enlightenment context where there is no clear center of value through which the human self
is defined, Augustine’s anthropology has the potential to offer crucial resources for a religious reorientation and revaluation of the
self. I will explore how these anthropological resources find their voice in the context of Augustine’s account of creation, the Trinity,
and Christ. In particular, I will examine how the concepts of the imago dei and creatio ex nihilo are significant both for their
influence on Augustine’s understanding of the human person and for their potential to bridge his and our world. Though rooted in
Augustine’s early work, these concepts find their full development in his middle and late writings (mid­390s on), and in his Genesis
commentaries and De Trinitate in particular. So this study will focus on these writings. In narrowing the analysis in this way, my
intention is not to promulgate the traditional split between the “early Augustine” and “late Augustine,” which Carol Harrison has
called into question in arguing for continuity in Augustine’s early and later writings. 2 Rather, I focus the study to engage in an
analysis of Augustine’s most sustained and mature thought on how the origin (creatio ex nihilo) and identity (imago dei) of the
human person intersects with his understanding of creation, Christ, and the Trinity.

(p.3) 2. Contemporary Challenges and Possibilities

It is difficult to dispute the widespread influence of Augustine in Western Christianity. His continued legacy, however, is a different
question. Augustine has come under fire on various fronts, and his views on creatio ex nihilo and the divine image are no exception to
this trend. Augustine famously claims in Confessiones 7 that the books of the Platonists, with their notion of spiritual substance, were
important in his move beyond a Manichean cosmology. The biblical account of creatio ex nihilo is also a constitutive part of that
move in providing him the resources to reject a Manichaean oppositional and dualist cosmology and to embrace the goodness of all
material reality as part of God’s creation. 3 The benefits of creatio ex nihilo, however, fade into ambiguity in contemporary
assessments. Some scholars argue that the qualitative distinction between God and the world introduced in creatio ex nihilo, with the
accompanying claim that God and not the world possesses ultimate goodness, truth, beauty, and reality, actually promotes the type of
oppositional dualism Augustine sought to avoid. 4 Here Augustine is interpreted as one of the founders in the Latin West of an
oppositional dualistic cosmology that has cascading, destructive effects in leading to a variety of dualisms within his anthropology
(e.g., mind–body, male–female, Christian–non­Christian). 5 Interestingly, these concerns find a supporting voice in a second line of
criticism that worries not about the influence of creatio ex nihilo on his thought but about the lack of such influence. Scholars such as
Etienne Gilson contend that Augustine’s cosmology is caught between a biblical doctrine of creatio ex nihilo, which argues creation
from nothing, and a Greek model of essentialism, which argues creation from eternal forms. 6 I will return to this issue in Chapter 2,
but here it is worth noting that this filters into some contemporary scholars’ concerns that Augustine raises his hierarchical view of
the cosmos into essential (and oppositional) differences between lower and higher rungs in creation (e.g., mind–body, God–world,
man–woman) and formulates these differences within an abstract intellectualism disconnected from time, history, and material
reality. 7 The result, critics argue, is that Augustine’s thought reinforces hierarchical, sexist, ecologically destructive models of God,

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the world, and human persons.

Augustine’s formulation of the divine image also raises serious and often similar objections. De Trinitate is his primary work on the
doctrines of the Trinity and the image of God in the soul. The coupling of these two doctrines is a result of how Augustine interprets
the image of (p.4) God, namely, as the image of the Trinitarian God in the soul (mind) of the person. The divine image provides a
chief resource for his investigation of the Trinity, and in the second half of De Trinitate Augustine moves inward into his soul to
investigate the nature of the Trinitarian image and the Trinity. Augustine’s approach to the doctrines of the Trinity and the image of
God is influential in the history of the Western, Latin Church, though again this is often viewed as a troubled legacy in contemporary
theology. This is evident in the trend to turn East rather than West for Trinitarian models. Part of the problem with Augustine’s
approach to the Trinity, contend his critics, is that, unlike the East, which begins from the three persons of the Trinity (de Deo trino),
Augustine begins from the unity of God (de Deo uno) and never is able to account fully for the Trinitarian nature of God. 8 The result is
that Augustine’s model of God is more conducive to monistic than Trinitarian theism. This suspicion is borne out supposedly by
Augustine’s so­called psychological model of the Trinity that explicates the Trinity from the divine image in the human psyche. In so
doing Augustine begins from the unity of the individual mind and never moves beyond this into a real Trinitarianism. 9 The problems
are exacerbated by the classical metaphysical terminology of substance and essence on which Augustine supposedly relies to explicate
the natures of the Trinity and the human person. Here his doctrine of God and his anthropology becomes entangled in a substance
metaphysics and essentialism that is not only problematic philosophically in the wake of Nietzsche and Heidegger but also
theologically among contemporary scholars who find it inimical to Christian views on creation and salvation.

Suspicions against Augustine’s views on creatio ex nihilo and the divine image coalesce around the way his anthropology is often
read within a modernist trajectory. Since the publication of Descartes’s Meditations, questions have surrounded his relation with
Augustine. Descartes notes a formal similarity between him and Augustine on their antiskeptical arguments and method of inward
speculation but argues that the comparison goes no further than this. 10 As scholars have probed for the roots of the modern,
Cartesian conception of the self, some have argued that the comparison extends a great deal further. One of the chief architects of this
view, though it is widespread, is Charles Taylor. His work on the roots of the modern conception of the self, which he argues is
epitomized by Descartes, draws a strong connection between Augustine and Descartes. Indeed, he casts Augustine as the forefather of
the modern, Western idea of the individual, autonomous self. 11

(p.5) Taylor’s work has occasioned the reexamination of the connection between Augustine and Descartes. Phillip Cary advances a
similar claim as Taylor, though he is more cautious and nuanced. Cary argues that an Augustinian notion of interiority that derives
from works like Confessiones and De Trinitate is at the foundation of the modern notion of the rational, private self. 12 However, Cary
points out that it is Augustine’s conception of the sinful soul, as it is turned in on itself and away from God, that has affinities with
modern notions of interiority and privacy. Others such as Stephen Menn have argued that the connection between Augustine and
Descartes is more tenuous, with Descartes’s antiskeptical project far removed from the classical context of Augustine. 13 One of the
more vocal critics of Taylor is Michael Hanby, who offers a Radical Orthodoxy interpretation of Augustine’s Trinitarianism and
argues that the intimate relation between the Trinity and the human being explored in De Trinitate is the neglected alternative to
Western modernity and the rampant individualism, secularism, and nihilism that infects Western consciousness. 14 Though the
present study does not take its cue from Hanby, one of my objectives, like Hanby, is to confront the inadequacies of modernist
readings of Augustine as well as the contemporary critics who contend that Augustine’s anthropology fails because it is mired in a
classical tradition that feeds the modern rather than postmodern soul, as it were.

Hanby’s critique of the supposed close alliance between Augustine and modernity is among a diverse group of postmodern readings of
Augustine. 15 Such readings form within hermeneutical, phenomenological, and cultural–critical lines of scholarship. 16 One of the
boons of such scholarship are the models they develop of interior subjectivity, especially as they apply these to the human–divine
relation. J.­L. Marion’s examination of Augustine’s views on the soul and God is especially noteworthy, and we will return to these
issues in Chapters 3 and 6. Recently, Marion has called into question the usefulness of the categories of substance (substantia) and
being (essentia, esse) in Augustine’s views on God, shifting the focus instead to the significance of divine immutability (idipsum, the
selfsame) in Augustine’s denomination of God. 17 Marion’s work also touches on anthropological issues in his characterization of the
fluid and relational nature of the Augustinian soul, whose existence unfolds from its de nihilo origin toward God in a movement of
praise. Marion’s work has focused primarily on how this movement is conveyed in Confessiones through a process of confession and
praise that is both analytic and vocative (performative), introspective and doxological. Marion’s conclusions come together at this
point with Brian Stock’s assessment (p.6) of Augustine’s interior ascent in the second half of De Trinitate, which he argues develops
from a set of reading practices that focus on the formation of spiritual habits. 18 Augustine’s inward analysis moves through the space
of the soul, a space formed by the universal truth of God but no longer governed wholly by it. It is a space curved, darkened, and
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twisted by distorted desires and sin. Stock contends that this realization leads Augustine to argue that more important than
momentary reunions with God (e.g., Confessiones 7.10.16) are the practices and habits one cultivates in reading and thinking
through the nature of the human soul. One of the goals of this study is to examine further the nature of the inward ascent in the latter
half of De Trinitate and to explore the extent to which it, like Confessiones, is both an analysis and a performance of the divine
image. This will allow further examination into the interiority of the Augustinian soul and return us again to Augustine’s
contemporary critics.

While moving toward a contemporary assessment of Augustine, this study also takes important cues from historiographical work in
patristic studies. In this, I will work within a recent line of scholarship that runs through Basil Studer, T. J. van Bavel, Michel Barnes,
and Lewis Ayres. This scholarship has begun to unravel contemporary critiques of Augustine in part by showing that the differences
between the Latin West and the Greek East are often more myth than reality. Such a reading of the East and West is largely a
nineteenth­century scholarly invention that oversimplifies the complex and interrelated themes developed in both the West and the
East by Christian thinkers (Augustine among them) sympathetic to emerging Nicene Orthodox Trinitarian doctrine. Such conclusions
undermine facile reads that position Augustine’s Neoplatonism against the Greek Trinitarian tradition. Leading the charge here,
Michel Barnes has been critical of the modern scholarship that presupposes Platonist (monistic) interpretations of Augustine. He
faults them for accepting as the basis of Augustine’s Trinitarian thought a philosophical foundation and neglecting the complex
Nicene context—biblical, doctrinal, and polemical—in which his doctrine of the Trinity develops.

Lewis Ayres underscores and further develops this reading of Augustine. Ayres is critical of scholarship that systematically reads
Augustine against or reduces him to his classical (non­Christian) context. More than Barnes, Ayres shows how Augustine draws on
Platonist sources, sometimes substantially but often in an idiosyncratic manner to address particular Trinitarian issues in Latin
Christianity and so in a way that eludes a general method. 19 As part of this project, Ayres’s (p.7) examination of Augustine’s notions
of divine simplicity and immutability is particularly relevant in giving a patristic voice and depth to the philosophical analysis of
Marion. Though they offer distinctive, not necessarily harmonious, interpretations of Augustine, Ayres and Marion become
occasional allies in their critique of the way Augustine’s thought has been read in a modern context through metaphysical concepts.
Ayres demonstrates how Augustine draws on Platonist sources to help characterize divine unity (simplicity) and immutability, but in a
way that becomes enfolded into and molded by his larger Trinitarian concerns. 20 In calling attention to the sources of Augustine’s
thought, Ayres also questions the usefulness and viability of oversimplified designations of Christian and non­Christian sources. It is
too facile to distinguish Platonism in toto from Christianity, and it leads to inevitable (but unnecessary) questions on whether and
how Platonism corrupts, augments, or otherwise artificially affects the development of Christian doctrines. 21 The contemporary
implications of Ayres’s position for discussions on the nature of Christian doctrine remain largely implicit and unexplored, but one of
the points taken forward in this analysis is that Augustine’s use of Platonist concepts and terminology need not be an either–or: either
he is bogged down in an anti­Trinitarian, anti­Christian metaphysics, or he must be shown to jettison Platonism to adopt a distinctly
Christian voice. I will have occasion in the course of this study to return to this issue, especially in the examination of Augustine’s
theory of the rationes in his account of creation and his concept of wisdom in his account of salvation. At these and other points I will
acknowledge the potential philosophical and other classical sources of Augustine, but my intent is not a detailed examination of
them. In this, I am not seeking to return to the twentieth­century debates on the extent to which Augustine is or is not a Platonist to
the exclusion of his Christian commitments. Rather, as I have stated, I am interested in the way Augustine’s account of human
origins (creatio ex nihilo) and its orientation toward God (imago dei) unfolds within the framework of his models of the Trinity,
Christ, and creation.

3. The Question of Participation

A study of Augustine’s doctrine of creation, especially one that focuses on his concepts of creatio ex nihilo and the imago dei, cannot
bypass his understanding of human participation in God. According to David Meconi, Augustine uses some form of participatio 666
times in his writings. 22 The (p.8) term itself, as well as the wider concept, appears at crucial junctures in both Augustine’s general
account of creation and in his more focused discussion of the divine image. 23 Despite this, the topic has not been well studied. Vernon
Bourke pointed this out some fifty years ago, and it has been reiterated more recently by Agostino Trapé and David Meconi. 24 Meconi
cites only sparse instances in which scholars have given it significant attention. There has been some recent movement to reverse this
trend, though not nearly to the degree Cornelio Fabro helped inspire in Thomistic studies. 25 Scott Dunham has developed Augustine’s
theory of participation in conjunction with his well­known trio measure–number–weight as part of a larger and commendable project
that offers an Augustinian voice within contemporary ecological theology. 26 Beyond this, the debate among Michael Hanby,
Johannes Brachtendorf, and Maarten Wisse over Hanby’s attempt to develop Augustine’s Trinitarianism through a Radical
Orthodoxy participationist ontology brings the issue to the fore and offers a good illustration of the necessity and limits of the concept

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of participation in Augustine’s thought. 27

In the ensuing chapters, I will return to this debate as well as to a variety of other issues surrounding the way Augustine’s notion of
human participation in God intersects his models of creatio ex nihilo and the divine image. Before this, a basic overview of the issue is
in order. Meconi formalizes Trapé’s threefold account of Augustinian participation (i.e., creation, illumination, beatitude), arguing
that Augustine’s account falls into the categories of ontology, epistemology, and deification. 28 Meconi’s categorization has the virtue
of highlighting contexts and trajectories in Augustine’s discussion of participation, though one is well served in viewing the
categories not as distinct domains but as overlapping themes that take up interlocking aspects of participation. For example, in his
discussion of the creation of angels and the soul (intellectual creation), Augustine intertwines accounts of their creation (ontology)
and illumination (epistemology), which are infused with goodness and oriented toward the perfection of the creature (deification). 29
It is also important to note that the threefold use of participation Meconi and Trapé find in Augustine is most often developed within
the twofold context of creation and salvation. As such, Meconi’s categories offer a useful schema, but as we will see it does have its
limits. 30

The ontological dimension of Augustine’s use of participation develops out of the way he grounds the existence and perfections of
creation in God. 31 Creation depends on God for its existence, goodness, and beauty, (p.9) and Augustine casts this dependency in
terms of participation in God. For example, commenting on the Platonist theory of the rationes, Augustine states in the well­known
passage in De diversis quaestionibus 46 that all things exist by participation in the rationes held in God. Similarly, in De Genesi ad
litteram 3 Augustine associates the creation of intellectual beings (angels and humans) with their participation in God. 32 The
structure of human dependency and the nature of this participation are in turn rooted in Augustine’s understanding of creation,
particularly his doctrine of creatio ex nihilo. In itself and apart from God’s creative act, creation is nothing and thus depends on God’s
creative power. 33 For Augustine, this establishes a qualitative distinction between God and creation, a distinction he captures in the
contrast between finite, mutable creation and the eternal, immutable God. 34 God is eternal and immutable and so exists in himself
(idipsum). Creation is mutable and finite and so exists through God, lest it return to the nothingness of its origin. Augustine draws on
the language of participation to describe this dependency: a finite creature exists because it participates in God. The same line of
reasoning applies to the other creaturely perfections. 35

Augustine’s account here is an intricate dance between biblical and Platonist cosmologies. On one hand, biblical accounts of creation
(ex nihilo) and God (ego sum qui sum) form the basic pillars of the model. On the other hand, a Platonist cosmological theory of the
rationes provides a conceptual framework through which Augustine explicates the God–world relation. In her historical overview of
how the concept of participation has been interpreted in the West, M. Annice argues that it fell to Augustine to reconcile the Platonic
doctrine of the creaturely participation in the One with the Christian doctrine of creation by an all­powerful God. 36 Leaving aside for
the moment whether Augustine’s project is best described as one of reconciliation, Annice does point out that a correct understanding
of Augustine’s notion of participation will have to address the consequences of his grounding the notion not in a Platonist model of
emanation but in a doctrine of creation that advocates creatio ex nihilo and the qualitative distinction this establishes between finite,
mutable creation and the eternal, immutable God.

Augustine also draws on the language of participation in his epistemology to connect human knowledge to divine wisdom. 37 Humans
participate in and are illuminated by divine wisdom. Here Augustine draws on his famous language of illumination to describe the
presence of God in the soul as the precondition for human knowledge and participation in divine wisdom. 38 There is a long­standing
scholarly debate on what Augustine (p.10) means by divine illumination, which turns in part on its reception history in the work of
thinkers like Bonaventure and Thomas. 39 The specifics of the debate are beyond the scope of this analysis, but a couple of general
comments are in order going forward. First, Augustine advocates less distance between God and the soul than, for example, is found
in Thomas’s agent intellect. Whether the divine light represents the soul’s participation in the divine ideas, the judgment that
confirms human thinking, or acts in some other capacity, Augustine argues for a close and dependent status of human knowledge on
God’s truth.

Second, Augustine’s “theory of illumination” is something of a misnomer, especially when it is reduced to a single epistemic model of
human knowledge. Augustine draws on the language of light and illumination in a variety of contexts to promote different sets of
claims, some of which speak to epistemic issues and some of which do not. In this, it is difficult to discern a clearly demarcated theory
that Augustine intends to advance. For example, in the previously cited De Genesi ad litteram passage (1.17.32), Augustine associates
illumination with the way divine wisdom enlightens rational creatures. This is an epistemic claim, but within the wider context of
Book 1 and beyond it is also an ontological, or creative, claim. In various places Augustine associates the creation of intellectual
creatures (i.e., angels, the human soul) with their illumination: for intellectual creatures whose intellectual act is constitutive and
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irreducible to their nature, illumination is not simply a claim about knowledge but also a characterization of their mode of
existence. 40 Augustine’s use of light and illumination in Confessiones 10 also illustrates the diversity of contexts in which he draws
on the metaphor. Here Augustine asks why some people hate the truth and concludes that it is because the light that truth sheds
shows and condemns illicit, sinful human loves. Not only does the light of truth bring illumination to reason (De diversis
quaestionibus 23), but it also inspires love or hatred depending on the orientation of one’s desire. 41

As one final example, Augustine’s association of illumination with the divine image in De Trinitate illustrates the Christological and
Trinitarian themes that are also interwoven into his use of the metaphor. In De Trinitate 4 Augustine draws on the metaphor of light
to argue against the Arian claim that the sending of the Son from the Father undercuts the substantial unity of Father and Son. 42
Though the Son is from the Father, they are equal in the way that light sent from its source is equal to its source. In De Trinitate 7
Augustine returns to this metaphor in the midst of his discussion of the divine image as a way both to describe and (p.11)
differentiate the image in the Son and humans. 43 First, Augustine uses the metaphor to differentiate the substantial unity of Father
and Son from the created status of humans. The Son is God and is the light that illuminates others, while humans are creatures and
are light because the Son illuminates them. There is an epistemic dimension to this insofar as Augustine connects the divine image
the Son illuminates in us to wisdom. In the context of De Trinitate 7, however, the metaphor of illumination is also an ontological
claim on the difference between creator and creature and the dependency of the latter on the former. Second, Augustine draws on the
relation between light and image to characterize the nature of the divine image itself. As an image appears and is seen only in the
light, so the soul images God when it is turned to God and illuminated by the Son. This metaphor complements Augustine’s claims in
De Genesi ad litteram, where he argues that the divine image is found within the illuminated mind. In this context, he also likens the
divine image in the soul to the existence of created, spiritual light (i.e., the angels), which exists when it is illuminated by the Son.
Both here and in De Trinitate, the metaphor of illumination has an epistemic connotation insofar as Augustine connects it to the
knowledge the angels possess and the rational capacity in the soul. But illumination again designates an ontological, or creative,
claim.

The final context in which Augustine develops the language of participation is in his account of the human reunion with God. Meconi
traces this account to the concept of deification. 44 Admittedly, Augustine does not develop as explicit a theory of deification as in the
Greek tradition. Indeed, deificari–deificatus and their various forms appear only about eighteen times in Augustine’s writings. 45 The
paucity of such terminology in Augustine and in the wider Latin tradition has led Orthodox scholars such as Vladimir Lossky to argue
that the West does not develop a doctrine of deification as in the Greek tradition. 46 Here, as elsewhere, caution must be given to such
generalized contrasts. 47 In the case of Augustine, the lack of the terminology of deification is not indicative of the absence of the idea,
which as we shall see shortly often appears in alternate language. 48 A couple of recent studies of the Greek tradition on deification
have brought to light notable similarities with Augustine. 49 The sources and influences behind Augustine’s views on deification,
however, remain unclear. The first instance of the term deificare that we find in Augustine occurs in Letter 10.2 in the phrase deificari
in otio, which may trace back to Porphyry. 50 This has led Gerald Bonner to speculate that Augustine may have first encountered the
idea of deification in Neoplatonist philosophy. 51 Whether (p.12) or not this is the case, Bonner goes on rightly to point out that
Augustine presses the concept into service for his Christian views on incarnation, which becomes the focal point for his theory of
deification.

A few examples will highlight the tone and tenor of Augustine’s view of deification as well as key Christological and soteriological
themes interwoven in it. Augustine gives one of his most detailed statements on deification in his sermon on Psalm 49 (50) while
inquiring into the opening phrase in the Psalm, Deus deorum (God of gods). Augustine goes on to argue that these “gods” are humans
who are deified through Christ:

It is quite obvious that God called human beings “gods” in the sense that they were deified by his grace, not because they were
born of his own substance. It is proper to God to justify us because his is just of himself and not by derivation from anyone else;
and similarly he alone deifies who is God of himself, not by participation in any other. Moreover he who justifies is the same as
he who deifies, because by justifying us he made us sons and daughters of God: he gave them power to become children of God
(Jn. 1:12). If we have been made children of God, we have been made into gods; but we are such by the grace of him who adopts
us, not because we are of the same nature as the one who begets. Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ is the unique Son of God; he
is God, one God with the Father, the Word who was in the beginning, the Word who was with God, the Word who is God.
Others, who become gods, become so by his grace. They are not born of God’s very being in such a way that they are what he is;
it is through a gracious gift that they come to him and become with Christ his coheirs….And further, Dearly beloved, we are
children of God already, but what we shall be has not yet appeared. So only in hope, not yet in reality, are we what we are.
But, he continues, we know that when he appears, we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is (1 Jn. 3:1–2). The
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only­begotten Son is like him by being born of him; we become like him by seeing him. We are not like God in the same way as
the Son is, for he is of one nature with the Father from whom he is born. We are like God, but not equal to him; the only Son is
like him because equal to him. 52

This passage contains several key aspects of Augustine’s view of deification. Foremost, Augustine locates the path to deification
within the incarnation. He calls on both the person and work of Christ to explain (p.13) deification. Humans become gods ex gratia
and not de substantia, that is, by justification through Christ and not through essential unity with God. In other contexts Augustine
expands on this point in various ways, including within the process of deification aspects of what today we place within the
categories of justification and sanctification: we can participate in God only because God became a just man in Christ to forgive our
sins;53 we can participate in God because Christ came to teach and become the way of humility to overcome human sin;54 and we
become adopted children of God because our sins are forgiven when God joins us in the flesh in Christ and dies for us. 55

Augustine also associates deification with the incarnation itself and God’s downward participation in Christ. He states the matter
succinctly in Sermon 192: “to make gods of those who were human, he was made a human who was God”. 56 In various places
Augustine expands on this basic formula of exchange—God becomes human so humans can become god—to develop the twofold
claim that underlying human deification is God’s downward participation in humanity and the participation of immutability within
mutability. 57 Both aspects are present in Augustine’s account of deification in his sermon on Psalm 146. 58 Here Augustine argues that
God’s participation in humanity conditions and grounds humanity’s participation in God. Likewise, the immutable God makes human
participation in divine immortality possible because God first participates in human mortality. In aligning human deification in this
manner with the incarnation, Augustine makes clear that deification originates directly from God’s power and grace and not through
any intermediary between God and creation. 59

Deification encompasses both the process and goal of the human return to God. In this, it has a basic eschatological dimension. This
brings us to the next issue raised in the quote from Augustine’s sermon on Psalm 49. Augustine situates the goal of deification within
the eschaton: “so only in hope, not yet in reality, are we what we are.” Those redeemed through Christ are deified now in the hope that
they will be resurrected and reunited with God. Augustine equates this eschatological reunion in which we become gods with the
beatific vision—“the only­begotten Son is like him by being born of him; we become like him by seeing him.” Though Augustine
observes that silence may be the best guide in trying to describe the final state of deification, he does offer various claims on the nature
of our final reunion with God. 60 He maintains that we will share in the divine life, wisdom, love, and truth in such intimacy that we
(p.14) are god with God and children along with the Son. 61 But we will participate as children adopted through Christ’s grace and so
will be god not as God (de substantia) but as creatures who participate in God (ex gratia). 62 In De Trinitate, Augustine also
associates the beatific vision with the fully reformed divine image in the soul and so with a state in which our personal identity is
maintained and perfected. 63

4. The Augustinian “Self”

One final note of caution is in order as we move forward. Analyzing Augustine’s anthropology with an eye toward contemporary
discussions of the self carries with it a host of anachronistic dangers. Not the least among these is the fact that there is no Latin term
for “self” but rather a wide variety of pronouns (e.g., ego, meus, ipse) used to denote variously what today we would call the “self,”
“myself,” or “me.”64 To avoid confusion we might turn to other terms. There is a Latin word for “person” (persona) and “human”
(homo), and often I will refer to the human self using one of these two terms. But this does not alleviate all problems. 65 Persona does
not mean person in the modern sense, nor is it a term Augustine commonly uses to describe the human being. 66 Homo is a generic
concept for the human being that is useful but is too general to address complex anthropological issues, especially those pertaining to
issues of human intellect and volition. Most often I will use the term “soul” or “mind” when I am referring to the center of human
agency and identity, which may have an overly intellectualistic ring but in my estimation also seems the least anachronistic.

This does, however, raise a second issue. English has no single covering concept for the type of living, personal existence exemplified
by human beings (e.g., self, person, human, spirit, mind, soul), or an agreed upon set of definitions for such concepts; so, too,
Augustine uses a variety of terms to describe the central dimensions of the human being that do not always have an exact, fixed
meaning, including the following: anima (principle of life in any living being, human and non­human); animus (denotes the broad
range of rational, cognitive powers in human beings); and mens (denotes the highest level of animus). 67 At times Augustine offers
something approaching a technical definition of such terminology. But these definitions are not consistent throughout his writings.
In particular, I should note a problem that arises between De Genesi ad litteram and De Trinitate over the use of the terms anima and
animus. By the time of (p.15) De Trinitate, Augustine clearly differentiates anima from animus. In De Genesi ad litteram, however,
he sometimes uses anima where he later uses animus. 68 This can obscure his claims at times, at least when reading him in light of
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De Trinitate. Admittedly, the problem is tempered because the terminological ambiguity is not accompanied by conceptual ambiguity.
That is, Augustine does not shift his position that the rational dimension of human beings is at the center of their identity and what
distinguishes them from the rest of creation.

Notes:
(1.) Studies across a multitude of disciplines attempt to navigate between modernity and postmodernity in taking up the question of
human identity formation. For example, see Seyla Benhabib, Situating the Self: Gender, Community and Postmodernism in
Contemporary Ethics (New York: Routledge, 1992) (ethics); Paul Vitz and Susan Flech, eds., The Self: Beyond
the Postmodern Crisis (Wilmington, DE: ISI Books, 2006) (psychology); Charles Taylor, Multiculturalism:
Examining the Politics of Recognition, ed. Amy Gutmann (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994)
(politics); Paul Lakeland, Postmodernity: Christian Identity in a Fragmented Age (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1997)
(theology).

(2.) Carol Harrison, Rethinking Augustine’s Early Theology: An Argument for Continuity (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006).

(3.) Within her larger apologetic for continuity between the early and later thought of Augustine, Carol Harrison argues that the
doctrine of creatio ex nihilo is one of the intellectual pillars that spans Augustine’s thought. Harrison, Rethinking Augustine’s Early
Theology, 74–114.

(4.) For example, see Sallie McFague, Models of God: Theology for an Ecological, Nuclear Age (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press,
1987), 109–110 ; Anne Primavesi, From Apocalypse to Genesis. Ecology, Feminism and Christianity (Kent:
Burnes & Oates, 1991), 103–104, 209–219 ; Rosemary Radford Ruether, Gaia and God: An Ecofeminist
Theology of Earth Healing (San Francisco, CA: Harper Collins, 1992) 134–139, 184–188 . For a more general
critique of how creatio ex nihilo has functioned in the history of Western theology, see Whitney Bauman, Theology, Creation, and
Environmental Ethics: From Creatio Ex Nihilo to Terra Nullius (New York: Routledge, 2009) . Rowan Williams
offers a good response to contemporary critics of Augustine on this issue; Williams, “‘Good for Nothing?’ Augustine on Creation,”
Augustinian Studies 25 (1994): 9–23 . Though the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo is not his primary focus, Scott
Dunham offers a good ecological defense of Augustine’s wider doctrine of creation; Dunham, The Trinity and Creation in Augustine:
An Ecological Analysis (New York: State University of New York, 2008).

(5.) For balanced critiques of Augustine on these issues, see Margaret Miles, Augustine on the Body, American Academy of Religion
Dissertation Series 31 (Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1979) ; John Rist, Augustine: Ancient Thought Baptized
(New York: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 112–121 . For a defense of Augustine’s views on these issues, see
T. J. van Bavel, “Woman as the Image of God in St. Augustine’s Trinitate XII,” Signum Pietatis: Festgabe für Cornelius Mayer
(Würzburg: Augustinus­Verlag, 1989), 267–288 ; K. E. Borresen, “In Defense of Augustine: How Femina is
Homo,” in Collectanea Augustiniana: mélanges T. J. van Bavel, ed. B. Bruning, M. Lamberigts, and J. van Houtem (Leuven: Leuven
University Press, 1990), 411–428.

(6.) Etienne Gilson, The Christian Philosophy of Saint Augustine, trans. L. E. M. Lynch (New York: Octagon Books, 1983), 199–205.

(7.) For example, see Catherine LaCugna, God for Us: The Trinity and Christian Life (San Francisco, CA: Harper, 1973), 81–109.

(8.) Colin Gunton argues that Augustine’s analogy between the triadic structures of the mind and the Trinity derives from a
Neoplatonist philosophy of mind, with the result that Augustine’s Trinitarianism and anthropology become rooted in an abstract
individualism and intellectualism that undermine their ecclesiological and soteriological context. Colin Gunton, The Promise of
Trinitarian Theology (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1997), 42–45 . In his Orthodox critique of Western (Latin)
Christian thought, John Zizioulas brings a distinctive voice to contemporary scholarship but echoes the broad claim that Augustine’s
doctrine of God, anthropology, and ecclesiology have an abstract, intellectualist, other­worldly character due in part to his
Neoplatonist heritage. John Zizioulas, Being as Communion: Studies in Personhood and the Church (New York: St. Vladimir’s

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Seminary Press, 1985), 25, 41 n. 35, 88, 95, 100, 104 n. 98.

(9.) The concern here is strongest among advocates of social Trinitarian models who argue that the unity of the Trinity is grounded in
the relation of the Trinitarian persons rather than the substance of God. For example, see Jürgen Moltmann, The Trinity and the
Kingdom: The Doctrine of God (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1993) (liberation theology); Marjorie Suchocki, God, Christ,
Church: A Practical Guide to Process Theology (New York: Crossroads, 1989), 227–236 (process theology);
Kathryn Tanner, Jesus, Humanity, and the Trinity: A Brief Systematic Theology (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2001), 67–95
(feminist theology).

(10.) Descartes, Oeuvres de Descartes, ed. Charles Adam and Paul Tannery (Paris: Vrin, 1974–1983), III, 247.

(11.) Charles Taylor, Sources of the Self: The Making of the Modern Identity (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1989), 127–
142.

(12.) Phillip Cary, Augustine’s Invention of the Inner Self: The Legacy of a Christian Platonist (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2000).

(13.) Stephen Menn, Descartes and Augustine (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), esp. 62–70.

(14.) Michael Hanby, Augustine and Modernity (New York: Routledge, 2003), 8–11.

(15.) Martin Heidegger is one source of this scholarly trajectory. Heidegger argues that Augustine’s understanding of time and
memory, despite its tendency to conform to classical models, nevertheless holds the seeds for the type of reconsideration of the human
person at the core of Heidegger’s own phenomenological project. Heidegger, Being and Time, trans. John Macquarrie (San
Francisco: Harper & Row, 1962), 69, 215 n. 12, 235 n. 4, 243 n. 7, 480 n. 15 ; Heidegger, The Concept of Time,
trans. William McNeill (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishers, 1992); Heidegger, The Phenomenology of Religious Life, trans. Matthias
Fritsch and Jennifer Anna Gosetti­Ferencei (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2004), 115–202.

(16.) This line of scholarship works from divergent perspectives. Some notable recent examples include J.­L. Marion, Au lieu de soi:
l’approche de saint Augustin (Paris, 2008) (phenomenology); James Wetzel, Augustine: A guide for the perplexed (New York:
Continuum, 2010) (Wittgensteinian); Brian Stock, Augustine’s Inner Dialogue: The Philosophical Soliloquy in
Late Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010) (classical and medieval studies); M. B. Pranger,
Eternity’s Ennui: Temporality, Perseverance, and Voice in Augustine and Western Literature (Leiden: Brill, 2010) (literary).

(17.) J.­L. Marion, “Idipsum: The Name of God according to Augustine,” in Orthodox Readings of Augustine, ed. Aristotle
Papanikolaou and George E. Demacopoulos (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2008), 167–189.

(18.) Brian Stock, Augustine the Reader: Meditation, Self­Knowledge, and the Ethics of Interpretation (Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press, 1996), 243–278.

(19.) Lewis Ayres, Augustine and the Trinity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 15–18, 37–41.

(20.) Ibid., 200–211, 222–226.

(21.) Ibid., 13–19, 37–40.

(22.) David Meconi, “St. Augustine’s Early Theory of Participation,” Augustinian Studies 27 (1996), 80.

(23.) Agostino Trapé argues that Augustine’s doctrines of creation, illumination, and beatitude are three modes of expressing his
model of participation. Trapé, Patrology, vol. 4, ed. Angelo di Berardino (Westminster: Christian Classics, 1991), 408.

(24.) Vernon Bourke, Augustine’s View of Reality. The Saint Augustine Lecture 1963 (Villanova: Villanova University Press, 1964),

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24–25 ; Trapé, Patrology, 408; Meconi, “St. Augustine’s Early Theory of Participation,” 79–80.

(25.) See especially Cornelio Fabro, “The Intensive Hermeneutics of Thomistic Philosophy: The Notion of Participation,” trans. B. M.
Bonansea, Review of Metaphysics 27:3 (1974): 449–491.

(26.) Dunham, The Trinity and Creation, 83–99.

(27.) For further discussion see chapter 2.7. The debate occurs in Ars Disputandi. Johannes Brachtendorf, “Orthodoxy without
Augustine: A Response to Michael Hanby’s Augustine and Modernity ,” Ars Disputandi 6 (2006); Maarten Wisse, “Was Augustine a
Barthian? Radical Orthodoxy’s Reading of De Trinitate ,” Ars Disputandi 7 (2007); Michael Hanby, “A Response to Brachtendorf
and Wisse,” Ars Disputandi 7 (2007). See also Michael Hanby, Augustine and Modernity (New York: Routledge, 2003); Maarten
Wisse, Trinitarian Theology beyond Participation: Augustine’s De Trinitate and Contemporary Theology (London: T&T Clark
International, 2011).

(28.) Meconi, “St. Augustine’s Early Theory of Participation,” 80–87.

(29.) Gn. litt. 1.3.7–4.9, 3.20.31.

(30.) A shift in categories is worth considering if J.­L. Marion is right that Augustine’s preferred description of God as Idipsum is
better cast in terms of goodness (bonum) than being (esse). Minimally, it should be acknowledged that “ontology” as a the formal
study of being and a distinct discipline is a seventeenth­century invention, even if an examination of being goes back to early Greek
philosophy. Marion, “Idipsum,” 167–189.

(31.) Meconi, “St. Augustine’s Early Theory of Participation,” 87.

(32.) Gn. litt. 3.20.31.

(33.) Conf. 12.7.7; nat. b. 1, 10, 26.

(34.) For example, see sol. 2.20.35; quant. 34.77; vera rel. 3.3; s. 7.7; nat. b. 1, 19, 39; Conf. 4.15.26, 7.9.14, 13.16.19; Trin. 15.16.26.

(35.) div. qu. 23; vera rel. 18.35; mor. 2.4.6.

(36.) M. Annice, “Historical Sketch of the Theory of Participation,” New Scholasticism 26 (1952): 60.

(37.) Meconi, “St. Augustine’s Early Theory of Participation,” 81.

(38.) For example, see Conf. 12.17.25, 13.5.6; Gn. litt. 1.17.32; vera rel. 3.3; en. Ps. 26.2.3.

(39.) A summary of this debate is found in C. E. Schuetzinger, ed., The German Controversy on Saint Augustine’s Illumination Theory
(New York: Pageant Press, 1960) . The debate tends to focus on the epistemic dimensions connected to
Augustine’s use of illuminatio in his account of the interior nature of the soul and its attainment of knowledge and truth. Augustine
draws on the concept of spiritual light, which he associates with the Son, in diverse places to describe how humans come to know
God and truth. One of the main points of debate has been whether such illumination is direct or indirect: is God directly or indirectly
present to the mind in its apprehension of truth? Behind this question are a couple of issues. First, how does the mind err, especially if
spiritual illumination directly gives it truth? Second, what role does the material, empirical world play in the mind’s understanding of
truth, especially again if such truth comes directly through spiritual illumination. The indirect (Thomistic) interpretation is most
commonly understood as a good Thomistic position, but not one that squares with Augustine’s own claims. Direct spiritual
illumination has been argued in various senses: spiritual illumination gives an immediate apprehension of truth to all minds open to
it (intuitionist claims); spiritual illumination confirms the soul’s judgment about truths but does not give truth for immediate
apprehension (Bonaventure, Gilson); and spiritual illumination confirms judgment and gives the object of truth to the soul but does so
also within the context of the reformation of love (i.e., grace).

(40.) Gn. litt. 1.3.7–1.3.8, 1.9.17, 3.20.31.

(41.) James Wetzel traces Augustine’s concept of ratio from sol. to Conf., arguing that it becomes more dense and problematic by

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Conf. This comes as Augustine moves from a classical notion of disembodied ratio as beyond but conducive to human quests for
understanding (sol.) to a notion of ratio, now bound to the enigmatic depths of memoria, that courses with undercurrents of divine
love and human sin, of which ratio is often only dimly aware and over which it has limited power (Conf.). In this latter context,
Wetzel argues that illumination is tied more to love than reason (ratio) and that Augustine’s anthropology is now one of an aporetic
self. This underscores the point that Augustine’s call for illumination in Conf. 10.23.33 is bound up not only (or even foremost) with
knowledge but also with volitional, appetitive, and ultimately soteriological issues. Wetzel, “The End of the Soliloquy: Towards a
Later Augustine, ” in Tolle Lege: Essays on Augustine and on Medieval Philosophy in Honor of Roland J. Teske, SJ, ed. Richard C.
Taylor, David Twetten, and Michael Wreen (Milwaukee, WI: Marquette University Press, 2011), 231–251.

(42.) Trin. 4.20.27.

(43.) Trin. 7.3.5.

(44.) Meconi, “St. Augustine’s Early Theory of Participation,” 85.

(45.) David Meconi, “Becoming One Christ: The Dynamics of Augustinian Deification,” in Tolle Lege: Essays on Augustine and on
Medieval Philosophy in Honor of Roland J. Teske, SJ, ed. Richard C. Taylor, David Twetten, and Michael Wreen (Milwaukee, WI:
Marquette University Press, 2011), 157–158 . Meconi charts each of the eighteen references, dividing them into
three categories: philosophical, textual, and explicitly Christian.

(46.) Vladimir Lossky, “Redemption and Deification,” In the Image and Likeness of God (Crestwook, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary
Press, 1985), 99 . Christos Yannaras argues that Western theology develops a rationalistic methodology in its
understanding of the divine–human relation and lacks a conception of human participation in God. Christos Yannaras, “Orthodoxy
and the West,” Eastern Churches Review 3:3 (1971): 287 . Yannaras’s contention of Western rationalism and its
lack of a robust soteriology (deification) connects on a more general level to Zizioulas and Gunton’s argument that the rationalism in
Western (Augustinian) Trinitarianism also undermines a robust soteriology.

(47.) In his overview of Augustine’s concept of deification, Gerald Bonner argues that the differences between the Greek East and the
Latin West are overstated on this issue. Augustine may differ from the Greek fathers on issues such as predestination, but Augustine’s
model of deification has more similarities than differences with Greek thought. Gerald Bonner, “Augustine’s Concept of Deification,”
Journal of Theological Studies 37:2 (1986): 370.

(48.) For example, Augustine develops the idea of deification using the language of adoption and in phrases such as, “I say: you are
gods [ego dixi: dii estis]” (en. Ps. 49.2). A variety of scholars have argued that the idea of deification, if not always the terminology, is
fairly well established in Augustine. In addition to the works of Meconi and Bonner already cited, see Patricia Wilson­Kastner, “Grace
as Participation in the Divine Life in the Theology of Augustine of Hippo,” Augustinian Studies 7 (1976), 135–152
; Henry Chadwick, “Note sur la divinisation chez saint Augustin,” Revue des sciences religieuses 76:2 (2002):
246–248 ; A. Casiday, “St. Augustine on Deification: His Homily on Psalm 81,” Sobernost 23 (2001): 23–44.

(49.) Daniel Keating offers a good comparison between Augustine and Cyril of Alexandria on the topics of Christology, deification,
and the sacraments. Keating’s overall conclusion is that though they may employ different terminology at points the two thinkers are
conceptually very close in most areas, including Christology and deification. Keating, The Appropriation of Divine Life in Cyril of
Alexandria (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 231–251 . Norman Russell offers a succinct overview of
Augustine’s account of deification, noting that the concept appears more in Augustine than any other Latin father. Russell, The
Doctrine of Deification in the Greek Patristic Tradition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 329–332.

(50.) Augustine writes letter 10 to his sick friend Nebridius in 389–390 after his return to Africa from Italy. In it Augustine states he
must remain in Thagaste and cannot visit Nebridius in part because he wishes to remain among his Christian community to cultivate
a Christian otium (leisure) so he may be made like God—deificari enim utrisque in otio licebat. Père Georges Folliet argues that this
phrase can be traced back to Porphyry’s Sententiae ad intelligibilia ducentes and that Augustine was quoting from it. Folliet,
“Deificari in otio. Augustin, Epistula 10.2,” Recherches Augustiniennes 2 (1962): 225–236 . See also Bonner,
“Augustine’s Conception of Deification,” 372. There is of course a great deal of controversy surrounding which books of the Platonists

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Augustine knew and when. Norman Russell notes that Augustine may have encountered Porphyry’s Sententiae in Marius Victorinus’s
introduction to his Latin translation of the Enneads. Russell, Doctrine of Deification, 329.

(51.) Bonner, “Augustine’s Conception of Deification,” 371–372.

(52.) en. Ps. 49.2. “manifestum est ergo, quia homines dixit deos, ex gratia sua deificatos, non de substantia sua natos. ille enim
iustificat, qui per semetipsum non ex alio iustus est; et ille deificat, qui per seipsum non alterius participatione deus est. qui autem
iustificat, ipse deificat, quia iustificando, filios dei facit. dedit enim eis potestatem filios dei fieri. si filii dei facti sumus, et dii facti
sumus; sed hoc gratiae est adoptantis, non naturae generantis. unicus enim dei filius deus et cum patre unus deus, dominus et
saluator noster iesus christus, in principio uerbum et uerbum apud deum, uerbum deus. ceteri qui fiunt dii, gratia ipsius fiunt, non de
substantia eius nascuntur ut hoc sint quod ille, sed ut per beneficium perueniant ad eum, et sint coheredes christi…et in alio loco:
dilectissimi, filii dei sumus, et nondum apparuit quid erimus. ergo sumus in spe, nondum in re. scimus autem, inquit, quoniam cum
apparuerit, similes ei erimus, quoniam uidebimus eum sicuti est. unicus similis nascendo, nos similes uidendo. non enim ita similes
ut ille, qui hoc est quod ille a quo genitus est; nos enim similes, non aequales; ille quia aequalis, ideo similis. audiuimus qui sint dii
facti iustificati, quia filii dei dicuntur; et dii qui non sunt dii, quibus ille deus deorum terribilis est.”

(53.) Trin. 4.2.4.

(54.) en. Ps. 58.1.6; agon. 11.12.

(55.) Jo. ev. tr. 2.13.2, 2.15.2.

(56.) s. 192.1. “deos facturus qui homines erant, homo factus est qui deus erat.” We do not know fully the extent to which Augustine
was familiar with the Greek tradition. In 394–395 he requests Latin translations of Greek biblical commentaries from Jerome,
especially Origen (ep. 28.2), but the request goes unfulfilled, as Jerome has begun his critique of Origenism. Nevertheless,
Augustine’s summary statement on deification in s. 192 is close to that of Irenaeus and Athanasius. Irenaeus, Against Heresies 5,
preface; Athanasius, On the Incarnation of the Word, 54. Though differences remain on issues such as original sin and
predestination, this is another area where we find cracks in the nineteenth­ and twentieth­century tendency to read the Greek East
against the Latin West.

(57.) Jo. ev. tr. 2.15, 21.1, 22.1; en. Ps. 121.5; ep. 140.4.10.

(58.) en. Ps. 146.11.

(59.) Jo. ev. tr. 23.5.

(60.) c. Adim. 13.2.

(61.) s. 166.4; Trin. 14.12.15, 14.14.18.

(62.) nat. et gr. 33.37; s. 23B.2 (Dolbeau 6); ex. Gal. 30.6; Jo. ev. tr. 2.13; en. Ps. 94.6; s. 166.4.

(63.) Trin. 14.17.23–19.25.

(64.) See especially John Cavadini, who does an excellent job analyzing the (mis)handling of this issue in recent studies of
Augustine’s understanding of the “self.” John Cavadini, “The Darkest Enigma: Reconsidering the Self in Augustine’s Thought,”
Augustinian Studies 38:1 (2007): 119–132.

(65.) For example, in a recent paper delivered at Claremont School of Theology, Volker Drecoll notes that the concept of “person” is
noticeably absent from much of Trin. and suggests that Augustine may be trying to develop his Trinitarian thought without reliance
on this concept.

(66.) Augustine uses the term persona within an anthropological context, but often not how we would employ it today. For example,
in ep. 137 he uses it to describe the soul–body relation as an analogy to the God–human relation in the incarnation.

(67.) In his translation of Trin., Hill offers a good introductory schematization of where various terms fit within Augustine’s account

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of the person. See Augustine, The Trinity, 258–269.

(68.) Augustine denotes the difference between human and nonhuman life by describing the human soul as a rationalis anima and
animal life as an irrationalis anima (Gn. litt. 7.9.12–7.9.13) and so uses the same base concept (anima) to denote the rational and
irrational. He maintains, however, that they are ontologically distinct categories: rationalis anima is part of spiritual creation;
irrationalis anima is part of material creation.

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Image, Identity, and the Forming of the Augustinian Soul

Matthew Drever

Print publication date: 2013

Print ISBN­13: 9780199916337
Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2013
DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199916337.001.0001

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Sounding the Silence of the Deep

The Origin of the Person

Matthew Drever

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199916337.003.0002

Abstract and Keywords

This chapter focuses on Augustine’s exegesis of Genesis 1–2, particularly in his Literal Commentary on Genesis, as he grapples with
the question of the origin and identity of the human being. In developing this position, I address Platonist and Christian threads in
Augustine’s cosmology. Augustine anchors this account to his discussion of the creation of intelligence and matter and how they
come together in a psychosomatic unity of the human person. His appropriation of the Platonist theory of the rationes is important
because he uses it to help explicate the distinctive origins of matter (body) and intelligence (soul). Within the context of this theory,
Augustine uses the Genesis language of secundum similitudinem (according to likeness) and genus to describe the creation of both
matter and intelligence. But the distinct ways he applies this language to intelligence and matter leads to the soul’s unique nature as
the imago dei.

Keywords: Genesis, soul, image of God, rationes, creation, imitation, similitude, genus

1. Getting to the Essence of the Matter Then and Now

De Genesi ad litteram is Augustine’s longest commentary on Genesis, written over the course of about fifteen years. 1 It is also less of
an occasional piece than some of his other works, not directed against any particular group or controversy. Rather, Augustine takes
the opportunity to develop in detail his interpretation of Genesis in relation to and against various positions: Manichaean, Platonist,

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and Greek and Latin Christian (Origen, Ambrose, Basil). Edmund Hill characterizes De Genesi ad litteram as a summa of
Augustine’s thoughts on the creation story in Genesis, 2 though one may be better served in thinking of it as a disciplined exercise in
speculative questioning where one can trace the development of basic concepts (e.g., anima, animus) that come to form the bedrock of
his anthropology in such late works as De Trinitate. For one who wants to consider Augustine’s anthropology, it is also a
commentary where one can follow detailed—at times meticulously so—studies of human nature that intersect theology, biblical
exegesis, and philosophy. But if Wilhelm Geerlings’s recent bibliography of contemporary secondary scholarship on Augustine is any
indication, there remains a paucity of scholarship on the theology that develops out of Augustine’s biblical exegesis, particularly on
De Genesi ad litteram. 3

This chapter seeks in part to redress this issue through an examination of Augustine’s exegesis of the origin of the soul in De Genesi
ad litteram and the basic questions of human identity associated with it. Looking forward to future chapters, one of the significant
issues we need to examine is the distinction Augustine finds in Genesis 1 between the way material creation is formed according to its
genus and the human soul to God (i.e., the imago dei). Augustine develops this distinction in conjunction with his attempt to

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explicate the Genesis creation narrative through a Platonist theory of (p.17) the rationes. So we will have to give some consideration
to how this theory functions in Augustine’s thought. Beyond this, there are two issues to keep in mind as we move forward. First, the
analysis will begin with an examination of Augustine’s account of the creation of Adam and will bracket his discussion of the
creation of post­Adamic humanity for a later section because of additional complications it introduces. This will still allow us to form
a picture of Augustine’s anthropology because he believes Adam to be a real—nonmetaphorical—figure. 4 For Augustine, Adam differs
from the rest of humanity in his orientation to sin and in the nature of his initial embodiment, which are significant differences but
are not crucial for my analysis at this point. 5 Second, the examination will begin with Augustine’s discussion of the first creation
narrative in Genesis 1:1–2:4a, which he argues narrates the simultaneous creation of all things. This is important to bear in mind,
particularly when we come to issues surrounding the priority of the intellectual over the material creation. The priority of intellectual
creation does not mean it comes first in temporal sequence, as if the soul exists as a ghostly entity prior to embodiment. The spheres
are distinct in that they derive from different substances—intellect and matter; however, they come into creation at the same moment,
and any priority afforded to intellectual creation must be one of dignity, causality, or the like.

The way Augustine draws on a theory of the rationes also raises a related question on the extent to which he works out of a Platonist
essentialist ontology. The Greek equivalent of rationes is logos, but Augustine’s sometimes loose rendering of rationes leads him to
equate it at times to forma–species, which are closer to the Greek idea. 6 Augustine’s use of rationes in this manner is indicative of his
tendency to refer to them as the “reasons” or “ideas” (essences) in the mind of God that govern the creation of all things. Though he
draws on such terms to bring conceptual clarity to the biblical creation narrative, Etienne Gilson argues that it also introduces a host
of problems associated with importing a Platonist essentialism into a biblical account of creation. 7 We will return to the question of
essentialism in Chapter 6, but here I want to speak briefly to the general issues Gilson raises. He argues that, though Augustine
remains orthodox in his account of creation, he encounters significant strains in his attempt to reconcile a Christian (existentialist)
account with a Platonist essentialist account. In the former model of creation, God creates ex nihilo through the free act of the Word,
and in this is the sole cause in moving things from nonexistence into existence. In the latter model God is the formal cause of creation
in retaining the forms (essences), but the demiurge is the efficient cause in acting (p.18) on eternal matter through the forms to move
things from an unformed to a formed state. Gilson acknowledges that formally Augustine retains a Christian model in arguing that
God alone is the sole source of creation and that creation is not the forming of preexistent matter from eternal essences (forms) but the
bringing of formed matter (beings) into existence according to God’s own plan. However, Gilson detects a latent Platonist
essentialism in a few crucial respects: Augustine’s tendency to reduce being (esse) to essence (essentia);8 the distinction he draws
between the creation and formation of creatures;9 and his characterization of unformed matter as a “nothing something” (nihil
aliquid) and “a thing that is nothing” (est non est). 10 Cumulatively, this leads to a portrait of creation in which beings exist more or
less depending on their place within the hierarchy—with matter at the lower end and spirit at the upper end—and their formation is
governed by their essence held within the divine essence. 11

Luigi Gioia offers a good critique of Gilson that is worth briefly sketching. 12 Gioia argues that, though Augustine’s account of creation
sometimes draws on terminology that suggests a Platonist essentialism, he breaks with a Platonist model in crucial respects.
Foremost, Gioia points out that Augustine refers the rationes primordiales, or eternal forms, through which beings are created not to
static, impersonal essences but to the creative act of the Word. 13 In this, Augustine reads rationes (and forma) through verbum and
interprets the creation and formation of the creature as its response to God’s call. 14 The biblical language Augustine draws on to
characterize this call–response model (e.g., light, life, love, goodness, wisdom) leads to an account of beings who are created and
formed according to the love, goodness, and wisdom of God and called to participate in the divine life not simply in virtue of their

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existence (or place within the created hierarchy) but also in being the subject of Trinitarian creative and redemptive action. 15 On this
model, moreover, Gioia argues that being becomes defined through Trinitarian life as dynamic, eternal relation and not as static,
immutable essence. 16 The persons of the Trinity exist in an eternal, immutable loving relation, and creatures are called into being to
participate in this according to their capacity. The nature of Trinitarian relation, furthermore, breaks with a basic model of Platonist
essentialism in which an image is always inferior to the essence in which it participates. The Son is the perfect image of the Father
and is the one through whom beings are created and formed. This opens a dynamic of participation for beings within the Trinitarian
life that is governed by the creative and soteriological work of the Trinity rather than by a Platonist hierarchy of essence. 17

(p.19) In light of these and the wider issues in the coming chapters, a few points should be considered as we move forward. If
distance and difference between God and creation conforms more closely to Augustine’s Trinitarianism and his accompanying claims
on creation and salvation than to Platonist essentialism, we will need to examine in greater detail the way Augustine conceives the
relative intimacy and immediacy creatures enjoy with God and its anthropological ramifications. In moving through these issues, the
point is not to deny that Augustine draws on Platonist concepts in his handling of issues such as likeness and image. Indeed, there
are striking parallels for example with the way Plotinus draws on the notion of image to treat the return and immediacy of the creature
to God. Rather, the point is to examine further the implications of Augustine’s rendering of the rationes primordiales within an
account of creation through the Word and the way he interweaves this with the incarnation of the Word in Christ. Far from falling
back onto an essentialist model in which God is only the formal cause of a creation that exists in relative degrees as it participates in
immutable essences, Augustine develops the dynamics of creaturely existence and its relation with the divine between the poles of
creation and salvation: creatures exist through the direct work of the Word in loving relation with God; and it is this very Word that,
incarnate in Christ, reestablishes the proper and final formation of creatures. In developing Augustine’s account of the person within
these parameters, this chapter also navigates between, and sometimes stands against, other contemporary interpretations of
Augustine’s anthropology. One of the aims here is to help repair some of the bad press Augustine’s anthropology has received in the
twentieth century. Various contemporary commentators have attempted to trace what they consider to be the ills of modernity back, at
least in part, to Augustine. Whether modernity in fact requires the aid of such postmodern doctors, 18 this chapter will begin to
confront a couple of charges: that Augustine fathers in the supposed autonomous rationality of modernist anthropology; and that he
helps usher the apparent oppositional and essentialist dualisms of Greek philosophy into the Western (Latin) tradition (e.g., mind–
body, God–world). 19

2. The Theory of the Rationes

Augustine’s anthropology works from a basic commitment on the psychosomatic unity of the human person. Nevertheless, he weights
his discussions on the origin of human identity and its abiding continuity toward (p.20) the spiritual, rational, and volitional
dimensions of the soul. Accordingly, we will begin with Augustine’s account of the soul and with the way he employs a theory of the
rationes to help anchor this account. The theory of the rationes has a long history before Augustine, both in Greek philosophy and
the Eastern Church. 20 The origin of the concept of the rationes seminales in Greek philosophy can be traced back to the ancient Greek
physicists and their interest in deriving a cosmology from various natural elements. Empedocles incorporates into his account of the
origin of the cosmos the idea of germinal development in terms of the four elements of earth, air, fire, and water. Anaxagoras argues
that there are an infinite number of prime substances. He calls these substances “seeds” and argues that their movement and
organization is determined by nous—a rational essence. Democritus, the famous atomist, argues that the basic particles (atoms) of
the cosmos move, combine, and organize themselves according to reason. Closer to the time and thought of Augustine, the Stoics and
Plotinus develop more sophisticated theories of the rationes seminales, though within different metaphysical systems. Among the
early church Fathers the concept of the rationes seminales in Latin and the logos in Greek is used in a wide variety of contexts. Justin
the Martyr uses the notion of the logos within an apologetic context to address the problem of the universality of salvation through the
historical person of Christ. Tertullian draws on the rationes seminales within an ethical context to argue for a natural set of virtues
given to all people by God. Basil and Gregory of Nyssa utilize concepts analogous to the rationes seminales in a cosmological context
to help frame conceptually the Mosaic account of creation. It is this final use of the theory that Augustine inherits. Though we do not
know whether he derived his conception of the rationes seminales directly from its respective sources within the Greek Church and
Greek philosophy, he is drawing on this tradition in at least an indirect manner, perhaps through Ambrose.

The lineage behind Augustine’s use of the rationes is evident in De Genesi ad litteram. He turns to the theory to help reconcile the two
creation narratives of Genesis 1:1–2:4a and 2:4b–2:25. Though not a modern biblical exegete, Augustine is aware of and sensitive to
the discrepancies. In particular Genesis 2:1—“thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all in their multitude”—presents a key
problem for Augustine. How could God complete creation in 2:1 and then continue it in 2:4b? What is God creating in the second
narrative if he finished creation at the end of the first narrative? Augustine’s solution is that the first creation narrative is the

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narration of the simultaneous creation of all things and the second is (p.21) the narration of the temporal and historical creation of
things. 21 Augustine employs the theory of the rationes to help make sense of this claim, using it to characterize how things exist in
the first creation. In the simultaneous creation some things are created in their own form or rationes (intellectual creation) and some
(material creation) according to the form of the rationes seminales. The creation narrative that begins in Genesis 2:4b then describes
the way material creation comes into existence in time.

Augustine uses the rationes in this manner to distinguish the elements of creation and to connect them to a tiered causal system.
Though this system is sometimes more implicit than explicit, we can nevertheless identify three causal levels or types. 22 At the level of
eternal cause, all creation exists in God as the rationes primordiales, or what Augustine also calls in this context the rationes
incommutabiles in Verbo Dei. 23 The rationes primordiales describe the ordering principles for all creation held eternally in the Son.
This level of causation is distinct from, and governs, the primordial (atemporal) causation by which God creates all things in a
complete and simultaneous manner in the first creation narrative of Genesis 1. Augustine distinguishes two types of causation at this
lower level: the rationes seminales, which govern the order of material creation; and a different set of rationes, which govern the
order of intellectual creation. In this manner, Augustine is able to trace the causal origin of both material and intellectual creation to a
distinct type of rationes and to connect both spheres to the creative act of the Son. The different causal levels give way to distinctive
causal relations between God and material and spiritual creation. Both levels assume the mutable origin of creation and so work
within a type of potential–actual schema, but intellectual creation enjoys an intimacy and immediacy in its relation to God not found
in material creation. 24 Sometimes Augustine argues that the rationes seminales are themselves held within the intellectual rationes
in the simultaneous creation. 25 His point here is that the rationes seminales, while they govern the existence of material creation, are
not themselves material since they belong to the simultaneous creation. 26 Both the rationes seminales and the rationes primordiales
are in turn distinct from the material (temporal) causation by which God works in an ongoing manner in all creation, which occurs
either indirectly through the causal efficacy of the rationes seminales or directly through miracles. 27

3. Genesis, Genus, and the Imago Dei

Augustine draws on the theory of the rationes to help develop an account of the origin of the human being in Genesis 1. This
approach is on display in (p.22) the opening of De Genesi ad litteram, where Augustine claims that Genesis 1:1—“In the beginning
when God created the heavens and the earth”—indicates that creation is divided into an intellectual creation (“heavens”) and a
material creation (“earth”). The former includes all forms of created intellect: angels and the human soul. 28 The latter consists of the
material universe: the earth, plants, animals, and all other material objects including the human body. With this intellect–matter
schema before him, Augustine moves further into Genesis in search of a greater understanding of the origin of intelligence, matter,
and the human person. One of his favorite exegetical strategies is to identify underlying meanings in the text based on word choices
or phrase repetitions. Of interest to him in Genesis 1 is the repetition of a few phrases, which he argues provides the hermeneutical
key for deciphering different origins for intellectual and material creation. Augustine associates intellectual creation with the creation
of light in Genesis 1:3 and notes that its origin is unique within the overall creation narrative because only light comes into existence
immediately following the phrase et dixit Deus: Fiat (and God said: “Let it be made”). He interprets this to mean that the creation of
intellectual beings is an unmediated act: God creates intellectual beings in their actual existence without intermediate steps according
to the rationes primordiales held in the Son. 29 By contrast, the creation of material beings (e.g., plants, animals), whose description
occupies Genesis 1:6–25, occurs after three phrases: et dixit Deus: Fiat; et sic est factum (and thus it was made); and fecit Deus (God
made it). 30 Augustine interprets this to mean that the creation of material beings is a three­step process. From the rationes
primordiales held in the Son, God creates the rationes seminales, which themselves hold the principles and power from which flows
the actual creation of material things. 31

Within the formal order of creation, this model gives the human being an immediacy and intimacy between itself and God that does
not exist for other parts of material creation. God creates nonhuman material creatures indirectly through a universal principle (i.e.,
rationes seminales) external to, and independent of, the individual existence of the material thing. The intellectual creature, by
contrast, is created directly by God and experiences this creation as its own act of knowing. 32 This act is not an everyday type of
intellectual act in which an already existing creature thinks about something to come to an understanding of it. It is a knowing that is
coextensive with the forming of the creature’s existence. The potency of the intellectual creature and its capacity to be formed is then
intimately engaged with its responsiveness toward God’s creative act.

(p.23) The unique relation forged between God and intellectual creation carries over into Augustine’s discussion of the formation of
human identity. His judgments here again form around his exegetical strategy of tracing the Bible’s distinctive application of terms to
material creation and human beings. One term Augustine focuses on in particular is similitudo (likeness) and the manner of its
occurrence in the description of plants (1:11–12) and the human being (1:26). 33 Though not in the Vulgate, the phrase secundum
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similitudinem (according to likeness) appears in the account of the creation of plants found in Genesis 1:11–12 of Augustine’s Latin
version. 34 Augustine notes that it is conjoined to the phrase secundum genus (according to genus), a phrase he thinks indicates the
capacity in creatures to reproduce offspring of the same kind. 35 Augustine argues that the conjunction of these phrases means that the
likeness that orders the identity of plants is associated with their genus. After Genesis 1:11–12, the phrase secundum similitudinem
does not recur, though secundum genus is repeated following the creation of the animals. Augustine claims that secundum
similitudinem is implicitly understood in the creation of animals since every animal reproduces offspring of the same likeness. 36 In
Genesis 1:26 the creation of humans is also associated with the term similitudo, but now it is joined to ad imaginem (to the image)
rather than secundum genus. 37 Augustine wonders why secundum genus is not added to the verse and notes initially that genus is
unnecessary in the case of humans because only one individual is created (i.e., Adam). In the case of plants and animals multiple
kinds are created, and the genus of each kind of plant and animal demarcates it from the others. 38 It soon becomes clear, however,
that a more basic issue is at stake. The human person finds its likeness not in a distinct genus but in the image of God. For Augustine,
this represents an important shift in the creation narrative that points to the special relation between God and the soul. 39 By the time
of De Genesi ad litteram, Augustine has come to the understanding that image is a special category of likeness, designating a more
direct dependency of the creature on what it images. 40 Material creatures bear a general likeness to God on account of their
participation in the rationes seminales, but one that is not equal to the intimacy of the human imaging of God.

The direct nature of this relation between God and the human person leads Augustine to distinguish the way the basic identity of
humans and other material creatures is transmitted. The likeness of plants and animals is found in their genus and transmitted
through reproduction. Humans reproduce as well, but the distinctive nature of their identity (p.24) is not transmitted in this
manner. 41 The divine image is transmitted to succeeding generations of human beings not through an original seed (genus) in a
biological act but rather by the direct, spiritual act of God. The spiritual nature of this act lies in the twofold fact that the image is of
God (Spirit) and that the image is found in the mind and not the body. Though Augustine’s version of Genesis 1:26 uses the generic
homo as the locus of the imago dei and thus does not specify which dimension is the divine image, Augustine reads the verse through
Paul (Ephesians 4:23–24, Colossians 3:10), arguing that the image of God is found not in the body but rather in the soul or
illuminated mind. 42

As we move forward, allow me to highlight a couple contemporary implications of Augustine’s exegesis of the opening chapters of
Genesis that will come more into focus in the coming chapters. In Augustine’s reading of Genesis 1–2 we can already see glimpses of
an anthropology sought by scholars trying to develop post­Enlightenment anthropologies that move beyond conceptions of the
human person as an autonomous, rational agent. 43 For Augustine, the primordial identity of the soul is forged in its imaging of God.
The image of God is not some “thing,” part, or faculty imprinted onto an already existing soul; rather, it characterizes how the soul
forms its basic identity out of its existence. This identity is internal to the soul and not externally mediated as in the case of material
objects (i.e., via the rationes seminales). The soul exists in a type of reflective immediacy in which its identity is given to it from that
which the soul is not (i.e., God). This leads to the paradoxical conclusion that the soul becomes most itself when it is least its own.
This should raise skepticism toward claims that Augustine’s concept of the soul grounds the modern (Enlightenment) idea of the self
as an autonomous, rational agent. 44 For Augustine, human identity is not forged autos. As I am created according to the image of
another (God), so I am most myself not when I am myself (i.e., imaging creation) but when I am according to another (i.e., imaging
God). This idea of human identity formation has closer affinities with certain post­Enlightenment theories, such as Heideggerian
phenomenology, and their attempts to understand human nature not in terms of determinate structures grounded in universal
categories like being or genus but rather as a dynamic and malleable entity formed through relations that are always outside one’s
control. 45 In some respects Augustine is at the juncture of classical (substance) and postclassical metaphysics: he relies on categories
of substance (material–spiritual), but he begins to move beyond them in his anthropology.

(p.25) We will examine Augustine’s transgression of such categories further in Chapter 6. The categories themselves, however, have
interesting implications for the intersection between the distinctive stability the soul and material creation possess and the
epistemological models one might employ in exploring the identity of each. The identity of material objects derives from and is ordered
to the likeness of their genus, which is held within the rationes seminales. This means that material objects receive their likeness
from what belongs within the created intellectual order (i.e., the rationes seminales). This whole system provides a preestablished,
universal structure that governs the way all individual things in the material world come into existence. But the genus is external and
prior to the particular existence of each material object. The identity of material things—its likeness to its genus—is governed by a
potential–actual dynamic and oriented toward a universal structure (genus) that is distinct from the particular existence of the
individual creature. The benefit of this system, from an Augustinian standpoint, is that it gives a clear order and stability to material
creation and also suggests legitimacy for (scientific) models of creation whose explanatory theories rely on the terms of creation. 46

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The situation is different for the soul. In one sense the soul has an even more stable basis; it is ordered to the immutable God rather
than to any part of the mutable creation. But the soul’s identity is internally constituted through its own existence—its own thoughts,
will, and love—rather than externally determined by a universal structure (genus). At least for the historical life of the person, this
opens the door for sin to distort and destabilize human identity. The nature of the relation between the soul and God also resists
attempts at a full and final determination of human identity. This is because the soul receives its identity from the uncreated order
(i.e., God) and so at some basic level transcends finite explanations. This in turn offers another angle to understand Augustine’s
skepticism toward having a created principle, such as the rationes seminales, mediate in any causal sense between the creation of the
individual soul and the direct act of God. 47 In Augustine’s terminology, an image (as opposed to a likeness) requires a more direct
relation. While this leads to a distinction between humanity and the rest of material creation that will raise skepticism within
contemporary nondualistic models (e.g., feminist, ecological), it does give reason to question attempts to reduce the soul to any
explanatory structure or theory based on finite categories, lest we impute to the soul the way material objects receive their likeness.
The essential characteristic shared by all souls is their orientation toward what exceeds (p.26) an essential determination within
the created order (God) and thus a structuring that ultimately destructures finite determinations of the soul.

4. Postscript to Adam
We have been examining the distinctive status Augustine accords to the soul in his exegesis of the first creation narrative in Genesis.
When he turns to the question of how to reconcile the first and second creation narratives, this raises a new set of issues on the
formation and identity of the soul. Augustine’s decision to interpret the first creation narrative as the simultaneous creation of all
things is clear enough. But when he moves to ponder the place of the soul in the simultaneous creation things are far less clear.
Augustine acknowledges the viability of three theories on the origin of the soul: traducianism, creationism, and the rationes. He
thinks that each of them can account for the existence of the soul in the simultaneous creation, though he prefers the theory of the
rationes to describe the origin of Adam’s soul and creationism to account for the origin of post­Adamic souls. Augustine
acknowledges the validity of traducianism and in De Genesi ad litteram 10 surveys relevant biblical passages to determine whether it
or creationism is more credible for understanding the creation of post­Adamic souls. The analysis is problematic and ends with no
definitive judgment. 48 Augustine’s preferred position is creationism, though on final analysis traducianism appears to come out in a
stronger position. His problem with traducianism seems less exegetical than theological. It hinges on the latent materialism he
perceives in the theory. O’Connell summarizes well the enduring problem Augustine has with traducianism:

This single conviction, that spiritual reality truly exists and must be thought of in its proper, unsensual, and transphantasmal
terms, comes very close to Augustine’s way of defining himself as a thinker. It is reason enough, and more than enough, for his
ineradicable suspicion of a traducianism that defined itself in the very opposite terms, materialist, sensualist, phantasmal in
its way of thinking everything. 49

Accordingly, though Augustine acknowledges the viability of traducianism, it does not significantly factor into his account of the
origin of the soul. Far more important is his discussion of the rationes in conjunction with the origin of Adam’s soul and creationism
in conjunction with the origin of post­Adamic souls.

(p.27) Until the end of De Genesi ad litteram 7 Augustine’s analysis of the origin of the soul is heavily dependent on the language of
the rationes. At the end of book 7 and then in book 10, where Augustine considers the creation of post­Adamic souls (i.e., Eve), the
theory of the rationes fades from the discussion and seems to be replaced by, or merged into, a version of creationism. Augustine first
presents his model of creationism in an abbreviated and puzzling manner. It is given in an abrupt form in one short paragraph prior
to the conclusion of book 7 and then not developed further until book 10. 50 There is no conclusive explanation of why the theory of the
rationes is dropped from the discussion. It may be, as O’Connell suggests, for the twofold reason that Augustine becomes leery of
having the creation narratives hinge on a theory with little biblical grounding and that he figures out a way of merging a traditional
creationist account with his own theory of the rationes seminales. 51 It may also be that Augustine has a difficult time of integrating
the doctrine of the imago dei with the theory of the rationes. He may believe that creationism carries less metaphysical baggage and
so is easier to reconcile with the doctrine.

In his presentation of creationism in book 10, Augustine holds that it does not violate Genesis 2:1 (i.e., creation is complete) as long
as either God holds within him the ordering principle (ratio) for each individual soul or all post­Adamic souls are understood to be in
the same genus as Adam. 52 In the former case, nothing new is created since the ratio of every new soul is held eternally in God. In the
latter case, Augustine maintains that as long as new souls are of the same kind (genus) as Adam the creationist claim that each soul
is created ex nihilo at the time of its embodiment does not violate Genesis 2:1 since nothing new emerges at the level of genus. 53 As
puzzling as Augustine’s abrupt dropping of the theory of the rationes is, his transition into creationism is as problematic in its
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potential to conflict with his earlier claims on the distinct nature of the soul as secundum imaginem dei not secundum genus. Given
the importance of the issue under discussion, it is unlikely that Augustine is being careless with terminology. Creationism is
Augustine’s preferred position on the origin of the soul, but he finds it the most difficult of the three theories to reconcile with Genesis
2:1. 54 The claim that post­Adamic souls exist in the simultaneous creation within the genus of Adam’s soul is a crucial moment in
Augustine’s defense of the position.

It behooves us then to examine what it means for post­Adamic souls to exist in the genus of Adam. In part, Augustine’s shift in
language can be attributed to the change in context. We have seen that Augustine initially (p.28) attributes the limited application of
genus to the fact that the creation of Adam’s soul is singular in nature, whereas the creation of other material things involves a
multiplicity in kind. 55 The language of genus makes sense only within the latter context. In the discussion of the origin of post­
Adamic souls where the theory of the rationes fades, Augustine is left without a conceptual category to describe how souls exist in the
simultaneous creation. Within this context, the language of genus finds a new usefulness. This brings us to what I take to be
Augustine’s main point in denying the language of genus to Adam and applying it to those after Adam. If Adam and those after Adam
are of the same kind, they must share the same essential attributes, in particular the imago dei. Adam is created in the image of God,
so to be in the genus of Adam is to be ordered by the Word according to the image of God. In describing post­Adamic souls as in the
genus of Adam, Augustine is both proposing a solution to reconcile creationism with his interpretation of Genesis 2:1 and
emphasizing that like Adam all subsequent souls are created according to the image of God. 56

Several years latter Augustine indirectly clarifies the terms of this account in De Trinitate 13. 57 In the midst of exegeting passages like
Ephesians 4:5 where Paul speaks of believers of “one faith,” Augustine explains the difference between diversity in number and
singularity of genus. 58 He argues that phrases such as “one faith” mean that believers are one in kind (genus) rather than numerically
the same person. Believers remain separate, individual persons but share a unity in the kind (genus) of faith they have. Augustine
defines the unity of the genus in terms of similitudo: the likeness of their faith characterizes the unity of the genus. In much the same
way, Augustine argues the Apostles can be said to have “one soul” (Acts 4:32), not in terms of numerical identity—as if they share one
soul—but in terms of the likeness (similitudo) of their hearts (love) and minds (intellect).

Though one may not be able to take De Trinitate 13 as definitive for De Genesi ad litteram, a similar framework does appear to be
operative when Augustine casts all humans within the genus of Adam. Humans are united with Adam in the sense that they share the
same similitudo as Adam: they are all created according to the image of God. This allows Augustine to affirm a twofold claim that is at
the bedrock of his anthropology. First, all souls exist within the simultaneous creation within the genus of Adam. Second, all souls
are created in the image of God. In the earlier books of De Genesi ad litteram, Augustine is concerned with the origin (p.29) of
Adam’s soul within the overall context of material creation and uses the selective application of genus to distinguish human and
nonhuman creation. The language of genus is applied to all other material things (e.g., plants, animals) because there are multiple
species of each thing. Within this context, genus and rationes seminales become closely associated, with both terms designating
variously the classification categories or principles from which individual material things come into existence. 59 Augustine has the
same fundamental concern here as in the later books of De Genesi ad litteram, namely, to highlight and preserve the doctrine of the
imago dei. The exclusion of genus language with regard to the origin of Adam’s soul signals the unique nature of the human soul:
whereas other material things are made according to the likeness of their genus within the order of the rationes seminales, the
human soul is made according to the likeness (and image) of God.

The continuity of Augustine’s position can also be traced in his consistent claim that God directly creates Adam and post­Adamic
humanity. In his account of creationism Augustine subsumes the identity of the soul under a general, organizing principle (i.e.,
genus), but the nature of the principle grants no middle­term causal efficacy. That is, the genus that forms the identity of the soul does
not have any creative, formative power of its own as do the rationes seminales in the case of material things. This is because the
genus of Adam is the imago dei, and this directs all causal efficacy to God. It is true that in the case of the rationes Augustine
acknowledges the possibility of a middle­term causal efficacy when he speculates that the soul may be created potentially in a
preexistent spiritual matter and come into existence out of this matter. 60 This could grant the spiritual matter power in helping form
the origin of individual souls, though it must be stressed that overall Augustine remains highly skeptical of this position. His preferred
position is that God directly creates Adam’s soul actually and immediately like the angels and then hides it away until its
embodiment. 61 This brings the account close to that of how post­Adamic souls are created. It also signals more generally that
Augustine’s shifting use of the language of genus between the early and later books of De Genesi ad litteram does not represent a
major shift in his anthropology. In the early books, the close alliance between genus and rationes seminales, in conjunction with the
claim that Adam is not secundum genus, emphasizes that Adam is created outside the order of material creation (i.e., the rationes
seminales) according to an alternative order (i.e., the imago dei). In the later books, Augustine’s statement that post­Adamic souls
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may be in (p.30) the genus of Adam emphasizes the same point that all post­Adamic souls share the essential determining identity
of Adam, namely, that he is created in the image of God.

5. From Angels to Humans: The Priority of the Soul

The terminological difficulties encountered in Augustine’s account of the origin of souls in the first creation narrative portend
additional problems when he turns to the issue of the psychosomatic unity of the human person. Augustine’s two­substance account
of creation (intellect–matter) leads to a two­source anthropology with distinct spheres for the origin of the soul (intelligence) and the
body (matter). 62 The difficulties that arise around questions of soul–body dualism are not hard to ascertain. For example, how exactly
are the two sources brought together in the unity of the human person? Does this potentially open the way for the type of oppositional
dualism much criticized in contemporary thought? Augustine himself is aware of, and comments on, problems his model raises and at
various points offers some resources to address the tensions. 63 For the most part, however, he is content in De Genesi ad litteram to
leave the issue unresolved and retreat back to anthropological doctrines he considers more important and resolvable (e.g., the soul is
neither divine nor animal, the soul is in the divine image). 64

One resource Augustine offers to address the question of the psychosomatic unity of the person arises from the contrast he draws
between humans and angels. Puzzling over the repetition of the phrase “evening and morning” in Genesis 1, especially in its
occurrences prior to the creation of the heavenly bodies in Genesis 1:14, Augustine hypothesizes it may refer to a movement in the
intellect of the angels. 65 In their original creation Augustine maintains that angelic knowledge is mediated through their relation to
the Word. He speculates that “evening” could describe the movement of the angels from their contemplation of creation in the Word
(i.e., the rationes primordiales) to their contemplation of creation in themselves (i.e., the rationes seminales). Augustine thinks the
analogy of the waning of light is an appropriate characterization of this movement because it describes the move from the eternal and
uncreated to the temporal and created. This movement is not sinful as long as there is a return to God. Augustine postulates that
“morning” may describe this return as the turning of the angels from their contemplation of creation in the rationes seminales back to
a contemplation of the rationes primordiales in (p.31) the Word. He thinks the analogy of the waxing of light is an appropriate
characterization of this movement back to God because it is a move from lesser, created light to greater, eternal light. Augustine
characterizes the return of the angels as less epistemological than doxological. It is an act in which the angels give to God the praise
due the creator. 66

Augustine’s angelology may appear overly speculative, but the “evening–morning” creation of angelic intelligence stands as an
important contrast to the creation of human beings. The crux of the difference centers on human embodiment: humans first exist and
come to know themselves, their environment, and God through their bodies. This claim is part of Augustine’s commitment to the
psychosomatic unity of the human person, 67 a commitment that resonates widely in his anthropology: in his rejection of both the
preexistence of souls prior to embodiment and their transmigration after death;68 in his adherence to the bodily resurrection;69 and in
his more general claims on how human identity forms through embodiment. 70 It is worth noting, however, that Augustine’s
adherence to the psychosomatic unity of the person does not guarantee the preservation of the physical body in his system. “Body” is a
term that can be applied in both a physical and spiritual context. 71 But his commitment to some form of human embodiment does lead
him to conclude that human formation moves in the reverse direction of the angels: humans begin with a knowledge of the created
order and progress to a knowledge of God, while angels begin with a knowledge of God before coming to a knowledge of the created
order. 72

This reversal is significant because of the qualifications it requires to Augustine’s discussion of the soul’s participation in the
intellectual creation. The identity of angels is established in their original, immediate turning to God and is conditioned further by
their “evening–morning” movement. Here, the creation and conditioning of angelic identity runs parallel: both begin with, and end
in, the knowledge of God. In the case of humans, the situation is more complex. The soul is part of intellectual creation and so enjoys
a type of immediacy to God. But this immediacy is one Augustine anchors in the first creation narrative and so belongs to the
simultaneous creation of all things. In the historical order of creation—the second creation narrative—human existence and identity
is embodied. To harmonize these accounts, we might say that the immediacy of the soul to God is the formal (causal) order of its
creation, which is always conditioned through its embodied existence. This means the creation and conditioning of human identity—
the order of being and knowing—begins (p.32) at opposite ends of the spectrum: the soul is created in the image of God, but the
growth and development of the human being begins in material creation and moves toward God.

Thus, angels and human souls both belong to intellectual creation and have a primordial identity in a type of knowing oriented to
God. In each case this knowing is neither a static reflection nor an undifferentiated union with God. In the case of angels, their
knowing­as­existing is a type of primordial movement—“evening and morning”—that turns from God toward creation and then back
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again to God. This movement is not an ontological diminution of angelic intelligence. 73 It is a doxological movement of intellectual
creation, which is itself as it images (reflects) God and so must turn back to God in an act of praise. Yet it is also the movement of
intellectual creation, which exists in itself precisely in its difference from God, and thus exists as creature through its ability to bridge
without overcoming this difference in the act of praise. In the case of humans, the center of their identity may be the mind, but as
embodied intellect humans exist in a psychosomatic unity. It is an identity that, as the imago dei, reflects the immutability of God, but
it is a creaturely, mutable reflection of the divine. This means human identity is not a sure bet. Embodied, historical life matters to the
development of human identity. The possibilities of human identity formation (and deformation) opened through the malleable,
relational nature of human intelligence lend consequence to, and reverberate in, the way human beings relate to their world.

This process of identity formation means we must distinguish but not separate body and soul. The real identity of the person is found
in their unity, a fact that applies not only to the historical but also to the resurrected human being. Judgments about the separation
between the intellectual and material spheres in Augustine’s cosmology and about dualisms inherent in his larger theology (e.g.,
mind–body, spirit–matter) must consider his specific claims on the psychosomatic unity of the human being and his more general
conception of the relation between intellect and matter. The human person exists only in its embodiment. Material reality exists
through created intellectual principles (i.e., the rationes seminales). This should caution against deriving an oppositional dualism
from Augustine’s intellect–matter account of creation and importing it into his anthropology. This has been the trend in some recent
feminist and ecological scholarship. 74 It is true that Augustine does not advocate the type of psychosomatic unity often found in
contemporary movements. Such movements stress a spectrum of concerns that weigh toward the embodied nature of (p.33) the
human person: the political, social, and gender emphases of liberation theologies;75 the metaphysics of mind–body relations of
emergentist theories found in science and religion discussions;76 the linguistic emphases in literary and hermeneutical theories. 77
Though not as robust as some contemporary commitments to the embodied nature of the human person, Augustine articulates a
process of human identity formation that locates the unique nature of the human being in its intellectual and embodied nature. Out of
this nature, Augustine characterizes human identity formation according to a dynamic, relational process that opens to both divine
(spiritual) and sociohistorical (embodied) dimensions. 78 Augustine’s anthropology is a delicate dance that assiduously avoids
materialism but honors human embodiment as part of the human person’s unique status within God’s creation.

6. Formation, Conversion, and Imitation

The human person straddles the intellectual and material realms and is unique in having an identity forged through an embodied
intimacy with God. This intimacy leads into a related issue of the nature of human dependency on God, the dynamics of which
Augustine narrates by introducing into his account of creation a complicated overlay of soteriological themes. This issue helps
elucidate the nature of human formation, now wrapped into questions of its reformation, and Augustine’s account of the divine image.
I would like to examine this issue through three sets of questions. First, there is the exegetical question of how Augustine reads the
form (forma) God gives to intellectual creatures in terms of the language of conversion (conversio). The intimate responsiveness this
language suggests between God and the soul is in keeping with the relational nature of the divine image. But it raises a second,
theological question about how Augustine intertwines issues of creation and salvation when he glosses conversio with Pauline
soteriological language. It also opens onto a third question of the ramifications for understanding human sin that result from
bringing these contexts together in the way Augustine does. In particular, the way he interweaves claims on the deforming of the soul
into his discussion of the original forming of the divine image in the soul intimates a sin–grace dynamic, and a depth to sin, that
moves to the core of the human person.

In various contexts Augustine draws on the language of conversion and imitation to describe the immediate and responsive relation at
the core of (p.34) the divine image. His parsing of the concept “species” is one of the important contexts in which he employs such
language. The Platonist roots of Augustine’s analysis show themselves here. 79 O’Donnell points out that, from at least the time of
Cicero, Plato’s idea is translated into Latin as “species” in the singular and “forma” in the plural. 80 Augustine’s translation of the
terms reflects their Platonist heritage and follows the general Latin convention. 81 This is evidenced in the well­known passage in De
diversis quaestionibus 46 where he maintains that Plato’s idea is literally translated into Latin as either forma or species and less
literally but still permissibly as rationes. 82 As is often the case in Augustine’s terminology, there is latitude in his use of species. 83 In
some texts, species refers to the principle of differentiation and individuation through which a thing is formed. 84 At other points, he
uses the term to refer to the outward, physical characteristics that distinguish a thing. 85 Finally, species can denote the inward forma
of the thing that differentiates it from other forms of things. 86 The way species differentiates and individuates a thing functions in
distinct respects for intellectual and nonintellectual creation. Within the framework of the rationes sketched above, an individual
material object exists within the order of creation according to its genus. The genus is held as a universal category in the rationes
seminales and the object exists as a unique entity according to its species. The species gives the object its outward individual structure

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as well as its inward individual constitution. 87

Augustine draws on the same language of species–forma to account for the individuation of intellectual creatures but interprets this
language in a distinctive manner. In the case of human beings, he describes their formation (forma) in terms of their conversion to
and imitation of God. In doing so, Augustine becomes involved in a complicated hermeneutical exercise of reinterpreting the Platonic
Forms within categories he explicitly links to multiple dimensions of the Christian narrative—Trinity, creation, and salvation. One of
the ways this reinterpretation can be mapped is in the distinctive ways Augustine brings a cluster of nominal and verbal language
related to conversio to bear on his account of human creation and salvation. The closely related Latin compound verbs conversare
and convertere build off the simple verbs versare and vertere. Augustine uses the former, compound verbs and their nominal forms
interchangeably to indicate: a complete turning around; an intentional turning toward a specific direction or object; and a change or
transformation. 88 Likewise, he draws on the latter, simple verbs and their nominal forms to mean: turning, changing, and
movements in time. Augustine may well derive (p.35) his use of this language from Plotinus, especially when he draws on it to
describe the soul’s relation with God. Plotinus often describes the formation of creatures as a turning toward the One. 89 But Augustine
does not appear to be trying to import a technically precise philosophical idea from Neoplatonism. Within the Genesis commentaries I
have been examining, namely, Confessiones and De Genesi ad litteram, he employs conversare–convertere in a number of contexts
that draw on the range of meaning in the words that includes psychological and spiritual transformations as well as natural
movements and changes. For example, in Confessiones 4 Augustine states that he grasps the nature of his soul through a turn toward
(converti) his interior mind. 90 In Confessiones 6 he argues that the false doctrines of the Manichees turned (convertebar) him from
the truth of Christian doctrine. 91 In De Genesi ad litteram he uses conversare to describe the rotations (conversione) of the planets. 92
In other contexts the terms carry the connotation of a basic transformation in the nature of an object. For example, speculating on the
meaning of 2 Pt. 3:693— whereby the world that then was, being overflowed with water, perished—Augustine contends it indicates
that water destroys not only land but also air. The water of the flood overwhelms the sky, transforming (conversa) the air into
water. 94 Here conversa is used to indicate a basic transformation of one element into another—air into water. Further, in book 3 of
De Genesi ad litteram Augustine refers to the wider philosophical debate on whether elements can be turned (conversa) into other
elements. 95 He also uses conversa to denote the type of transformation demons might undergo—into air­like substances—as part of
the punishment for their rebellion. 96 Finally, Augustine draws on the term in De Genesi ad litteram 7 to deny that the body can be
transformed into a soul. 97 Bodies can undergo various changes (mutari) that do not alter their basic constitution, but they cannot be
transformed (converti) into souls.

Augustine’s use of conversare–convertere narrows when he applies it to the soul’s relation to God. Here he draws on two basic
connotations of the term: a full turning around; and a transforming into something else. Augustine employs these meanings to
describe both the soul’s movement from nothing (ex nihilo) to something in its creation and the soul’s movement from sin to justice in
its redemption. 98 This dual use of the terms requires some analysis, but a preliminary word of caution is in order. In this dual use
Augustine moves between ontological and soteriological contexts: from an account of the creative act of the Word that forms the soul
to the saving act of the Word incarnate in Christ that reforms the soul. For reasons we will see, it is important to hold onto both
accounts and (p.36) not reduce one to the other. As such, it would be erroneous to conflate the basic formation of the soul through
the Word with its reformation through Christ and thus potentially reduce Augustine’s account of creation to that of salvation.

Augustine’s association of conversare–convertere with both accounts can be found in De Genesi ad litteram. He opens book 1 with
the ontological claim that all things are created in a type of primordial turning to God: “it [creation] is by so turning [conversione],
you see, that it is formed [formatur] and perfected, while if it does not so turn [convertatur] it is formless, deformed [informis est].”99
Augustine interprets formatio in terms of conversio, reading the basic forming of creation as its turning, or conversion, to God.
Further in De Genesi ad litteram 3 he reiterates the claim that the formation of creatures is a kind of turning (conversion), now
specifying it in the case of intellectual creation:

But that very light [intellectual creation] was being made first, in which knowledge would be made of the Word of God by
whom it was being created; and this knowledge would itself be the light’s conversion [converti] from its formlessness [ab
informitate] to the God forming it [ad formantem Deum], would be its being created and formed [formari]. 100

Intellectual beings (i.e., angels, the human soul) are created in a primordial act of knowing that involves the turning (converting) of
the creature toward God from a state of formlessness. Augustine reads formatio in terms of convertere and juxtaposes it to informatio
to describe the nothing–something (formless–form) dynamic at the root of the creature’s existence. In the following paragraph,
Augustine connects the primordial “recognition” through which the human soul is created to a Pauline sin–grace dynamic:

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Just as after man’s fall into sin he is being renewed in the recognition of God [in agnitione Dei] according to the image of him
who created him (Col. 3:10), so too it was in that recognition that he was created, before he grew old in crime, so that he might
again be renewed, rejuvenated, in the same recognition. 101

The intellectual nature that grounds the soul’s creation is implicated in the sin–grace dynamic of human redemption. In Chapter 6 I
will have (p.37) more to say on how Augustine’s use of Colossians 3:10 figures into his interpretation of the deformation and
reformation of the imago dei in De Trinitate. Here I would call attention to one of the important consequences of this use, namely,
that it moves the problem of sin to the depths of the soul. This underscores that Augustine’s reading of formatio in terms of
conversare–convertere is not simply an alternate way of describing the type of turning to God that forms human existence. 102
Conversare–convertere draw soteriological consequence into the basic nature that grounds the existence of intellectual creatures.

Augustine’s move to read formatio in terms of conversare–convertere and to give it soteriological depth is not unique to De Genesi ad
litteram. Already in De vera religione, a work written in 391, Augustine interweaves a soteriological and ontological interpretation of
creatio ex nihilo reminiscent of De Genesi ad litteram. He argues that all things are dependent on God for their existence, deriving
their form from the God who contains the perfect forms. 103 This existence is not morally neutral, but rather is necessarily good
insofar as it derives from God’s creative act and is ordered to God’s law. 104 A creature that rebels against God’s law also rebels against
the order and form that keeps the creature from falling back into the nothingness of its origin. 105 This deformation is both a slide into
sin and a movement toward annihilation. To overcome these problems, sinful creatures must be reformed by the divine Wisdom,
through which they were first formed, in the power of the Spirit. 106 Here Augustine echoes in more general language the claim of De
Genesi ad litteram 3.20.32 on the close relation between the formation and reformation of creatures through the work of the Son
(Wisdom). In this, he also links human creation–recreation to the nothingness at the root of creation and sin and to the Trinitarian
context (i.e., the work of Son and Spirit) through which God acts. The point is that formatio is being read in multiple contexts—
soteriological and ontological—and connected with the formation and reformation of the creature.

Beyond this, one might also note O’Donnell’s point that in his parsing of Plato’s Forms in the language of species–forma Augustine
comes to locate the antithesis of form in corruptio. 107 He appears to have held this view at least since 396–398 when in De diversis
quaestionibus VII ad Simplicianum 1.2.18 he identifies the disorder (inordinatio) that threatens God’s ordering (ordo) of creation
with sin (peccantum). 108 Augustine carries forward the idea that corruptio poses a threat to formatio in a variety of contexts. For
example, it is implicit in the background of (p.38) Confessiones 4 when Augustine appeals to God to turn (converte) humans toward
God. 109 The soul that turns itself (verterit) away from God finds only sorrow as it becomes caught in the transience and mutability of
creation, which is nothing (nulla) without God’s power and presence. Augustine’s point is not to reject the physical world—as if
physical reality necessarily leads to sorrow—but rather to emphasize the twofold dependency of humans on God for both their
existence (creation) and happiness (salvation). The deformation that occurs when humans turn from God corrupts this twofold
dependency—the forming and reforming of the human person. In Confessiones 13 Augustine again explicates the turning of creation
to God as both an ontological and soteriological act—as the formation of its being and its restitution from its sinful corruption. In a
manner that echoes De Genesi ad litteram, he connects the turning of the soul to God through Christ with God’s creation of the soul
through the Word. In Confessiones 13.1.1, Augustine writes of his conversion to God through the calling of the Word: “With
mounting frequency by voices of many kinds you put pressure on me, so that from far off I heard and was converted [converterer] and
called upon you as you were calling to me.”110 In Confessiones 13.2.3, he expands the context of the turning of the creature to its
ontological formation at its creation: “What claim upon you had the inchoate spiritual creation even to be merely in a dark fluid state
like the ocean abyss? It would have been dissimilar to you unless by your Word it had been converted [converteretur] to the same
Word by whom it was made.”111 He then follows this account with one that brings together the ontological and soteriological
connotations of the turning of the creature to God: “But it is good for it always to cleave [haerere] to you lest, by turning away [aversi]
from you and by slipping back into a life like the dark abyss, it lose the light it obtained by turning to you [conversione]. For we also,
we are a spiritual creation in our souls, and have turned away [aversi] from you our light.”112

The language of turning toward God, and the soteriological and ontological connotations it carries, is evocative for Augustine in part
because of how it plays into the definitions of “image” and “likeness” that come out of his reading of Genesis 1:26–27. Augustine’s
definitions of imago and similitudo in De Trinitate are worth examining at this point because they offer a good example of his
interpretation of these terms. 113 The Latin similitudo carries the connotations of likeness, resemblance, imitation, and analogy. 114 In
interpreting the meaning of similitudo in Genesis 1:26, Augustine appears to be reading the term within its common range of (p.39)
meaning. 115 The Latin imago is closely related. It can mean a statue, picture, or mask. 116 Imago can also indicate a likeness or
reflection of a thing contained in one’s thoughts, as in a mental picture or idea. Augustine’s use of imago in his middle and later
writings, such as in De Genesi ad litteram, is closer to the second meaning of the word. He interprets imago along the lines of
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reflection: the image of a thing in a mirror or on the surface of a pond. 117 As I have noted, he reads imago as a special case of
similitudo, arguing that imago requires a more immediate and dependent relation between object and image. In reading imago in this
way, Augustine also imports the meaning of similitudo into his definition of imago. For example, he argues that we image God when
we imitate the Son, 118 that the image is a kind of resemblance to God deformed by sin and reformed by Christ, 119 and most famously
that the image of the Trinitarian God in our soul gives us a likeness to the divine Trinity. This moves Augustine’s interpretation of
imago toward the idea of image as a reflection or resemblance of a thing, which is reinforced by his reading of imago within the
context of 2 Corinthians 3:18 and 1 Corinthians 13:12. 120 Augustine argues the Pauline use of speculantes in 2 Corinthians 3:18
means “mirror,” and his reference to imago indicates the image of God in the soul. 121 The image of God reflects, or mirrors, God.
Augustine connects this to speculum in 1 Corinthians 13:12122 and argues that the difficulty of seeing God to which the verse refers
means that now we see God reflected only dimly through the divine image in the soul.

The language of imago interpreted as an image in a mirror or on a surface is language of accompaniment. An image in a mirror is
forged in relation not isolation, when the object is before the mirror and not when it is absent from it. We image (mirror) the divine
when we turn toward and face God. 123 Augustine’s use of conversare–convertere in describing the primordial formation of the soul is
indicative of his interpretation of the imago dei. Such language can also be read as indicative of an action of accompaniment. The
turning (vertere) of the soul to God is, so to speak, a con­vertere: a turning­with where the soul turns with and through its relation to
God. In this way, formatio as con­vertere signals a fundamental fact about creation itself. Creation is not the self­formation of an
autonomous entity; it is not vertere. Creation is primordially relational; it is con­vertere. Admittedly, Augustine does not draw on
conversare–convertere in precisely this manner. 124 But it is hinted at in his interpretation of the imago dei as well as in the way he
describes the creation and formation of the soul within a Trinitarian context. Evoking the wider sense (p.40) of similitudo,
Augustine relates the formation of the divine image in the soul to our imitation of the Son in De Trinitate 7:

Let us copy the example of this divine image, the Son, and not draw away from God. For we too are the image of God, though
not the equal one like him; we are made by the Father through the Son, not born of the Father like that image. 125

Augustine’s claim that we image the Trinity when we imitate the Son draws the formation of the imago dei explicitly into the
Trinitarian context he establishes at the soul’s creation. 126 Augustine goes on to interpret the language of example referenced in the
previous quote through Philippians 2:6 and so within the soteriological and moral context of following the humble example of Christ
the suffering servant. Interestingly, however, in the previous passage Augustine first directs the language of example not toward
outward moral issues but toward the inner nature of the soul in his twofold claim that: it is the Son (not Christ) that we imitate
because the Son is the perfect image of the Father, and we are creatures who image the Trinity through the Trinitarian act of God. It
may be that here, as elsewhere, Augustine is interweaving ontological and soteriological claims in his discussion of the formation
and reformation of the soul. Christ provides a model for the moral reform of the outward person, but the Son in his relation to (image
of) the Father provides a model to understand how the soul images the Trinity. The creation of the person by the Father through the
Son underscores that human existence itself is fashioned through the Trinitarian act of God. Being formed to God is closely related to
being reformed through Christ, but formation is also about the person’s creation by the Trinitarian God. The turning of the soul to God
is relational then not only because of the dependence of the creature on God but also because of the Trinitarian nature of God and the
relational (imaging) type of existence conferred on the creature through the creative act of the Trinity. The imago dei is a being­with, a
being­toward, a being always accompanied by another. 127

7. Augustinian Orthodoxy, Radical or Otherwise

A recent debate in Augustinian scholarship touches on the issues we have been discussing and in particular on the extent to which
the topic of salvation can be read into Augustine’s account of creation. The debate (p.41) surrounds Michael Hanby’s recent
articulation of a Radical Orthodoxy read of Augustine’s Trinitarianism. 128 The debate illustrates not only the caution that must be
exercised in interpreting the intertwined nature of Augustine’s account of creation and salvation but also the possibilities and strains
of an Augustinian response—in this case read through Radical Orthodoxy—to the perceived crises of modernity: atheism, dualism,
and skepticism. The details of Hanby’s complex project are beyond the scope of the analysis here, but one of the central elements of
the debate is his reading of the relation between creation and salvation. Drawing on a proto­Chalcedonian Christology, Hanby argues
that the divine–human union in Christ, which itself originates in the act (love) of the Trinitarian God, opens onto a participationist
ontology that provides the best model to explicate Augustine’s understanding of the God–world relation. 129 In this, the incarnation
and inner­Trinitarian relations open a reading in which the world participates in God without become subsumed into God. This
ontological model is then used to reinterpret other fundamental categories: being is described in terms of Trinitarian love rather than
unchanging (immutable) substance;130 freedom is defined through participation in God’s love rather than autonomy (separation)
from it;131 truth and salvation come through the incarnation.
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Johannes Brachtendorf and Maarten Wisse are critical of the way Hanby brings together creation and salvation in his Augustinian
account of the God–world relation. 132 They highlight various consequences of Hanby’s model they find objectionable: as truth is
interpreted through Christ alone, so there is a disciplinary breakdown between the domains of philosophy and theology;133 as being
(existence) finds its meaning in Trinitarian love, so there is a breakdown between nature and grace with a resulting single (i.e.,
universalist) economy of salvation;134 as freedom finds its fullness in divine relation, so a tension arises in delineating human nature
apart from redeemed nature. 135 The extent to which Hanby falls prey to such objections is difficult to assess, in part because he
embraces certain breakdowns that Brachtendorf and Wisse would reject (e.g., distinctions in the relation between philosophy and
theology, between freedom and the divine). 136 Assessing the debate is also difficult because Hanby is careful in the way he qualifies
other pairings (e.g., nature–grace) he wants to distinguish but not separate to the extent that has occurred within a modern, secular
context. In defending his model, one of Hanby’s basic points is that were the world’s integrity to be established in its independence
from God rather than in its participation in God, this would ground the world’s autonomy (p.42) in a type of indifference to, or
separation from, God. Perhaps it would be tantamount to a type of methodological atheism: in presupposing that the world’s
independence is constituted apart from God, one might argue the world can be understood apart from God—indeed, the world qua
world must be understood apart from God. 137 Hanby turns to the incarnation as the exemplar for the relation between God and
creation. The human person of Christ is most fully human in his union with the Son. Analogously, the world is most fully itself in its
participation in God. 138

The debate is interesting both for the questions it raises about appropriations of Augustine in a contemporary context and for the
range of consequences that follow were one to read Augustine in line with Radical Orthodoxy. 139 Examining this debate in light of
the issues raised in this chapter raises three points worth considering. First, Augustine’s distinction between the intellectual and
material spheres should be taken into account when interpreting his model of the God–world relation. Even if one does not go as far
as Brachtendorf, who argues that Hanby imports a (heterodox) Radical Orthodoxy participationist ontology into Augustine,
nevertheless Hanby universalizes the God–world relation from a Christological model in a way Augustine does not. 140 As we have
seen, humans are part of material creation but also unique in how they straddle the intellectual and material spheres. It would already
be suspect to universalize the God–world relation based on the God–human relation. However, Hanby goes one step further in
grounding his model not on human nature in general but on the unique instance of human nature united to the Son in Christ. Hanby
may have a theological point that a Christian understanding of human nature and the natural world ought to be oriented by the
incarnation, but this is more the project of Hanby than Augustine. 141 Whatever contemporary theology may think of Augustine’s
distinction between human beings and the natural world, it is a distinction he maintains and one that must be considered when
reconstructing an Augustinian model of the God–world relation.

Augustine’s cosmology and two­source anthropology, tension­laden as it may be, works from more diverse sources than his
Christology. One of the significant consequences of this is that it leads Augustine to distinguish the relative intimacy God has with
human and nonhuman creation. The material world is not directly united to God in the intimate, responsive way of intellectual
creation. A Christological model of the God–world relation does not sufficiently address this issue and its repercussions. Foremost,
Augustine’s use of a theory of the rationes leads him to establish a relative autonomy (or (p.43) causal efficacy) for the natural
world, one not found in his anthropology. The rationes seminales are dependent on God and imbue creation with divine purpose. But
as created purposes that have causal efficacy, they also endow material creation with some measure of integrity, order, and dynamism
not directly dependent on God. 142 Moreover, Augustine associates the dynamism of the rationes seminales principally with God’s
creative act. Augustine is consistent in attributing the creation of the material world to the Son and not to Christ, which again
highlights the problems with developing a model of creation—the God–world relation—out of Augustine’s doctrine of the
incarnation. 143 While Augustine soteriologically links the Son and Christ, he directs this discussion principally to issues of human
salvation and not to more general claims on the God–world relation. 144 This is due at least in part to the fact that some of his
strongest interweaving of soteriological and ontological claims comes out of his use of verses such as Colossians 3:9–10 that deal
with the formation and reformation of the divine image in the soul. Given the distinction Augustine comes to draw between the
likeness of God in the soul (i.e., the imago dei) and the more general likeness of God that all creation bears in virtue of being God’s
creation, one must be cautious in importing the ontological–soteriological dynamic that grounds the divine image into Augustine’s
wider doctrine of creation. This is not to say, of course, that the rest of material creation falls outside the parameters of salvation. But
it is to underscore that the language of continuity between ontology (creation) and soteriology is most pronounced in his
anthropology and in his characterization of the unique identity of humans as the divine image. If this continuity is taken as symbolic
of the wider God–world relation it obscures the distinctions Augustine makes within material creation. This is just to say that the
divine–human relation in Christ does not establish the parameters of the rationes seminales, and I am not convinced that on

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Augustinian grounds one can read them back from the incarnation as Hanby may be inclined to do.

The second issue coming out of the debate, I would highlight, relates to the way Hanby brings together the topics of creation and
salvation. Brachtendorf takes issue with Hanby’s interpretation of the creation–conversion–formation triad in Augustine. 145 He
contends that Hanby fuses, and so conflates, the metaphysical and ethical connotations of the trio: the original turning (conversio)
of the soul to God in creation is brought together with the return of the soul to God through Christ. In this, the creation of the soul is
read as itself a process of sanctification. Brachtendorf argues, and here Wisse joins him, that the result is that Hanby leaves no
(metaphysical) space for the sinful soul to exist apart (p.44) from, or outside of, God. Sanctification becomes constitutive to
existence, and Christ’s work is reduced to mere manifestation: showing humans what was always already the case (i.e., that in
existing they are already reconciled to God). Here Brachtendorf and Wisse do not seem to acknowledge fully the nuances of Hanby’s
argument or the way Augustine intertwines ontological and soteriological claims in his discussion of creation–conversion–
formation. Hanby rejects the claim that Christ’s work is reduced to manifestation, at least insofar as this is read simply as an
epistemic act—moving the soul from ignorance to knowledge of its participation in God. He emphasizes that manifestation (coming to
know Christ) also involves the reorientation of love. Salvation is not just about coming to know but also about fundamental
transformations in human love. Considering that love is a foundational ontological principle for Hanby, such transformation
involves a basic human reorientation.

The extent to which Hanby’s participationist ontology can make sense of this transformation and allow for the gap between the fallen
and redeemed soul is a different matter. It is also an open question, and the third issue that needs to be examined, of whether such an
ontology is consistent with Augustine’s doctrine of creation. A broader discussion of this issue must be deferred until Chapter 3, where
Augustine’s understanding of creatio ex nihilo will be examined. But two initial points can be offered here. Based on what we have
seen in this chapter, Hanby is right that Augustine’s account of the soul draws together ontology and soteriology. Augustine’s Pauline
gloss of the Genesis creation account leads him to move fluidly between the Son’s creative forming of the soul and Christ’s
soteriological reforming of the soul. 146 Hanby is also right that the constitution of human existence as such cannot be separated
sharply from the responsive dynamic—turning, calling of God to the soul—that characterizes the soul’s return through Christ. 147 This
having been said, I am not certain Hanby fully acknowledges the claim of otherness—the ontological break—and the accompanying
notion of relationality tied into Augustine’s reading of formatio and conversio. Hanby maintains that otherness is at the core of an
Augustinian anthropology, 148 but he does not acknowledge fully that it is one that pulses with the dynamics of an origin not of God
(i.e., ex nihilo) yet oriented toward and fulfilled in God (i.e., imago dei). Created from nothing, the soul’s original act as it comes into
existence in imaging God is both its own­most act—what constitutes the soul’s singularity and identity—and the creative act of God. It
is a con­versio, a turning with in which the soul’s act is also given to it by another. Hanby suggests something of this, but it is
important to underscore that the conversio of creation (p.45) is first an ontological claim about what it means for humans to exist
as creatures according to the divine image and only second a soteriological claim that arises through Augustine’s Pauline gloss on
Genesis. 149

8. Conclusion
In Augustine’s reading of Genesis 1–2, the image of God is at the center of human identity. He draws on the language of similitudo to
describe the creation of body and soul, but precisely from the distinct ways this language applies to the soul emerges its unique status
as what is according to the image of God. In this way, Augustine’s anthropology avoids the specter of materialist reductionism—
epistemic or metaphysical. In forming its identity according to the image of God, explanations of the human person can never reduce
to any created (material, finite) structure or set of principles. The human orientation to God, who is the center of truth, goodness, and
beauty, also allows Augustine to advocate a dynamic, relational core to the human person that at the same time does not reduce to a
diffuse relativism or pluralism.

Though Augustine locates humanity’s relation to God at the center of its identity, his anthropology does not reduce to a narrowly
spiritualized view of the person. Nor does it conceive the soul (spirit) and body (matter) in oppositional categories as is sometimes
alleged. 150 Augustine’s anthropology is an orchestration of the spiritual and material. It attempts to offer an ever­elusive view of
humanity sought after in contemporary circles of a soul anchored to time and history but also free and rational. The soul has a
dynamic relationality that centers on God and radiates out into the world. In each case—with regard to God and the world—the
formative effect of these relations is mediated through the embodied nature of the person. Augustine here again moves carefully
between the extremes of physical reductionism and autonomous rationality. The soul is rational but also contingent and so inherently
relational. In this the soul is not a self­sustaining being indifferent to temporal, material experience, but neither does it reduce to such
experiences.

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The distinctive nature of the human being as embodied intellect beckons Augustine toward questions of how explanations of human
nature fit within examinations of the wider natural world. Nonhuman material things form their identity according to their likeness
(similitudo) to the rationes seminales. While spiritual in nature, the rationes seminales are also created, so the metaphysical and
epistemological principles of material (p.46) creation belong within the created order. Augustine is not proto­scientific in the sense
of contemporary empirical science, but there is justification within his system for an epistemic framework that describes and
understands the material world with a set of finite categories. Interestingly, on account of the spiritual nature of the rationes
seminales Augustine’s model would still resist the gravitational pull of materialism that sometimes accompanies contemporary
scientific empiricism. But his model could make sense of the explanatory power of finite categories to account for the material world.
To a limited extent this type of epistemic model would carry over into Augustine’s anthropology. The body is part of material creation
and so in theory subject to the framework of the rationes seminales. To the extent that the body is also constitutive to, even if not
principally responsible for, the formation of human identity, Augustine’s model may find some place for the explanatory power of
epistemic theories grounded in finite categories.

Of course, questions linger on the viability and coherence of Augustine’s read of Genesis 1 and 2 as simultaneous and historical
accounts of creation. With regard to his anthropology, one of the basic points of tension appears in his attempt to reconcile the
immediacy of the existence of Adam’s soul (i.e., as part of intellectual creation) and the mediated way Adam’s existence and identity
develops in his historical life. If the soul belongs to the intellectual creation and thus has its existence in a primordial knowing, and
this knowing reflects (on) God (i.e., the image of God), how exactly is this formed and deformed within bodily, historical existence?
This opens onto wider questions about Augustine’s account of nonhuman, material creation that emerge from the way he juxtaposes it
to the soul. Does Augustine distinguish the intellectual and material too sharply? Is the material world a stable order dictated by the
rationes seminales, or is it more like the dynamic, relational nature that characterizes human existence?

Such questions raise concerns about the internal coherency of Augustine’s two­source anthropology. They also flag potential
problems for the relevancy and applicability of Augustine’s model within a contemporary context. Concerns about Augustine’s
characterization of the material world and the human place therein stand behind some feminist and ecological critiques of Augustine.
Admittedly, the parameters he sometimes draws around the intellectual and material spheres invites the skepticism contemporary
thinkers often show toward metaphysical dichotomies. The way Augustine reads these spheres in relational and not (p.47)
oppositional terms should soften the criticism to some extent. There is a clear case to be made on Augustinian grounds that human
beings exist only in relation to their larger environment. This environment must be not only spiritual but also material if we are to
take seriously Augustine’s claims on the psychosomatic unity of the human being. Working at the junction of Augustine’s
Trinitarianism and contemporary ecology, Scott Dunham well illustrates the potential resources in Augustine’s account of God and
creation to address contemporary moral concerns on how human existence is anchored to the wider material world. Dunham
acknowledges that Augustine has a hierarchical view of the world, and one that has led to contemporary criticism. 151 But Dunham
argues that Augustine’s hierarchical view comes out of his views on Trinitarian relation. Augustine conceives the unity of the divine
Trinity as grounded principally in love, and, combined with his account of creation in terms of the modus–species–ordo triad, this
generates a view of the world’s hierarchy that is unified in God’s love and given moral and aesthetic value in God’s pronouncement
that all things are created good. 152 This then is a hierarchy whose diversity is constituted not in terms of power and domination over
nature, but one permeated with goodness and beauty that opens onto praise and delight in God. 153 Dunham also acknowledges that
Augustine accords the human being a special status based on the divine image and its rational capacity, but a status that conforms to
the larger pattern of creation. Dunham underscores this point by noting the way Augustine interprets God’s commandment for
humans to rule the earth (Genesis 1:26) through his reading of the divine image (Genesis 1:27). 154 Human dominion is modeled on
the way humans image God. Insofar as Augustine reads the divine image as the image of the Trinity, 155 human dominion is tied to
and ought to be modeled on our imaging of the Trinity, whose activity in the world is characterized by diffusive love, goodness, and
beauty. Related to this, Dunham notes Augustine’s Pauline gloss on Genesis 1:27 and how it draws a soteriological aspect into the
account. 156 As God works through Christ to reform the divine image, so our relation to the world ought also to open in a way that
reflects Christ’s saving grace. In all, this points to a model of the God–world and human–world relation far removed from notions of
arbitrary, repressive, and subjugating power and grounded instead in divine wisdom, goodness, and justice. 157

Notes:
(1.) Augustine began writing the commentary between 399 and 404, and it was finished around 415. The first nine books were
probably revised by around 410. Augustine then took about two years off, from 410 to 412, probably because of a variety of events that
demanded his attention: the fall of Rome, the beginning of the Pelagian controversy, and the Conference of Carthage (411). He
completed books 10 through 12 between 412 and 415. See Augustine, On Genesis, trans. Edmund Hill (New York: New City Press,

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2002), 164.

(2.) Augustine, On Genesis, 155–156.

(3.) Wilhelm Geerlings, Augustinus—Leben und Werk: Eine bibliographische Einführung (Paderborn: Ferdinand Schöningh, 2002),
141 . Geerlings cites only two recent works on Gn. litt., in contrast to the dozens on Augustine’s other major
texts. This is in line with Drobner’s survey of secondary scholarship on Augustine and his conclusion that the drift of Augustinian
scholarship remains centered on Conf. and civ. Dei, which vastly overshadows attention to his biblical commentaries. Hubertus R.
Drobner, “Studying Augustine: An overview of recent research,” Augustine and His Critics: Essays in Honour of Gerald Bonner, ed.
Robert Dodaro and George Lawless (New York: Routledge, 2000).

(4.) Gn. litt. 4.28.45, 6.7.12, 6.20.31–6.21.32, 8.1.1.

(5.) Gn. litt. 6.24.35–6.26.37.

(6.) div. qu. 46.2.

(7.) Etienne Gilson, The Christian Philosophy of Saint Augustine, trans. L. E. M. Lynch (New York: Octagon Books, 1983), 199–205.

(8.) Trin. 5.2.3,

(9.) Gn. litt. 1.1.2, 1.4.9.

(10.) Conf. 12.6.6.

(11.) Gilson, Christian Philosophy of Saint Augustine, 204–205. Gilson acknowledges that Augustine draws only a formal
distinction between creation and formation (formed and unformed matter) as it exists in the simultaneous creation of all things.
Within the temporal order things exist in the unity of form and matter. But Gilson contends that the distinction itself, and Augustine’s
move to distinguish matter within the simultaneous creation and characterize it as a nothing something, intimates a broader
conception of being that finds its reality in its varying participation in essence rather than directly and fully through its creation by
God.

(12.) For the critique in its entirety see Luigi Gioia, The Theological Epistemology of Augustine’s De Trinitate (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2008), 259–269.

(13.) Gioia, Theological Epistemology, 267.

(14.) Gn. litt. 1.4.9.

(15.) For example, see Gn. litt. 1.4.9–1.5.11. On this point see also Eugene TeSelle, Augustine the Theologian (New York: Herder and
Herder, 1970), 201–204.

(16.) Luigi Gioia, Theological Epistemology, 268.

(17.) Gn. litt. 1.4.9. Gioia, Theological Epistemology, 268–269; Andrew Louth, The Origins of the Christian Mystical Tradition: From
Plato tOxfordo Denys (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 142.

(18.) I readily acknowledge that both charges tend to be caricatures of modernity and Greek philosophy, respectively. My point is not
to endorse such critiques as much as show they fail to capture the complexity of Augustine’s thought and by implication to suggest the
often superficial nature of the charges themselves.

(19.) See Chapter 1.2 for further discussion of such criticisms.

(20.) For a detailed study of the rationes seminales in Augustine’s thought see Michael J. McKeough, The Meaning of the Rationes
Seminales in St. Augustine (Ph.D. diss., Washington, DC, Catholic University of America, 1926).

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(21.) Gn. litt. 5.1.1–5.5.16, 5.7.20, 6.1.1–6.5.8, 6.10.17–6.11.19.

(22.) Gn. litt. 5.5.12, 6.6.9–6.6.10, 6.10.17–6.11.19. Aquinas comments on the multiple levels of divine causation latent in
Augustine’s theory of the rationes in Summa Theologica Ia.115.2. See also Aquinas, Summa Theologica Ia.105.5; Summa Contra
Gentiles 3.94, 3.69, 3.70.8, 3.67.

(23.) Gn. litt. 1.9.17–1.8.20, 1.18.36, 3.12.18, 4.24.41–4.25.42, 5.12.28, 6.10.17.

(24.) This distinction is widespread in Gn. litt., books 1–6. See especially 3.12.18–3.12.20, 3.20.30–3.20.32, 4.35.56, 6.14.25.

(25.) Gn. litt. 1.9.17, 2.8.16–2.8.19, 3.20.31.

(26.) Augustine explicitly denies the corporeality of the rationes seminales in Gn. litt. 6.6.11: “subtrahuntur enim ei cuncta, quae
nouit, usque ad ipsam seminum corpulentiam.”

(27.) Gn. litt. 6.10.17.

(28.) For a similar claim on the intellectual, or spiritual, nature of the human soul see Conf. 13.2.3.

(29.) Gn. litt. 1.3.7–1.5.10, 1.9.15–1.10.20, 1.15.29, 1.17.32, 3.20.30–3.20.32.

(30.) Gn. litt. 2.8.16–2.8.19, 3.20.30–3.20.32.

(31.) There is an interesting scholarly debate on the type of potentiality Augustine locates in the rationes seminales. Is it purely
passive and so requires further divine action to bring things into existence, or has God endowed the rationes seminales themselves
with an active power to move things from potentiality into actuality? This question is asked in part to ascertain the “thickness”
Augustine perceives between God and the world. Does the world have a divinely endowed integrity of its own through which the
normal processes are conducted, or is the world ever in need of God’s direct action? Though Augustine would not formulate the
questions in precisely this manner, one can find evidence in his discussion of miracles in Gn. litt. and Trin. that the rationes
seminales are the source of both the form and power governing the way things come into existence. In Trin. Augustine argues that
magicians appear to perform miracles by manipulating the powers inherent in the material world that dictate the normal course of
events (Trin. 3.2.7–3.9.18). In reality, the action of a magician is no more a miracle than the action of a farmer who is able to “create”
crops from seeds. In both cases the actor is simply drawing out the potency and power latent in the object. Augustine reaches a similar
conclusion in Gn. litt. in the midst of addressing the relation between direct divine action and the rationes seminales (Gn. litt.
9.17.31–9.18.35). He argues that either nature may take its normal course of development through the rationes seminales or God may
intervene directly for some special purpose. See also McKeough, Meaning of the Rationes, 35–40.

(32.) Gn. litt. 3.20.31. Plotinus’s understanding of the existence of intellectual creatures is in the background here. For example, see
Enneads 5.1.

(33.) The Platonist subcurrent in Augustine’s interpretation of similitudo is clear at least within the general parameters of his use of
the term. See R. A. Markus, “Imago and similitudo in Augustine,” Revue des Études Augustiniennes 10 (1964): 131–132
; John Edward Sullivan, The Image of God: The Doctrine of St. Augustine and its Influence (Dubuque, IA:
Priory Press, 1963), 7–22.

(34.) Gn. litt. 2.12.25. Augustine’s Old Latin version of Genesis 1:11–13 is as follows: “et dixit deus: germinet terra herbam pabuli
ferentem semen secundum genus et secundum similitudinem et lignum fructiferum faciens fructum, cuius semen eius in ipso in
similitudinem suam super terram. et factum est sic. et eiecit terra herbam pabuli semen habentem secundum suum genus et secundum
similitudinem et lignum fructiferum faciens fructum, cuius semen eius in ipso secundum genus super terram. et uidit deus, quia bonum
est. et facta est uespera, et factum est mane dies tertius.”

(35.) Gn. litt. 3.12.18–3.12.20. Animals of each genus come from a common seed (semen), which has the power to transmit the
identity of the creature through succeeding generations.

(36.) Gn. litt. 3.12.19.

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(37.) Gn. litt. 3.12.20.

(38.) Gn. litt. 3.12.20.

(39.) Gn. litt. 3.19.29; Conf. 13.22.32.

(40.) Augustine comes to this position, which is distinct from that of the Greek tradition, fairly early. He formulates it explicitly in div.
qu. 74. See section 6 for further discussion. See also James J. O’Donnell, Confessions, Vol. III (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992), 395
; Markus, “Imago and similitudo,” 125–143.

(41.) Gn. litt. 3.12.20, 10.3.5.

(42.) Gn. litt. 3.20.30.

(43.) A sampling of the diverse ways Augustine has been integrated into such discussions includes Jean­Luc Marion, Au lieu de soi:
l’approche de saint Augustin (Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 2008) (phenomenology) ; Michael
Hanby, Augustine and Modernity (New York: Routledge, 2003) (Radical Orthodoxy) ; John D. Caputo and
Michael J. Scanlon, eds., Augustine and Postmodernism: Confessions and Circumfessions (Bloomington: Indiana University Press,
2005) (poststructuralism).

(44.) Charles Taylor, Sources of the Self: The Making of the Modern Identity (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1989), 127–
42.

(45.) These relations are conceived differently in this tradition: Heidegger’s being­with, Levinas’s face of the other, and Marion’s
being­given. For Heidegger, and the methodological atheism that frames his phenomenology, the world of the person does not
transcend the human world (of dasein). Eugene TeSelle points out that this leads to a basic difference between Heidegger and
Augustine. For Heidegger, the light that illuminates being comes from humans (dasein). For Augustine, the light that illuminates
being has a Trinitarian rather than anthropological source: it comes from God through the Son and is found in humans only insofar
as they reflect the Trinity as the divine image. TeSelle, Augustine the Theologian, 212. Beginning with Levinas, and continuing
through Marion, French phenomenology pushes against Heidegger’s methodological parameters to some extent, opening onto an
ethical (Levinas) and erotic (Marion) realm that transcends one’s personal subjectivity (e.g., Levinas’s face of the other) and hints at
a divine realm (e.g., Marion’s saturated phenomenon).

(46.) Gn. litt. 3.12.18–3.12.20, 6.14.25. See also Gilson, Christian Philosophy of Saint Augustine, 206–207.

(47.) Augustine entertains theories on how the soul might originate through an intermediate principle with its own causal efficacy,
such as an angelic act. But for the most part he rejects such theories in favor of a direct act of divine creation. Gn. litt. 10 is dedicated
to this issue, though he also addresses it in Gn. litt. 7.6.9–7.9.13, 7.22.32–7.28.42.

(48.) Gilson and O’Daly point out that the problems Augustine encounters are not straightforward exegetical issues since Scripture is
largely silent on the question of the origin of the soul. Rather, Augustine imports his problems into Genesis when he attempts to
synchronize a line of speculative philosophical inquiry on the soul’s origin with the Genesis creation narratives. See Gilson, Christian
Philosophy of Saint Augustine, 199; Gerald O’Daly, “Augustine on the Origin of Souls,” Platonismus und Christentum: Festschrift für
Heinrich Dörrie, ed. H. D. Blume and F. Mann (Münster: Aschendorff, 1983), 184.

(49.) Robert J. O’Connell, The Origin of the Soul in St. Augustine’s Later Works (New York: Fordham University Press, 1987), 239.

(50.) Gn. litt. 7.28.42, 10.3.5.

(51.) O’Connell, Origin of the Soul, 229, 230 n. 54, 241–245.

(52.) Gn. litt. 10.3.5.

(53.) Gn. litt. 7.28.42, 10.3.5.

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(54.) Gn. litt. 7.28.40.

(55.) Gn. litt. 3.12.20.

(56.) Gn. litt. 10.3.5.

(57.) A.­M. La Bonnardière dates Trin. 12.15.24–15.28.51 to between 419 or 420 and 425. Edmund Hill dates Gn. litt. 10–12 to
between 412 and 415. La Bonnardière, Recherches de chronologie augustinienne (Paris: Études Augustiniennes, 1965), 165–177
; Augustine, On Genesis, trans. Edmund Hill (New York: New City Press, 2002) 164–5.

(58.) Trin. 13.2.5.

(59.) Were one to distinguish genus and rationes seminales, something Augustine does not do, one might stipulate that genus is a
logical category (following Aristotle), whereas rationes seminales is a metaphysical category or principle.

(60.) Gn. litt. 7.27.39, 10.3.4. O’Connell’s controversial thesis that Augustine implicitly, and at times explicitly, relies on a theory of
the preexistence of souls is in part based on such passages. O’Connell, The Origin of the Soul. For an assessment of the debate
inspired by O’Connell see Ronnie Rombs, Saint Augustine and the Fall of the Soul: Beyond O’Connell and His Critics (Washington,
DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2006) .

(61.) Gn. litt. 7.5.7, 7.24.35.

(62.) Gn. litt. 6.10.17–6.18.29.

(63.) Gn. litt. 6.6.9, 6.9.15, 7.22.32–7.27.39.

(64.) Gn. litt. 7.28.43.

(65.) Gn. litt. 1.10.18; 4.21.38–4.35.56.

(66.) Gn. litt. 4.21.38–4.35.56.

(67.) Gn. litt. 2.8.16–2.8.19, 4.23.40–4.24.41, 4.32.49–4.32.50, 5.4.9–5.4.10.

(68.) Gn. litt. 7.9.12–7.12.18.

(69.) Gn. litt. 6.6.9, 6.9.15, 6.19.30–6.28.39; 9.3.6; civ. Dei 13.16–13.23, 22.14–22.21. For an excellent analysis of the importance of
material reality, and in particular the body and the bodily resurrection, see Margaret Miles, Augustine on the Body, American
Academy of Religion Dissertation Series #31 (Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1979).

(70.) Working from a basic Platonist epistemology modified by his model of the relation between faith and reason, Augustine argues
that human understanding progresses through empirical experience—knowledge of the created order—toward the vision of God. For
example, see Gn. litt. 4.32.49; Conf. 7.17.23; Trin. 11.1.1.

(71.) For example, see Augustine’s discussion in Gn. litt. 6.19.30–6.26.37 of the difference between Adam’s “animal” body and the
“spiritual” body humans will have at the resurrection. David Kelsey aptly points out that in classical formulations of the body,
Augustine’s included, “having a body is essential to human nature. Having a material body is not essential.” Kelsey, “Human Being,”
in Christian Theology: An Introduction to Its Traditions and Tasks, ed. Peter C. Hodgson and Robert H. King (Minneapolis: Fortress
Press, 1994), 172.

(72.) Gn. litt. 2.8.16–2.8.19, 4.23.40–4.24.41, 4.32.49–4.32.50.

(73.) Gn. litt. 4.24.41–4.25.42, 11.17.22–11.19.26; Conf. 12.9.9–12.12.15.

(74.) For example, see Catherine LaCugna, God for Us: The Trinity and Christian Life (San Francisco: Harper, 1973), 81–109
; Rosemary Radford Ruether, Gaia and God: An Ecofeminist Theology of Earth Healing (San Francisco: Harper

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Collins, 1992), 134–139, 184–188.

(75.) For example, see Sallie McFague, The Body of God: An Ecological Theology (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993), 99–129
; Gustavo Gutiérrez, A Theology of Liberation: History, Politics, and Salvation (New York: Orbis Books, 1973),
83–105 ; H. Paul Santmire, Nature Reborn: The Ecological and Cosmic Promise of Christian Theology
(Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2000), 45–73.

(76.) For example, see Arthur Peacocke, Theology for a Scientific Age: Being and Becoming—Natural, Divine, and Human
(Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993), 213–254 ; Philip Clayton, Mind and Emergence: From Quantum to
Consciousness (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006) .

(77.) Wittgenstein’s notion of language games is a good example of this. Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, trans.
G. E. M. Anscombe (Oxford: Blackwell Publishers, 1997), 5–22.

(78.) Chapter 4 returns to the issue of how embodiment shapes human identity.

(79.) Plato uses the concept of imitation in a variety of contexts: the visible world imitates the Forms (Timaeus 48e); human souls
develop their character by imitating behavior patterns (Republic 3.395c); the arts (e.g., poetry, music) imitate reality (the truth, the
good), often in a deficient manner (Republic 10.595–10.597; Laws 2.655d, 2.667d, 2.669b).

(80.) O’Donnell, Confessions Vol. II, 47.

(81.) In civ. Dei 8.6, Augustine acknowledges that the Platonists are right in their general theory of the Forms. For an introduction to
Augustine’s interpretation of the theory of Forms see Theodore Kondoleon, “Divine Exemplarism in Augustine,” Augustinian Studies 1
(1970): 181–195.

(82.) div. qu. 46.2.

(83.) W. Roche documents this issue within a wider discussion of Augustine’s well­known modus, species, ordo triad. W. Roche,
“Measure, Number, and Weight in St. Augustine,” New Scholasticism 15 (1941): 350–376.

(84.) Gn. litt. 2.12.25, 3.12.18, 4.1.1, 4.3.7, 4.32.49–4.34.53. See also C. P. Mayer, Die Zeichen in der geistigen Entwicklung und in
der Theologie Augustins. Die antimanichäische Epoche, Vol. 2 (Würzburg, 1974) 147 ; O’Donnell, Confessions
Vol. II, 47.

(85.) For example, see imm. an. 7; Trin. 4.16.21.

(86.) For example, see civ. Dei 8.6; nat. b. 41; vera rel. 7.13.

(87.) O’Donnell, Confessions Vol. II, 47.

(88.) Oxford Latin Dictionary, ed. P. G. W. Glare (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1983), 439–440.

(89.) Plotinus, Enneads, 1.6.8, 5.1.12, 5.8.11, 6.5.7, 6.9.7. For an overview of the philosophical sources underlying Augustine’s
conception of species–forma, see Aime Solignac, “Analyse et sources de la Question De Ideis,” Augustinus Magister I (Paris, 1954),
307–315 . Solignac speculates Augustine’s concept is dependent on Plotinus, Celsus, and Albinus.

(90.) Conf. 4.15.24.

(91.) Conf. 6.4.5.

(92.) Gn. litt. 1.19.39. See also Gn. litt. 2.10.23, 2.25.31.

(93.) Translation taken from the Vulgate.

(94.) Gn. litt. 3.2.2–3.

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(95.) Gn. litt. 3.3.4.

(96.) Gn. litt. 3.10.15.

(97.) Gn. litt. 7.12.19. See also Gn. litt. 9.3.6, 10.4.7.

(98.) There have been a number of studies on how Augustine reads formatio in terms of conversio and so how the language of
conversion functions in the context of his account of the creation and formation of the soul. See here Marie­Anne Vannier, “Creatio,”
“Conversio,” “Formatio” chez S. Augustin (Fribourg: Éditions Universitaires Fribourge Suisse, 1991) . For a
shorter examination that focuses on Augustine’s doctrine of creation, see N. Joseph Torchia, Creatio Ex Nihilo and the Theology of
St. Augustine: The Anti­Manichaean Polemic and Beyond (New York: Peter Lang, 1999), 104–111 . A more
general study of such language in patristic thought can be found in Gerhart B. Ladner, The Idea of Reform: Its Impact on Christian
Thought and Action in the Age of the Fathers (New York: Harper Torchbooks, 1967).

(99.) Gn. litt. 1.1.2: “an utriusque informis materia dicta est caelum et terra, spiritalis uidelicet uita, sicut esse potest in se, non
conuersa ad creatorem—tali enim conuersione formatur atque perficitur; si autem non conuertatur, informis est.” One might read
Augustine’s language of conversio here in terms of his modus, species, ordo triad. Augustine derives the triad, and various
permutations of it, from Wisdom 11:21 (mensura, numerus, pondus). Generally speaking, the terms have the following connotations:
modus denotes subsistence or mode of being; species denotes the outward or inward form of differentation; and ordo denotes the
perfecting dynamic that draws things to God. Roche, “Measure,” 350–376; O’Donnell, Confessions Vol. II, 46–51. Species and ordo
are addressed, directly and indirectly, in this section. Modus is indirectly addressed in the discussion of substantia in Chapter 3.4.

(100.) Gn. litt. 3.20.31: “sed ipsa primo creabatur lux, in qua fieret cognitio uerbi dei, per quod creabatur, atque ipsa cognitio illi esset
ab informitate sua conuerti ad formantem deum et creari atque formari.”

(101.) Gn. litt. 3.20.32: “sicut enim post lapsum peccati homo in agnitione dei renouatur secundum imaginem eius, qui creauit eum,
ita in ipsa agnitione creatus est, antequam delicto ueterasceret, unde rursus in eadem agnitione renouaretur.”

(102.) Torchia, Creatio Ex Nihilo, 107.

(103.) vera rel. 11.21.

(104.) O’Donnell notes that the modus–species–ordo triad becomes pronounced in Augustine’s writings in the late 390s. O’Donnell,
Confessions Vol. II, 46. Already here, however, we see Augustine associating God’s ordering of the person with the law (lex) and a
concord (concordia) and peace (pax) among its parts. Augustine will come to identify these elements with the ordo of God’s creation.
Maarten Wisse points out that Augustine’s concept of sin is influenced by accounts of the law in the Hebrew Scriptures and in Paul.
Sin is not equated with chaos or matter as in various forms of Platonism but with the transgression of divine law. In turn, this affects
Augustine’s account of redemption. I agree with this but add that Augustine is reading sin along both an annihilation—existence
continuum and a transgression—justice continuum. Maarten Wisse, “Was Augustine a Barthian? Radical Orthodoxy’s Reading of De
Trinitate,” Ars Disputandi 7 (2007), paras. 32–34.

(105.) vera rel. 11.22. Christian Schäfer points out that Augustine’s concept of evil must be interpreted against the background of his
modus–species–ordo triad lest it succumb to a kind of naturalistic fallacy where evil is equated with any natural “corruption” (e.g., a
sunburn on the skin) rather than with a corruption of God’s design (law) for creation. Schäfer, “Augustine on Mode, Form, and
Natural Order,” Augustinian Studies 31:1 (2000): 59–77.

(106.) vera rel. 12.24.

(107.) O’Donnell, Confessions Vol. II, 47. See also Olivier du Roy, L’ Intelligence de la foi en la Trinitaté selon saint Augustin: Genèse
de sa théologie trinitaire jusqe’en 391 (Paris: Études Augustiniennes, 1966), 288 ; c. ep. fund. 40.46; s. 27.6.6.

(108.) R. A. Markus, Conversion and disenchantment in Augustine’s Spiritual Career (Villanova: Villanova University Press, 1989),
25 ; O’Donnell, Confessions Vol. II, 47.

(109.) Conf. 4.10.15.

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(110.) “Institisti crebrescens multimodis uocibus, ut audirem de longinquo et conuerterer et uocantem me inuocarem te.”

(111.) “Aut quid te promeruit inchoatio creaturae spiritalis, ut saltem tenebrosa fluitaret similis abysso, tui dissimilis, nisi per idem
uerbum conuerteretur ad idem, a quo facta est.” See also Conf. 13.4.5–13.5.6.

(112.) Conf. 13.2.3: “bonum autem illi est haerere tibi semper, ne, quod adeptus est conuersione, auersione lumen amittat et relabatur
in uitam tenebrosae abysso similem. nam et nos, qui secundum animam creatura spiritalis sumus, auersi a te, nostro lumine.”

(113.) Markus argues that Augustine’s mature interpretation of imago and similitudo in Genesis is established between 393 and 396
in conjunction with his renewed reading of Paul. In this respect, the texts that I have been examining—Conf. and Gn. litt.—do not
differ significantly from Trin. Markus, “Imago and Similitudo,” 130–137.

(114.) Oxford Latin Dictionary, 1764.

(115.) Markus, “Imago and Similitudo,” 125–127.

(116.) Oxford Latin Dictionary, 831.

(117.) See also Plotinus, Enneads 6.4.10.

(118.) Trin. 7.3.5.

(119.) Trin. 12.11.16, 14.16.22–14.19.25.

(120.) Trin. 15.8.14–15.9.16.

(121.) 2 Corinthians 3:18 in the Vulgate reads: “nos vero omnes revelata facie gloriam Domini speculantes in eandem imaginem
transformamur a claritate in claritatem tamquam a Domini Spiritu.”

(122.) 1 Corinthians 13:12 in the Vulgate reads: “videmus nunc per speculum in enigmate tunc autem facie ad faciem nunc cognosco
ex parte tunc autem cognoscam sicut et cognitus sum.”

(123.) Trin. 12.11.16.

(124.) Augustine’s use of convertere–vertere in this passage is indicative of a wider tendency in Conf. to employ convertere when the
change or transformation in the soul occurs in the presence of God or through the power of God. In contrast to this, he uses vertere to
describe changes that occur through the act of the soul apart from God. Given the context—being outside God and divine immutability
—the connotation of vertere is often negative and associated with sinful acts that separate one from God (Conf. 3.2.3, 4.10.15,
4.14.23, 6.6.10). There is some precedent in Latin for the negative connotation Augustine ascribes to versio. There are examples
where it is used to mean “to turn out badly.” In Conf. Augustine at times gives this general negative connotation a distinctive moral
and psychological sense of the soul acting on its own apart from God. It would be unwise, however, to draw too strong a conclusion
from the way he contrasts convertere and vertere given the association in Latin of convertere with conversion to God and the
tendency to substitute simple verbs (vertere) for compound verbs (convertere). The latter issue makes it difficult to demarcate clearly
uses of the simple from the compound verb, and the former issue makes convertere the natural verb to use for the soul’s turning to
God. It is also the case that this distinction does not carry over into other texts such as Gn. litt. Nonetheless, there is a sense in which
the different associations of the two verbs in Conf. conveys a basic Augustinian point: convertere as con­vertere intimates that the
soul’s turning to God is an action always done in the presence of (or with) God, while the soul that turns, or directs, itself (vertere) is
in a tenuous position at best.

(125.) Trin. 7.3.5: “cuius imaginis exemplo et nos non discedamus a deo quia et nos imago dei sumus, non quidem aequalis, facta
quippe a patre per filium, non nata de patre sicut illa.” Markus argues that two developments in Augustine’s thought underlie his
claims that both the Son and the human person are images of God. Following his reading of Paul, Augustine comes to think that
humans must be images of God rather than simply created according to the image of God. Augustine also introduces a third term into
the debate—imago, similitudo, and aequalitas—that allows him to distinguish between the image of God in the Son and the image in
the human person. Markus, “Imago and Similitudo,” 130–137.

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(126.) A Platonist notion of imitation may well lie behind Augustine’s account here, but Luigi Gioia points out that Augustine’s
doctrine of missions developed in book 4 also stands prominently behind his claims in 7.3.5. Gioia, Theological Epistemology, 119.

(127.) See also Ibid., 268–269.

(128.) Johannes Brachtendorf, “Orthodoxy without Augustine: A Response to Michael Hanby’s Augustine and Modernity,” Ars
Disputandi 6 (2006) ; Maarten Wisse, “Was Augustine a Barthian? Radical Orthodoxy’s Reading of De
Trinitate,” Ars Disputandi 7 (2007) ; Michael Hanby, “A Response to Brachtendorf and Wisse,” Ars Disputandi
7 (2007) . Though not part of this particular dispute, one should add the scholarship of James K. A. Smith to
recent attempts within the Radical Orthodoxy camp to articulate an Augustinian position that addresses various issues within
postmodernism. Working at the intersection of phenomenology and Radical Orthodoxy, Smith develops an incarnational model of
language that is inspired by Augustine. Smith argues that his model is able to address tensions between conceptual and
nonconceptual language generally and theological language and religious experience in particular. Smith, Speech and Theology:
Language and the Logic of Incarnation (New York: Routledge, 2002).

(129.) Hanby, Augustine, 27.

(130.) Ibid., 31–41, 47–55.

(131.) Hanby develops this argument in two parts in Augustine and Modernity: through his reinterpretation of the Pelagian debate
(Chapter 3) and through his critique of post­Cartesian (and Stoic) anthropologies (Chapter 5).

(132.) Hanby, “Response,” para. 14.

(133.) Brachtendorf, “Orthodoxy without Augustine,” paras. 5, 14, 17; Wisse, “Was Augustine a Barthian?” paras. 7, 16–19, 24–30.

(134.) Ibid., paras. 11–14; Wisse, “Was Augustine a Barthian?” paras. 28, 39.

(135.) Brachtendorf, “Orthodoxy without Augustine,” paras. 5, 15–16; Wisse, “Was Augustine a Barthian?” paras. 15–18.

(136.) Michael Hanby, “A Response,” Ars Disputandi 7 (2007), especially paras. 2–3, 16–19, 23–24.

(137.) Ibid., paras. 19–21.

(138.) Ibid., para. 16.

(139.) As suggested already, these consequences include a breakdown in the philosophy–theology disciplinary boundaries and the
rejection of models of human autonomy grounded on volunteerism.

(140.) Brachtendorf, “Orthodoxy without Augustine,” para. 3.

(141.) I would note that I do not agree with Wisse that there is an implicit Barthianism in Hanby’s move to read the God–world
relation Christologically. There are different ways this reading can progress, with Radical Orthodoxy offering one of them. See also
Smith, Speech and Theology.

(142.) Gn. litt. 2.8.16–2.8.19, 3.12.18–3.12.19, 5.5.14.

(143.) Gn. litt. 1.9.17–1.10.20, 1.18.36, 3.12.18, 5.12.28, 6.10.17.

(144.) Gn.litt. 3.19.29–3.20.32, 6.24.35–6.28.39

(145.) Brachtendorf, “Orthodoxy without Augustine,” paras. 5, 12.

(146.) Gn. litt. 3.20.31–3.20.32, 6.24.35, 6.27.38.

(147.) Hanby, “A Response,” para. 20.

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(148.) Hanby, “A Response,” paras. 24–25.

(149.) See Chapter 3.3 for further discussion.

(150.) In addition to the feminist criticism previously noted, see also John Zizioulas, Being as Communion: Studies in Personhood
and the Church (New York: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1985), 25, 41 n. 35, 88, 95, 100, 104 n. 98 ; Colin
Gunton, The Promise of Trinitarian Theology (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1997), 42–45.

(151.) Scott Dunham, The Trinity and Creation in Augustine: An Ecological Analysis (New York: State University of New York, 2008),
45–56.

(152.) Dunham, Trinity and Creation, 50–56, 92–99. See also Gn. adv. Man. 1.21.32; Gn. litt. 3.24.36, 4.3.7–4.4.9, 11.13.17.

(153.) Ibid., 129.

(154.) Gn. litt. 3.20.30.

(155.) Trin. 7.6.12.

(156.) Dunham, Trinity and Creation, 114–115.

(157.) Ibid., 117–123.

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Image, Identity, and the Forming of the Augustinian Soul

Matthew Drever

Print publication date: 2013

Print ISBN­13: 9780199916337
Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2013
DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199916337.001.0001

Have We Nothing to Say?

The Augustinian Person de Nihilo

Matthew Drever
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DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199916337.003.0003

Abstract and Keywords

Augustine’s interpretation of creatio ex nihilo establishes not only a cosmological principle on the nature of the universe but also an
ontological claim about human identity. This chapter opens with an analysis of the historical roots of Augustine’s interpretation of
creatio ex nihilo. It then moves on to examine Augustine’s shift in phrase from ex nihilo to de nihilo, which signals that human
existence does not move out of (ex) the nothingness of its origin into a stable, self­reliant grounding, but rather is ever from (de) its
origin in forging its identity in relation to God and the world. This intimates the fluid, mutable, and relational core of human
existence and identity. It also raises questions about the common reading that anchors Augustine’s anthropology within a dualistic
substance metaphysics.

Keywords: Creatio ex nihilo, soul, substance, dualism, subjectivity, relation, de nihilo

1. Creatio Ex Nihilo in the Patristic Tradition

In his exegesis of Genesis, Augustine’s use of the theory of the rationes follows an established tradition in patristic thought in using
the theory as a rational and speculative basis to interpret the biblical creation narratives. We have seen that Augustine draws on the
theory in part to delineate and explain the distinctive origins and natures of intellectual and material creation. In the course of this
speculative exercise, Augustine ponders various possibilities on how the human person as imago dei (Genesis 1:26) fits within

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material and intellectual creation. Here he does not follow the common patristic tradition of differentiating imago and similitudo,
where imago indicates our original and unchanging imaging of God and similitudo designates the progressive (eschatological)
perfection of the divine image. Rather, Augustine draws on the terms to develop his own specific claims on the unique nature of the
person and, in particular, the type of immediate dependency the soul has on God.

In the course of this exercise, Augustine relies on the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo. Here again he is in keeping with the wider patristic
tradition. For many of Augustine’s predecessors, creatio ex nihilo is integral to the cosmogony within which they incorporate the
theory of the rationes. Generally speaking, patristic authors formulate the doctrine in response to the confluence of two traditions that
intersect the development of Christian cosmological theories: Jewish and Christian Scripture; and Greco­Roman cosmogony. 1 As we
will see, the rationale underlying the development of the doctrine is tied less to exegetical evidence in Scripture than to basic
theological and polemical commitments patristic authors share, especially on the doctrine of God. The scant nature of biblical
evidence is quickly apparent in that the clearest articulation of creatio ex nihilo is 2 Maccabees 7:28: “I beg you, my child, to look at
the heaven and the earth and see everything that is in them, and recognize that God did not make them out (p.49) of things that
existed.”2 Aside from this text, the doctrine is at best implicit in Scripture. As recent biblical scholarship has shown, this is true even
in the case of Genesis 1, which becomes central for the patristic tradition in the development of the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo. 3

Similar to the way Augustine handles the theory of the rationes, his treatment of creatio ex nihilo has important consequences for
both his cosmology and anthropology. We saw in Chapter 2 that the theory of the rationes is foremost a cosmological claim about the

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origin of creation. But Augustine’s attempt to negotiate between it and the doctrine of the imago dei generates basic anthropological
insights into the nature of the human person. Likewise, the nihil origin of all things not only is a cosmological principle about the
source of creation but also has ramifications in Augustine’s understanding of the soul’s identity. Significantly, we will see that the
sense of dependency that uniquely characterizes the reflective identity of the soul as imago dei complements the way Augustine
conceives the ex nihilo origin of the soul. In delving into this issue, we will also see that Augustine argues the soul is not only ex
nihilo but also more radically de nihilo. Though not always explicit on this point, at key moments Augustine draws on de to radicalize
the soul’s relation to nihil as an almost abiding condition of the soul. The soul comes from (de) nothing and experiences this
continually as the origin out of which its self­identity is forged. In this way, Augustine draws on the doctrine of creatio ex (de) nihilo
to ground the fluidity, malleability, and fragility that underlies the soul’s existence and identity. It also further underscores the soul’s
relational nature: the soul in itself is de nihilo and so is only through its relation to God and to a lesser extent (derivatively) through its
relation to other entities (spiritual and material).

Augustine’s doctrine of creatio ex nihilo and its claims on the soul’s dependency and malleability develop against the background of
his more basic concerns about God and God’s relation with the cosmos. To appreciate Augustine’s continuity with and novelty in his
interpretation of creatio ex nihilo, we need to first survey the core issues surrounding God and God’s relation with the cosmos—
notably, divine immutability, divine sovereignty, antidualism—that animate the debate within the patristic tradition. Torchia
distinguishes two phases in early Christian apologetics, arguing that a doctrine of creatio ex nihilo is implicit in the early apologists
but is not explicitly formulated until Theophilus of Antioch. 4 The early apologetic work of Justin the Martyr, Athenagoras of Athens,
and Tatian of Syria shares a common concern to defend the absoluteness of God over (p.50) and against creation. 5 They argue for a
sharp distinction between God and matter, emphasizing the eternal, immutable, and unbegotten nature of God in contradistinction to
the finite, mutable, and begotten nature of matter. God is the first cause of all creation, exercising a sovereign, independent power over
creation. This line of argument suggests the type of ontological distinction between God and creation articulated within creatio ex
nihilo. But the early apologists do not develop an explicit or sustained defense of the doctrine. This is due at least in part to their
continued acceptance of elements of a Platonist cosmology, in particular the idea that God creates the world from preexistent matter. 6
The early apologists accept the notion that creation involves giving form and order to formless matter, which in turn suggests a matter
that preexists God’s creative act. For example, in seeking to align Plato’s Timaeus with the Mosaic account of creation, Justin argues
that the two cosmologies are compatible and that the Platonist claim that God creates the world when he brings form to formless
matter is consistent with, and indeed derives from, the first few chapters of Genesis. 7 Justin’s reliance on this notion of creation
appears to be incidental to his larger project of reconciling Platonist and Christian cosmologies and, indeed, is in tension with his
claims on the absoluteness of God. 8 Nevertheless, he accepts a doctrine of preexistent matter and leaves open the question of whether
this is meant to be a replacement for, or compatible with, creatio ex nihilo. 9 A similar patter can also be traced in Athenagoras and
Tatian. 10

Among the early apologists, Theophilus offers the first explicit articulation of creatio ex nihilo. 11 He grounds his account of creatio ex
nihilo in 2 Maccabees 7:28 and its explicit claim that God creates from nothing. Theophilus argues that a Platonist idea of preexistent
matter is inconsistent with Christian claims on the absolute nature of God. 12 If God creates from preexistent matter, it implies that
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such matter is not under the absolute control of God insofar as it exists before and so outside of God’s power. More significantly, if
God does not create preexistent matter, and if all created things derive from God’s creation, this implies that such matter is not
created. This means that preexistent matter is uncreated and coeternal with God. Against this conclusion, Theophilus argues that God
creates the cosmos from nothing: in the original creation God creates both matter and form. The absolute and sovereign power of God
requires that form and matter must originate from God’s creative act.

The doctrine of creatio ex nihilo is solidified in the anti­Gnostic writings of Irenaeus and Tertullian. Within this polemical context,
the contribution (p.51) of both authors to the doctrine is less of an advance in its development than a clear articulation and defense
of it. The result is that by the beginning of the third century a Christian cosmology incorporating the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo had
formed, a cosmology distinguished not only from the polytheism of Greco­Roman religions but also the dualism of Platonism. For
example, Irenaeus invokes creatio ex nihilo in his rejection of Valentinian Gnostic cosmology. 13 The Valentinians distinguished
between a higher, supreme God and lower, creator God, attributing the imperfect nature of the cosmos to the work of a lower divine
being. 14 Against this, Irenaeus draws on creatio ex nihilo to defend the claim that the one supreme God is the single source of the
cosmos. 15 In similar fashion, Tertullian integrates creatio ex nihilo into his defense of the absoluteness of God, holding that an
eternal principle alongside God is incompatible with divine sovereignty. In his refutation of Marcion, Tertullian argues that
postulating preexistent, eternal matter alongside God elevates matter to the status of a second God. 16

The doctrine of creatio ex nihilo is placed in a more systematic relation to the Christian doctrines of creation and God in the work of
Origen, who argues that the doctrine of creation requires three claims: the world is made; the world begins in time; and the world will
come to an end because of its corruptible nature. 17 Out of this series of claims he specifies that God creates the world from nothing. 18
Origen recognizes that the contingency of the world implied in its ex nihilo origin also means it must begin in time. Were the world
from eternity, it would be necessary and immutable. 19 Origen claims that the Mosaic narrative gives the most complete account of
divine creation, though he does not give much textual evidence from Genesis in support of creatio ex nihilo. 20 The texts he enlists as
his primary warrant for the doctrine are those that offer more explicit statements of it: The Shepherd of Hermes, the Book of Enoch
2:5, and 2 Maccabees 7:28. 21 Origen defends the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo primarily against Gnostic and Platonist contentions
that the world is created from a preexistent, material substance. 22 His chief problem with the notion of a preexistent substance is
twofold. It limits divine power over creation insofar as God’s power does not extend to creating unformed matter. It also threatens
divine providence, opening the possibility that God’s wisdom may at times be inefficacious, because there is a dimension of the
cosmos (i.e., unformed matter) that is not created by God and so is not created with God’s intention for creation in mind. In turn this
raises the possibility that unformed matter exists by chance, which for Origen raises the specter of an irreducible, (p.52) random
element within the primordial fabric of the universe, further undercutting God’s providential control over creation. 23

When we turn to patristic authors closer to Augustine’s time period, the most important influences appear to be the Hexameron
tradition developed through Basil and Ambrose. 24 Admittedly, there is no conclusive evidence of direct influence here. But there is
close historical proximity between Augustine and Ambrose, and the attempt within the Hexameron tradition to formulate a Christian
cosmology through commentaries on Genesis has strong affinities with Augustine’s own Genesis commentaries. In saying this, one
must be somewhat cautious in speaking of a Hexameron tradition given that the exegetical method of Ambrose and Basil differs
substantially, with Ambrose embracing an allegorical method and Basil attempting a literal method. Despite this methodological
difference, Basil’s homilies exercise an important influence on Ambrose at the thematic level. Both thinkers develop a similar set of
arguments oriented around a concern to construct a cosmology that guards the absolute sovereignty of God.

Basil focuses on two claims surrounding God’s power: God is the source of all things and God gives order to all things. He draws on
the Platonist metaphor of God as divine artisan to argue that God brings the cosmos into existence through his power without any
diminishment to it, like a potter brings a pot into existence without any diminishment to his power. 25 But Basil is also critical of the
metaphor to the extent that it implies that God forms the cosmos from unformed matter like a potter molds a pot from unformed clay.
The metaphor suggests an eternal, preexisting matter from which God creates the cosmos, which Basil argues is inconsistent with the
claim that God’s power is the source of all things. 26 Accordingly, he introduces a distinction between the divine act of creating and
human acts of fashioning and producing. 27 God does not fashion the universe from a preexisting matter but creates the universe. This
means that no part of the cosmos can be coeternal with God. Here Basil does not explicitly develop a doctrine of creatio ex nihilo, but
he does develop two sets of arguments against those who interpret Genesis 1:2 as implying that God creates the cosmos from eternal,
unformed matter. First, such matter would have the eternal, original character of God and thus would bring what is inferior in order
and beauty (i.e., unformed matter) into parity with God. 28 Second, if God creates the cosmos through preexisting matter, this would
lead to the creation of an inferior cosmos. God would have to create the cosmos through a substance inferior to God, which would
limit God’s creative power to the lower possibilities (p.53) inherent in this matter. 29 Behind Basil’s arguments is the contention that
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God’s creative act must be directly responsible for all creation, lest divine power and providence be restricted and diminished. Hence,
God and world cannot be coeternal, at least with regard to cause: God creates all things that exist. 30 There is a sense in Basil that part
of creation is eternal in that it is timeless. Basil interprets Genesis 1:1—“In the beginning…”—as referring to the beginning of creation
in time but not as the absolute beginning of creation. 31 He distinguishes between the visible, material creation and the invisible,
immaterial creation, arguing that time comes into existence with the former creation and that the latter creation is timeless—without
beginning or end. 32

In line with Basil, Ambrose develops his arguments on God’s sovereignty by focusing on the opening chapters of Genesis. But
Ambrose does so by directly invoking creatio ex nihilo. His arguments here are directed against the Platonist claim that God creates
the world from a preexisting matter and its implication that such matter would then be coeternal with God and exist independent of
the divine creative act. 33 Ambrose draws on Genesis 1:1, John 1:3, and John 8:25 to argue that Scripture teaches that God is the
creator of all things. 34 In particular, he focuses on various connotations implied in the phrase “the beginning,” all of which point to
the overarching conclusion that God creates the cosmos from nothing. Foremost, the beginning of creation has a temporal sense and
indicates that time is created along with the cosmos. 35 This means there can be no preexisting matter that itself would be subject to
time. 36 The beginning has, moreover, a numerical sense in that it indicates that God creates the various parts of creation (e.g., the
heavens and the earth, the physical environment) in a certain order. 37 Finally, and most significantly, the beginning has a
foundational sense. 38 When Scripture states that God creates in the beginning, it means that God founds, or grounds, all creation in
drawing it from nonexistence (nothing) into existence through a single act of divine creation. 39 Creatio ex nihilo is central in
defending the absolute nature of the divine creative act and the dependence of all creation on God. Nothing exists on its own apart
from the divine creative act, which in turn indicates that God’s power is not dependent on anything for the creation of the cosmos.

2. Augustine and Creatio Ex Nihilo

The polemical, exegetical, and doctrinal issues that influence developments in earlier patristic expositions of creatio ex nihilo have
clear affinities with (p.54) Augustine’s account of the doctrine. But attempts to locate the precise sources of Augustine’s cosmology
remain elusive, and hypotheses are tentative. Augustine’s most direct influence likely would have come through Ambrose, though the
extent of the influence is uncertain. Ambrose may have delivered his Hexameron homilies during Holy Week in 387 AD, the same
week Augustine is baptized. 40 If this is true, Augustine would have been present to hear Ambrose’s homilies, though again the
influence of those homilies on Augustine is debated. 41 Complicating issues, Augustine carries a diverse polemical agenda into his
development of the doctrine. This is due in part to his continued interest in Genesis throughout his life, an interest that leads him to
return to creatio ex nihilo within shifting contexts. 42 Further complications on both the sources and legacy of Augustine’s views are
introduced when one takes into account his relation with Platonism. Christian and Platonist models provide Augustine with the
resources to understand how the immutable, eternal God guarantees the stability of a cosmos that is ex nihilo. Augustine attributes the
Platonists with helping to bring to his attention insights into the immaterial, spiritual nature of God. 43 But he denies that the
Platonists teach him about divine immutability, arguing that he held to the immutable and incorruptible nature of God before
encountering the teachings of the Platonists. 44 It may be that Augustine garners core insights on the divine attributes from a “pro­
Nicene” tradition that spans Greek and Latin Christianity, out of which he develops claims on God such as divine immutability,
simplicity, and mystery. 45 Regardless of the direct source, early on Augustine incorporates into his thought commitments on God’s
immutability, simplicity, and omnipotence46 and maintains a high level of consistency to these commitments throughout his life. 47

Augustine’s doctrine of creatio ex nihilo is closely aligned with his views on God and comes more clearly out of the developing
traditions in Greek and Latin Christianity than from non­Christian Platonist sources. Though it is somewhat of a commonplace to
contrast creatio ex nihilo to Platonist notions of eternal matter and emanation, the contrast opens onto a far more complex reality. A
full discussion of this issue is beyond the scope of the analysis, but it is worth reiterating that the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo grows
out of a Greek Christian tradition that does not initially appear to have found the doctrine at odds with a Platonist cosmology. 48
Though this tradition, and following it Augustine, would come to reject tenets of Platonist cosmologies (e.g., eternal matter), they
would continue to draw on Platonist resources in articulating technical accounts of the Genesis creation narratives (e.g., rationes). A
more direct comparison between (p.55) Augustine’s account of creatio ex nihilo and Plotinus’s account of emanation, which appear
sufficiently distinct, yields similarly complex results. As I have indicated, underlying Augustine’s adoption of creatio ex nihilo is his
desire to preserve divine immutability, simplicity, and mystery through the ontological distinction the doctrine generates between
divine and created existence. Though he does not postulate creatio ex nihilo, Plotinus too preserves divine immutability, simplicity,
and mystery by positing an ontological distinction between the One beyond being and all other beings. 49 This is not to say that
Augustine’s positions on divine immutability, simplicity, and mystery are the same as those of Plotinus, only that Augustine’s view of
creatio ex nihilo in itself does not account for the differences. 50 On final analysis, what seems to distinguish Augustine’s account of

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creatio ex nihilo is not the qualitative distinction between God and the world it establishes but the way this is coupled with two
additional, related claims implicit in the doctrine: the rejection of a theory of emanation and the corresponding denial of any
metaphysical mediating categories between God and creation. This having been said, I acknowledge the complexities of the issue. A.
H. Armstrong points out the difficulties begin with the problem of rendering Plotinus’s metaphorical account of emanation (e.g., light
from the sun) with philosophical precision, a move needed for technical comparisons between it and a creationist model. 51
Underscoring this and other difficulties, Lloyd Gerson contends that the common distinction between emanation and creationism is
often based on the category mistake of comparing a metaphorical account (emanation) with a technical account (creation). 52 Gerson
goes on to argue that when emanation is given a technical rendition the distinction between it and creation is not easy to discern. 53 If
in fact one exists, it relies on narrow and precise terminological distinctions, which of course Plotinus’s metaphorical account resists
in the first place.

Such comparisons point to the complexity inherent in identifying the legacy of Augustine’s creationism vis­à­vis Platonism. Far less
complex than such issues, however, is Augustine’s consistent commitment to creatio ex nihilo. His defense of the doctrine goes back
at least to his early anti­Manichaean writings (late 380s AD) and continues through De civitate Dei (426–427 AD). Already in De
vera religione (391 AD) Augustine shows a clear commitment to creatio ex nihilo, coupling it with claims on divine sovereignty and
immutability:

So divine providence remains entirely without change, but comes to the aid of mutable creatures in various ways…Why are they
(p.56) mutable? Because they have not supreme existence. And why so? Because they are inferior to him who made them.
Who made them? He who supremely is. Who is he? God, the immutable Trinity, made them through his supreme wisdom and
preserves them by his supreme loving­kindness. Why did he make them? In order that they might exist. Existence as such is
good, and supreme existence is the chief good. From what did he make them? Out of nothing…That out of which God created
all things had neither form nor species, and was simply nothing. 54

Thirty­five years later Augustine offers a comparable affirmation of creatio ex nihilo in De civitate Dei, relying on the same basic
language and framework:

All natures, then, simply because they exist and therefore have a species of their own, a kind of their own, and a certain peace
of their own, are certainly good…Thus, they tend in the scheme of divine providence to that end which is embraced in the
principle of the government of the universe; and even when the corruption of mutable and mortal things brings them to
complete annihilation, it does not, merely by causing them not to be, prevent them from bringing about the effects proper to
them. This being so, then, God, Who supremely is, and Who therefore made every being which does not exist supremely (for no
being that was made out of nothing could be His equal; or, indeed, exist at all, had He not made it), is not to be reproached
with the faults which trouble us. 55

Despite the difficulty of tracing the exact sources of Augustine’s account, it is not hard to locate strong resonances within the wider
Latin and Greek Christian traditions. In Augustine’s account of the doctrine we find rehearsed many of the same issues that occupy
the patristic tradition up through Ambrose, including polemical concerns to develop a proper account of the God–world relation that
preserves the absolute nature of God, questions about the origin of time, an exegetical interest to anchor creatio ex nihilo within the
Genesis creation narrative, and a larger systematic interest to integrate creatio ex nihilo into a formal cosmology, which, among
other things, leads Augustine to analyze the doctrine within the context of his theory of the rationes. 56 Turning to the specifics of
Augustine’s account, we see that, like Basil, Augustine invokes the (p.57) artisan metaphor to compare human and divine
creation. 57 He argues that the metaphor provides a general conception for divine creation but fails in one basic respect. Human artists
create their work from preexisting matter, but God creates the cosmos from nothing. Similar to other patristic authors (Theophilus,
Tertullian, Origen, Basil, Ambrose), Augustine frames the significance of creatio ex nihilo in terms of divine sovereignty and
omnipotence. Here Augustine also joins Ambrose, among others, in his concern to develop creatio ex nihilo in his Genesis
commentaries as a strategy to defend the absolute nature of God. If God does not create the cosmos from nothing, there is a substance
not created by God and thus outside God’s authority and power. 58

Augustine characterizes the relation between God and creation that emerges here with various polarities that evoke the contrast
between the flux of creation and the permanence of God: stable–unstable, disquietude–rest, process–goal. This description spans
Augustine’s account of the psychological and spiritual “space” of the human soul through his description of the physical space of the
cosmos. Augustine famously opens Confessiones with the claim that the heart is restless apart from God. 59 In De Genesi ad litteram
he expands this idea to encompass the movement of the cosmos, which he argues finds its goal in the rest and stability of God. 60

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Grounding the development of the soul and the world is divine permanence, which for Augustine is defined foremost by omnipotence,
eternity, and immutability. 61 This understanding of the God–world relation is so fundamental for Augustine that we might refer to it
as an axiom in his thought. 62 We see then that at stake in the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo is Augustine’s central vision on the nature
of God. This may help explain his consistent position on the doctrine and its abiding power in shaping his cosmology through his
early and later thought.

Intimated in the polarities Augustine draws on to describe the God­world relation is the fact that creatio ex nihilo has basic
consequences not only for Augustine’s view of God but also for his understanding of the human person. In disclosing the immutable,
sovereign power of God, creatio ex nihilo also establishes the primordial nature of creation and its relation to God: to divine
immutability Augustine pairs creaturely mutability; to divine omnipotence he pairs creaturely dependence. In the previous chapter we
saw that the identity of the soul established in the imago dei has a basic mutability, instability, and fragility, especially compared with
the identity of other material creatures. We are now in a place to connect this theme to Augustine’s claims about the mutability of
creatures (p.58) he derives from creatio ex nihilo. More specifically, we can now identify the origin of human mutability. The
mutable nature of human existence and identity does not derive from the imago dei. This is evident in that Augustine extends the
divine image to the Son, arguing that the Son is the image of the Father, but does not extend the mutability that accompanies human
identity formation to the Son. 63 The difference between the Son and human beings is the origin of each. The Son is begotten from the
immutable substance of God, while human beings are created from nothing. In this, Augustine establishes a qualitative, ontological
distinction between God and creation, one that he parses primarily in terms of the immutable–mutable and omnipotent–dependent
distinctions. 64

3. From Ex Nihilo to De Nihilo

One of the significant consequences Augustine derives from the distinction between God and creation is the potential separation it
generates between creatures and the stability of their creator. Augustine’s exploration of this issue leads him into unique territory in
his development of the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo, at least within the Latin Christian tradition. To appreciate this we need to
examine more closely the terminology Augustine employs in his discussion of the doctrine. He often opts for the preposition de rather
than ex to account for how creation is “from” nothing. 65 Augustine does not derive this choice of prepositions from the Bible. As I
have indicated, there is little direct biblical warrant for the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo. The most explicit statement of it, which comes
in 2 Maccabees 7:28, describes the creation of the heavens and the earth as ex nihilo (Vulgate). Latin writers, however, who adopt the
doctrine would often use ex nihilo and de nihilo interchangeably. 66 Within the larger context of the Latin language this pattern is not
surprising. The difference in meaning between the prepositions is not exact, and they are often interchangeable for Latin authors. 67
This interchangeability is made possible by the semantic ambiguity in ex and de. Generally, the preposition ex denotes a starting
point and a motion out of or arising from a place, state, or condition (i.e., “out of which”). The sense of ex nihilo here would be arising
out of and leaving a state of nothingness for one of creation. Nihil would indicate the point of origin, so to speak, from which God
creates the cosmos. In a more technical sense, ex can also denote the underlying material or cause of the thing (i.e., “from which”).
Here ex nihilo would mean that nihil is the cause or perhaps the material at the origin of created things, (p.59) indicating some
underlying substance (i.e., nihil) from which things are created. This tends to impart a problematic substantial connotation to nihil,
either directly by granting nihil a substantial sense (“thingness”) or indirectly if one assumes that causes require an underlying
substance. The preposition de carries the same two connotations: a motion away from some place or state; and a derivation out of
some thing. As such, de nihilo could also indicate the creation of things out of nothing or the creation of things from nothing.

The comparable meaning of the two phrases indicates that Augustine would not likely introduce de nihilo to clarify the ambiguity
inherent in ex nihilo without sufficient qualifications. But such qualifications are absent in the passages where Augustine adopts the
de nihilo phrasing. Beyond this, it is not clear that the Latin tradition requires any real clarification here. The ambiguity between ex
and de does not appear to have significantly affected the development of the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo in the tradition. The Latin
authors we have surveyed follow the Greek tradition and draw on the meaning of ex nihilo as “out of which” when they argue for
absolute divine sovereignty and for the distinction between the divine creative act and the human manipulative act. This is dictated by
their polemic against claims in Greco­Roman religion and Platonist philosophy that the cosmos is created from an underlying
material (i.e., unformed matter). Ex nihilo in the sense of “from which” could impute a positive metaphysical status to nihil and come
close to the notion of an eternal, unformed matter.

It would seem then that Augustine’s strategy of adopting de nihilo is not directed against ambiguities in the development of creatio ex
nihilo in the Latin tradition, since the tradition does not seem to have been plagued by such problems. Neither would Augustine’s
strategy appear to be directed toward the more general semantic ambiguity of ex, since he does not develop de nihilo as a clear
alternative to ex nihilo. This could suggest that we ought not read too much into Augustine’s choice of de nihilo, as it indicates
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perhaps no more than the interchangeability of the two phrases. Yet at crucial points the distinction between ex and de becomes
significant for Augustine. This is especially true in his anti­Manichaean polemics. In De natura boni, which is one of Augustine’s
more concise and mature critiques of the Manicheans, he opens the treatise with the crucial distinction between what is begotten of
God and made by God:

The Supreme Good beyond all others is God. It is thereby unchangeable good, truly eternal, truly immortal. All other good
things derive (p.60) their origin from [ab] him but are not part of [de] him. That which is part of [de] him is as he is, but the
things he has created are not as he is. Hence if he alone is unchangeable, all things that he created are changeable because he
made them of nothing [ex nihilo]. Being omnipotent he is able to make out of nothing [de nihilo], i.e., out of [ex] what has no
existence at all. 68

Augustine uses the prepositions ex–ab and de to mark the distinction between begotten and created, respectively. He uses de to denote
the substantial relation of what is begotten of God. What is begotten of God and therefore equal to God is from (de) God. What God
creates shares a causal but not substantial relation to God. The created thing owes its existence to God’s power but is not equal to God
in substance or attribute. Such things are of (ex–ab) but not from (de) God.

Further in De natura boni, Augustine reaffirms the distinction between ex and de that frames the opening of the treatise, now within
the context of his exegesis of Exodus 3:14. God is eternal and unchangeable, but creation is not. This is because creation is brought
into existence from (ex–ab) God’s power not being. 69 In De natura boni 27, Augustine illustrates the difference between the
substantial relation of begetting, denoted by de, and the causal relation of creation, denoted by ex–ab:

“Of him” [ex ipso] does not have the same meaning as “out of him” [de ipso]. What is de ipso may also be said to be ex ipso.
But not everything that is ex ipso can be correctly said to be de ipso. Of him are the heaven and the earth for he made them. But
they are not “out of him” because they are not parts of his substance. If a man beget a son and make a house both are “of him”
but the son is of his substance, the house is of the earth and wood. This is because a man cannot make anything of nothing.
But God, of whom and through whom and in whom are all things, had no need of any material which he had not made
himself, to help his omnipotence. 70

Here Augustine explicitly aligns de with a substantial relation and ex with a causal relation. The son of a man is from (de) the man in
the sense of being from the substance and nature of the man. A house is from (ex) a man in the sense of being built by the man out of
material—stone and wood—that is of a different substance from the man. Working within this framework, Augustine argues that both
kinds of relation are found in the creation of (p.61) the cosmos. The cosmos is ex ipso, that is, from God, in the sense that God
creates the cosmos from what is not God (like the man who creates the house). The cosmos is also de nihilo in that God creates it from
nothing, an act possible only by the omnipotent God. This distinction provides the basic framework for Augustine’s ensuing critique
of Manichaean dualism and defense of divine goodness and immutability. 71 Created things derive their goodness from (ex) God but do
not share essentially in (de) God’s goodness. The separation of creatures from (de) God’s goodness opens the possibility of their
rebellion against God’s law but also means they cannot alter the essential goodness or immutability of God. 72

As significant as the ex–de distinction is for Augustine’s critique of the Manicheans, it also carries important anthropological
ramifications. One of the cumulative effects of it is the way it links nihil to human existence. For Augustine, the substantial, or
existential, connotations of de nihilo seem to denote a continual coming from nothingness (de) rather than a leaving of nothingness
(ex) and therefore a movement that is the constant precondition of one’s existence. Following Augustine’s metaphor, one might say
that a man may build a house and then leave it to stand on its own. But a child is always related to and influenced by her parents; this
relation influences her throughout her life. Similarly, we are created from (de) nothing such that it is our nature, or “substance,” to
have our identity continually formed from a dynamic that reaches back to the nihil roots of its origin. This implies a stronger sense of
the abiding reality of nothingness at the root of creation. The nothingness of our origin not only is the ontological boundary of
creation but also shapes our horizon and basic perspective.

Augustine takes up a similar set of issues in Confessiones 12, a text written around the same time as De natura boni. 73 He begins with
an examination of what it means for the cosmos to be created from nothing. Augustine does not refer to the distinction between ex
and de he establishes in De natura boni, and it is speculation whether he has it in mind. But he does differentiate the Son, who is
from God’s own substance (de Deo), from creation, which is from nothing (de nihilo). 74 And he repeatedly draws on de nihilo to
describe the nothingness from which creation emerges. 75 Here the mutable condition of creatures is also repeatedly introduced in
close conjunction with their origin de nihilo. 76 Augustine describes mutability itself as a type of nothingness, a “nothing something”

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(nihil aliquid) or a “being which is nonbeing” (est non est). 77 Mutability is neither spiritual (mind) nor material (body). It is not a
quality inherent in the mind (p.62) (like rationality) or in the body (like size). Mutability is the receptivity of the creature to being
formed by God. It is also the distance between God and creation that allows creation to exist, and separates it from an essential
relation to the immutable, eternal stability of divine existence. 78 As in De natura boni, Augustine contrasts the de nihilo origin of
humanity with the de Deo origin of the Son and develops this qualitative distinction through the binary pairings of omnipotence–
dependence and immutability–mutability. God exists from himself (id ipsum) and in an act of power draws creation from nothing (de
nihilo). 79 Insofar as the binary pairings preserve and transcribe the qualitative distinction between God and creation rooted in creatio
ex (de) nihilo, creaturely mutability and dependence are hallmark characteristics of creation as such. But for sinful humanity, they
also become basic liabilities. Sorrows accompany the soul that in sin has turned from the immutable God to its mutable origin de
nihilo and consequently has become destabilized, lost, and torn by the vicissitudes of time and creation. 80 This moves the dual quests
for fulfilling human potential and overcoming the precarious condition of mutability to an ever necessary search for God. The
substance of human nature is stable only in relation to God, so in seeking stability—the opening prayer of Conf. 1.1—humans must
finally transcend the mutability inherent in their origin de nihilo. This is precisely what the angels have accomplished, and it is the
eschatological hope of humanity. 81

4. “I Am Stuck Fast in the Mud of the Deep, and There Is No Substance”

Augustine’s account of the de nihilo origin of the soul offers fascinating points of contact with wider contemporary debates. This
offers a good opportunity not only to explore the contemporary application of the issues that have been discussed in this chapter but
also to examine further the issues themselves, now under a critical lens guided by contemporary concerns. In the past century
scholars have found occasion to engage and sometimes reimagine Augustine’s anthropology as it touches on various contemporary
issues. Martin Heidegger and Jean­Luc Marion find proto­phenomenological clues in Augustine’s discussions of time and love; Brian
Stock and James Smith have drawn on Augustine to develop a critical hermeneutics; and Michael Hanby has found in Augustine a
robust aesthetics. These critical reappropriations of Augustine offer an interesting counterpoint to the still widespread suspicion of
Augustinian, (p.63) and more generally classical, views of the human person. One of the areas this suspicion tends to coalesce is on
the topic of substance metaphysics. Broadly speaking, substance metaphysics is a contemporary designation of metaphysical systems
that root the existence of things in physical and spiritual substances. Within one dominant contemporary narrative, Augustine and
modernity are accomplices in crime, advocating a substance­based view of human existence, 82 which supposedly leads to static,
nonrelational, atemporal, views of the person that are rejected in postmodern anthropologies.

In developing this reading of Augustine and modernity, contemporary scholarship is sometimes more and sometimes less precise in
its handling of substance metaphysics. In the more precise critiques, scholars often trace it back to Aristotle. 83 Aristotle draws on the
concept of substance to differentiate the thing itself from its properties and relations. The primary substance in the thing is what has
properties and is in relations, rather than the properties or relations themselves (e.g., the individual person as opposed to the color of
her hair or the friends she has). The primary substance of the thing, moreover, is what retains the identity of the thing through its
changing relations and properties. Aristotle also argues that substance may be used in a secondary sense to refer to the category
(natural kind) of the thing (e.g., as a man belongs to the category of human being). 84 Often, however, contemporary scholars do not
refer to substance metaphysics in the narrowly defined sense of Aristotelian metaphysics. Rather, they use it as a general, catchall
designation for classical, medieval, and modern metaphysical systems that ground existence in substance. In contemporary theology,
this use of substance metaphysics has become something of a bogeyman that brings into focus various postmodern critiques against
modernist anthropologies. Schubert Ogden captures well the suspicion of substance metaphysics among process theologians:

As not only Whitehead, but also Heidegger and others have made clear, the characteristics of classical philosophy all derive
from its virtually exclusive orientation away from the primal phenomenon of selfhood toward the secondary phenomenon of
the world constituted by the experience of our senses. It assumes that the paradigmatic cases of reality are the objects of
ordinary perception—such things as tables and chairs, and persons as we may know them by observing their behavior—and
from these objects it constructs its fundamental concepts or categories of interpretation. The chief of (p.64) these categories is
that of “substance” or “being,” understood as that which is essentially nontemporal and lacking in real internal relations to
anything beyond itself. Insofar as the self is focused by classical philosophy, it, too, is interpreted in these categories and thus
conceived as a special kind of substance. 85

John Macquarrie echoes a similar concern among Heideggerians:

For most of its history, Christian theology has tended to follow the Platonic doctrine. The soul has been conceived as a
substance, and this has been considered as guaranteeing the unity, stability, and abidingness (or even immortality) of the self.
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For just as we see a rock persisting through time as the same rock, so it was supposed we must posit a substantial self…In any
case, as some philosophers have pointed out, the attempt to understand the self as substance is really an example of
reductionist naturalism at its most abstract. The model or paradigm underlying the notion of substance is that of the solid
enduring thing, like the rock cited above as an illustration. But thinghood cannot be an enlightening model for selfhood. What
is distinctive in selfhood is personal being, and we cannot hope to get a proper conception of selfhood in terms of subpersonal
being, indeed of inanimate being, although this is precisely what we are trying to do when we seek to explicate the self as
substance. This is to reify the self, to treat it as a thing, however refined that thing may be thought to be. This is at bottom a
materialistic understanding of selfhood that cannot do justice to it. The self, as personal existence, has a dynamism, a
complexity, a diversity­in­unity, that can never be expressed in terms of inert thinghood, even if we refine this conception as far
as we can and dignity it with the name of “substantiality.”86

Ogden and Macquarrie give voice to a wide swath of contemporary critics who contend that substance metaphysics errs not only in
grounding existence in substance but also more fatally in deriving a model of substance from objective, nonpersonal beings (e.g.,
chairs, rocks). When this is the definition and exemplar of being one of the worries is that the personal—rational, volitional,
affective, living—aspects of human existence are reduced to epiphenomenal triviality. Beyond this, when such a conception of
existence is applied to God, critics contend it dilutes the notion of a loving God and problematizes God’s action in the world. 87

(p.65) At times, contemporary theologians have treated the history of substance metaphysics in less sweeping, more nuanced terms.
William Alston’s exploration of the way substance metaphysics functions in patristic Trinitarianism offers a good prophylactic
against overly general criticisms that substance metaphysics inevitably imports static, nonrelational conceptions into being. 88 Alston
acknowledges that substance metaphysics is no panacea for the conceptual problems that can plague models of the Trinity. He
cautions, however, that in the rush to dismiss substance metaphysics contemporary critics have largely missed the variety and nuance
of views on substance exhibited in ancient thought. For example, he points out that contemporary critics who reject Aristotelian
substance metaphysics because of its supposed static, nonrelational bias tend to miss a crucial issue in their retreat for the exit.
Aristotle introduces the category of substance not to reduce being to stasis, but as part of a wider strategy to balance the flux of being
with its continuity. Whatever the coherency of Aristotle’s wider account of substance, he utilizes the concept to ground not dismiss the
dynamics of being and to account for the continuity of existence and identity of things through time. Alston concludes that, though
Aristotle’s account of substance has its own conceptual difficulties, it has the potential to be as dynamic and relational as
contemporary models and offers a clearer model than some contemporary views.

Though not directly responding to Alston, Edward Farley acknowledges the tendency in contemporary thought to overly simplify the
myriad views of substance in classical metaphysics. 89 He goes on to note that what contemporary critics oppose is not substance
metaphysics per se but rather particular ways of characterizing the basis, or ground, of existence. He terms this substantialism and
defines it as follows: “substance is also a code word for an aspect of ancient Western philosophy that modern philosophers strongly
oppose. In this opposition, substantialism means a view of ‘being’ as a static, hierarchical structure.”90 As with any “ism,” locating
its pure exponents is an elusive quest, and Farley does not attempt such an endeavor. Rather, he identifies two basic substantialist
themes, found in varying degrees in classical substance metaphysics, that are at the heart of contemporary rejections of such systems.
First, the problem with classical substantialist approaches is not so much that they present a purely static conception of the world but
rather the way they conceive the relation between order and novelty. Plato describes the order of the world as an interplay between
chaos and order—intellectual forms imprinting and ordering fluid and chaotic matter. There is flux and change, but the (p.66) forms
themselves are fixed and eternal in their spiritual substance. 91 This does not allow for genuine novelty in the identity and structure of
things that critics contend modern scientific and humanist disciplines point to in the natural world (neo­Darwinian evolution) and in
human moral, linguistic, and cultural structures.

Beyond the question of genuine novelty, Farley argues that the substantialist label falls on metaphysical systems that trace existence
to a more or less straightforward presentation of the object. 92 Critics here tend to come from disciplines such as deconstructionism
and contend that existence cannot be equated to what is present. Existence is an interplay of presence and absence, and is
(de)structured by multidimensional historical, social, gender, and cultural layers that express and suppress aspects of human
experience and identity. Substantialism ignores these complex, often destabilizing, currents and instead enshrines meaning and
value in a stable, universal, atemporal reality. The concerns here tend to morph from ontological into ethical and cultural issues. In
suppressing, or ignoring, the various layers of human experience, substantialism also enshrines the present hierarchy of gender and
political oppression without acknowledging the complex, evolving political, moral, and cultural structures underlying it.

Augustine is not always cast as the primary villain of this narrative, but he receives his fair share of criticism. Catherine LaCugna’s
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treatment of Augustine in her influential God for Us: The Trinity and Christian Life represents a common way this criticism is
directed against him. Echoing Ogden and Macquarrie’s cautions about substance metaphysics, LaCugna links the problems in
Western Christian views of God and the human person to Augustine’s substance metaphysics. She maintains that Augustine’s
Trinitarianism begins from an essentially Neoplatonist substance metaphysics and has disastrous consequences for his politics and
anthropology:

What is decisive about Augustine’s theology is first of all the ontological distinction between mission and processions…Related
to this is Augustine’s emphasis on the unity of the divine substance as prior to the plurality of persons. If divine substance
rather than the person of the Father is made the highest ontological principle—the substratum of divinity and the ultimate
source of all that exists—then God and everything else is, finally, impersonal. The metaphysical revolution of the Cappadocian
doctrine of the Trinity had been to see that the highest principle is hypostasis not ousia, person not (p.67) substance…the
consequences of Augustine’s digression from the Cappadocian ontology of the Trinity were more than merely doctrinal. The
changed metaphysical options for the theology of God changed politics, anthropology, and society as well. 93

LaCugna bases her critique on the contention, common among twentieth­century systematic theologians, that Eastern and Western
Trinitarianism divides in their starting points: the East moves from the Trinity to the unity of God, grounding divine unity within the
persons of the Trinity (hypostasis); following Augustine, the West moves from the unity of God to the Trinity, grounding divine unity
within divine substance (ousia). 94 Augustine errs in beginning from a substantialist (Neoplatonist) view of God, and this has
profound and lasting repercussions for his soteriology, anthropology, and ecclesiology. We have seen that Colin Gunton and John
Zizioulas develop a similar critique, arguing that Augustine’s model of God undercuts robust views of the Trinity, incarnation, and the
church. 95 Ted Peters expands the charges, contending that Western substantialist views, typified by Augustine and Aquinas, render
God unable to: address adequately the problem of evil, correctly capture God’s love for the world, or formulate basic dimensions of
human experience (e.g., freedom). 96

This snapshot of contemporary scholarship offers a glimpse into the array of criticisms—Catholic, Protestant, and Orthodox—leveled
against Augustine. It also highlights how the critiques often move from Augustine’s supposed substantialist view of God to the way
this undercuts key Trinitarian and Christological commitments that filter into his anthropology. As we turn now to consider more
carefully Augustine’s complicity in this narrative sketched by his critics, it will be necessary then to consider the way Augustine
develops the concept of substance in relation to both God and the human person. 97 Augustine’s well­known claim in Confessiones
that the Platonist teachings on the spiritual nature of God’s substance helped him move beyond Manichean materialism highlights
the extent to which the category of substance is crucial in his thought. 98 Despite this, Augustine does not develop the category in a
systematic manner or often use the term in a precise and technical sense. It is more a part of the formal background of his thought,
expressing the basic requirements of existence: namely, things must have some kind of substance to exist. In various places Augustine
offers passing definitions of substantia. 99 In Letter 166 Augustine’s use of substance appears close (p.68) to the Aristotelian
definition of primary substance as what gives a being its individual existence apart from other beings. 100 In De moribus ecclesiae
catholicae 2, Augustine shifts his definition closer to that of Aristotelian secondary substance. 101 Here substance means not the basis
of individual existence but rather the nature of the being (e.g., “human,” “cow,” “earth”). Augustine never uses the terms “first” or
“second” substance, though he knew Aristotle’s categories. 102 Neither does Augustine formally delineate the definitions he offers of
substance. Though he is aware of the differences, for the most part he seems to have in mind the more general point that the existence
and identity of the entity is tied to its substance. What has no substance does not exist. 103

Such seemingly unequivocal identification of existence with substance, however, belies a deeper skepticism Augustine has toward the
category. This comes out most clearly as he thinks through the way substantia does and does not apply to divine existence. Here
Roland Teske documents three general contexts in which Augustine uses substantia to refer to God: in predications about God ad se
(e.g., wisdom); as an equivalent for essentia to describe God’s essence and existence; and in a Trinitarian context as a translation of
homoousion. 104 Despite this use of substantia to refer to differing aspects of divine existence, Augustine remains guarded in his use of
the term. This is especially true when essentia and substantia are taken as equivalents for God’s being. Augustine makes this clear in
De Trinitate when he raises the question of how the “nature–person” language of Nicene Trinitarianism is translated from Greek into
Latin. Given the etymological similarity between hypostasis and substantia, the Greek formula of one ousia and three hypostases
could be literally translated into Latin as one esse (being) and three substantiae (substances). 105 Augustine warns, however, that
given the Latin custom of equating being (esse) and substance (substantia) one cannot literally translate the Greek formula without
suggesting tritheism. Consequently, Latin introduces a new term persona (person) to translate hypostasis. Importantly, Augustine
raises the difficulties of translating metaphysical terminology from Greek into Latin not to commend a close and precise use of formal
terminology but rather to point to the inadequacy of such language to refer properly to God. Trinitarian terminology offers no
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necessary or essential determination of, or insight into, God but is used only so Christians have some way of answering the question
of “three what?” when talking about their Trinitarian views of God. 106

(p.69) The common, everyday use of substantia gives Augustine further occasion to underscore the tentative nature of applying it to
God. Most commonly, substantia indicates an underlying existing being that subsists and has attributes, as a body has color and
shape. 107 Here the substance of the thing accounts for its identity throughout the changes it undergoes in its properties. God,
however, cannot subsist in this manner without implicating divine being in change and threatening God’s immutability. Beyond this,
if the common use of substance is applied to God’s being it implies an underlying subject that has properties: for example, that God
(subject) has wisdom (property). This violates divine simplicity. God’s attributes are not properties of an underlying subject (God) but
rather are equal to the divine essence itself. 108 Contrary then to contemporary critics, Augustine is concerned that substantia leads to
a dynamic (mutable), relational (differentiated, nonsimple) model of God. His caution in applying substantia to God also intimates
that it must be disentangled from his more definitive (even axiomatic) stances on divine immutability and simplicity. This is to say
that Augustine’s claims on divine immutability and simplicity are not generated from a substance­based view of God. 109 Rather, his
positions on immutability and simplicity drive the direction of his claims as he wrestles with the applicability of the category of
substance to God. 110

Augustine’s analysis of substantia in his discussion of God provides a useful gauge of how the concept functions in his anthropology.
In examining this issue, we will see that his ambivalence toward the dynamism associated with substantia and its potential to
undercut divine immutability and simplicity morphs now into caution on how the dynamism in human substantia is distorted and
destabilized through sin. We will also see that Augustine’s move to qualify the ascription of substantia to God in light of his
commitments on divine immutability and simplicity is felt in his anthropology in the way he reads substantia through his
Christological and soteriological commitments. On both counts, Augustine draws on substantia within the context of, not as the
foundation for, his wider development of basic Christian commitments. In this, we will see that Augustine brings a substance­based
conception of human beings into the orbit of his anthropology even as he tests its limits.

Augustine’s anthropology is punctuated often enough with references to the subsisting nature of human existence to alert the reader
that even if sometimes unspoken it operates as a formal baseline for what it means to exist. 111 Augustine’s break with the Manicheans
underscores this. Here (p.70) he does not move beyond a substance­based model of existence as much as beyond a metaphysical
materialism to a framework that includes both spiritual (e.g., God, soul) and physical (e.g., bodies) substances. 112 If we wish to allay
some of the contemporary suspicion of Augustine, the question to ask then is not whether he describes human existence in substantial
categories. He clearly does so. The more interesting and illuminating question is what Augustine means by “substance” and how it
functions in his anthropology. In particular, the way it functions in the course of his claims on human creation and salvation offers a
focused test case of its limits and usefulness in his anthropology. Here we must return to Augustine’s analysis of creatio ex (de)
nihilo. Recall that in De natura boni 1 and 19 Augustine introduces the ex–de distinction to differentiate the way the divine attributes
and creation are related to God. This allows Augustine to defend divine simplicity and avoid the myriad problems that, at least in his
mind, accompany the abandonment of it. 113 It also implicitly raises a question: if creation is not from (de) God, what is it from?
Augustine confronts a similar question in Confessiones 12 in the midst of distinguishing the Son from creation. The Son is from (de)
God’s substance, but creation cannot be from God in this manner or it would be equal to God. Creation must then be from (de)
nothing. 114 The substantialist account Augustine is invoking to distinguish the begetting of the Son from the creation of the cosmos
generates obvious problems at this point. 115 Were one to follow the line of logic, it would suggest that as the Son is from the substance
of God (de Deo) so creation is from the substance of nothing (de nihilo). Granting a substantial status to nothingness is problematic
not only because of the contradiction it creates—a thing (substance) that is no­thing—but also because it generates the dualism
Augustine seeks to avoid by introducing the distinction between de Deo and de nihilo. If God creates from nothing and nothingness is
actually something, then it exists prior to God’s creative act as that from which God creates. Here Torchia is right that the distinction
between ex (causal) and de (substantial) Augustine introduces in his discussion of that which is de Deo is not intended to carry over
in any real sense to his analysis of nihil. 116 But in light of contemporary criticisms that patristic thought is mired in substance­based
approaches that subvert deeper Christian commitments, the (intended) failure of Augustine’s argument is instructive. It highlights
how, beyond the formal way he equates existence with subsistence, the category of substance is actually quite thin within the context
of Augustine’s specific commitments on the Trinity and creation. In this context, what substantia really (p.71) points to is its own
impossibility to penetrate into the origin of either the Trinity or creation. As substantia is a placeholder for the inexpressible—the
three­in­one of the Trinity—so de nihilo points to a similar situation with regard to the origin of creation. It is a negation of origin
that tells us where creation is not from, namely God’s essence. De nihilo does not offer a positive account of origin at a substantive
level, and it cannot without falling into contradiction and dualism.

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Augustine is aware of the complexities his account of the de nihilo origin of creation introduces and seeks to clarify it in a couple of
ways. In De natura boni 25–26, he responds to critics who contend that the ordering of the words in John 1:1–3—“without him
nothing was made”—implies that “nothing” is made and so must be something. Augustine flatly rejects this conclusion; the placement
of nihil in the sentence does not matter. 117 Wherever it is placed, it is not intended to designate a positive thing but to point to the
dependency of all created things on God and to negate the origin of creation from God (i.e., creating is not begetting). 118 Augustine
comes at a similar issue in Confessiones 11 while contending with the question of what God was doing before he created the cosmos.
Here Augustine quips “God was preparing hells for people who inquire into profundities” without proper restraint and then goes on to
point out that the question itself is erroneous. 119 In asking what God was doing before creation, it assumes time exists before creation.
However, time itself is part of creation, so strictly speaking there is no “before” before creation. The error is rooted in applying the
common pattern of speech uncritically to creation itself. A similar error arises around substantial interpretations of de nihilo. The
ordinary course of events suggests new creatures come into being from prior substances: a house is build from wood and brick; a child
comes from her parents. When this common pattern is applied to the origin of all creation it suggests a substantialist reading of de
nihilo. As the question of time intimates, the origin of creation breaks the common pattern. Before creation there was no before, and
before something there was no something. 120 De nihilo is a limiting marker on how far one can extend the analogy of the ordinary
order of creation to the original creation of the cosmos. Part of Augustine’s difficulty with substantia then transcends his limited
metaphysical tools and extends to the nature of what he is trying to describe. As such, a measure of caution should be exercised before
relegating substantia too quickly to the metaphysical scrapheap. Its failure to capture the de nihilo origin of creation in a positive
manner is less a specific indictment against it then a more general indictment against any (p.72) metaphysical attempt to
characterize the nothingness at the root of creation within categories (e.g., substance, life, being) that denote existence.

When Augustine moves beyond the question of origins to the nature of created existence, his use of substantia becomes more
coherent. As noted already, substantia functions here in a nontechnical manner, referring variously to the individually subsisting
thing or to the nature (natural kind) of the thing. The problem, at least from a contemporary perspective, is less conceptual coherency
than a host of unwanted consequences (e.g., static, nonrelational characterizations of being) that critics worry follow from
substance­based anthropologies. What is perhaps most striking in this critique is its dissonance with Augustine’s wide­ranging
discussion of the human person. Even a cursory glance through Confessiones alerts the reader that Augustine’s anthropology tends to
weigh more on the side of the impermanent than permanent. Here we are reminded of Alston’s warning against contemporary
scholars who read Aristotle’s substance­based conceptions of existence in overly static terms. Augustine repeatedly holds up the
human being as deeply receptive and reactive to its material, social, moral, and spiritual environment. Consider the imagery
Augustine uses to describe his grief at the death of his friend: “the reason why that grief had penetrated me so easily and deeply was
that I had poured out my soul on to the sand by loving a person sure to die as if he would never die.”121 Recall also his account of the
deep affective and moral transformation his friend Alypius undergoes when he attends the gladiatorial games. 122 Examples of the
fluid, impressionable nature of human existence could be multiplied. Without belaboring the issue, the examples point to the diverse
influences that mold the bodily and spiritual nature of the person.

Augustine’s use of substantia develops through, not against, these anthropological themes. For example, he opens Confessiones 8
with the claim that there is an indestructible substantia from which comes the substantia that underlies all creatures. 123 If one
isolates this claim it would seem to insinuate a static, atemporal view of creaturely substantia. But Augustine’s point is less one of
continuity and derivation—the emanation of creaturely substantia from eternal, indestructible substantia—than one of distinction,
even separation. Augustine makes this clear when he immediately goes on to contrast such indestructible substantia with the
temporal, unstable nature (substantia) of human existence. Within the context of the passage, Augustine’s reference to substantia is
a continuation of his claim that we see the immutable God now imperfectly through the divine image in the soul. As the passage
continues, Augustine’s references to purification and (p.73) Christ imply that one comes to see such indestructible substantia not as
a metaphysical insight into the essential core of one’s being but as the salvific hope in the eschatological reunion with God through
Christ (i.e., the visio dei). In this, Augustine’s reference to human substantia develops within the contours of his views on creation
and salvation.

The way Augustine handles substantia here is the rule rather than the exception in his account of human nature. Enarrationes in
Psalmos 68 offers a good illustration of this as well as further insight into how Augustine interprets substantia through his
commitments on creation and salvation. In this sermon he roots the existence of all spiritual and material things in their respective
substances and goes on to connect this notion of substantia to its formal, philosophical sense:

We speak of a man, an animal, the earth, the sky, the sun, the moon, a stone, the sea, the air: all these things are substances,
simply in virtue of the fact that they exist. Their natures are called substances. God too is a substance; for anything that is not a
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 CHAPTER XX: IN THE SMOKE OF A FORTY-FIVE
It was rather a big night at the Oasis, as far as the bar was
concerned. Morgan was helping the overworked bartender, while
Mesa City discussed what had become of Nan and Rex. Hashknife,
too, had not been accounted for, but Spike Cahill declared that
Hashknife could take care of himself.
‘But he never got into that damn cañon,’ said Cal Dickenson, of
Dave Morgan’s outfit. ‘I tell yuh, it can’t be done.’
‘The hell it can’t!’ snorted Spike. ‘I was jist one inch of goin’ into
it myself to-day. A hondo on that rope was all that saved me. A inch
ain’t far, Cal.’
The boys laughed with Spike. They knew just how close he had
come to smashing his bones on the rocks.
Joe Cave came in from the Flying M and joined the gang. Joe was
cold-sober now, but willing to be otherwise.
‘It’s too damn lonesome out there,’ he told Morgan. ‘You didn’t
tell me that all the rest of the gang had left.’
‘I did, too,’ said Morgan. ‘Mebby you was too drunk to pay any
attention.’
‘Mebby,’ grinned Joe sourly. ‘Gimme whiskey.’
‘Whatsa matter?’ asked Spike, watching Joe gulp down a glass of
liquor. ‘Is yore swallerin’ apparatus busted? I’ll leave it to anybody
around here if Joe’s Adam’s-apple didn’t jump sideways to let that
drink jump past.’
‘His Adam’s-apple ain’t so damn dumb,’ said Bert Roddy solemnly.
‘It knows what it means to git in front of a runaway drink of Oasis
liquor. Sleepy Stevens says the only safe way is to drink quick and
shut your mouth. He says that kinda whiskey bounces.’
‘Where’s Sleepy?’ asked a cowboy.
 ‘Him and Lem pulled out about an hour ago.’
‘What was Lem doin’ here?’ asked Joe Cave.
‘Prob’ly lookin’ for you,’ grinned Spike. ‘He shore did look sad.
Mebby he mourns his loss.’
‘I s’pose he does,’ grinned Joe. ‘That’s a hell of a job, packin’ food
to a prisoner. I’m glad I quit.’
‘Yea-a-ah—you quit!’ flared Bert Roddy. ‘You got drunk, and he
fired yuh, Joe.’
Joe grimaced and reached for the bottle.
‘I suppose that’s what Lem said.’
‘Yeah, and he don’t lie,’ declared Spike.
Joe glared at Spike, but dropped the argument. He had no desire
to tangle with that ex-6X6 gang.
‘How about a little poker?’ suggested Dave Morgan.
‘Very little for me,’ replied Dell Bowen. ‘I’m almost broke enough
to take a job with yuh, Dave.’
‘That’s fine with me; I can use yuh.’
Morgan left the bar and began arranging a check-rack on one of
the tables when Hashknife limped in, followed by Sleepy and Lem.
‘There’s the old cañon-crawler now!’ whooped Spike.
Hashknife smiled thinly and looked around, nodding to the men.
Morgan halted with a stack of chips in his hand.
‘Just in time, Hartley,’ he said. ‘Grab a seat.’
‘Didja get down into the cañon?’ asked Spike.
‘I shore did,’ smiled Hashknife.
‘F’r gosh sake, where? Did Sleepy tell yuh the trouble we had?
Where’d yuh get down?’
‘Morgan showed me the place.’
All eyes were turned to Dave Morgan. He placed his chips on the
table and looked at Hashknife.
‘Did you foller me down?’ he asked easily.
 ‘I did.’
‘Well, I’ll be darned. After you boys left here, I got an idea that
there might be a place to get down; so I rode down and tried it. I
never knew anybody was follerin’ me. Sure, I got down. But I
couldn’t get anywhere; so I went north ag’in, and finally gave it up.’
Hashknife’s eyes narrowed slightly.
‘I see,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘That’s how I missed yore trail down
there. But I found a way through.’
‘The hell yuh did!’ exploded Spike. ‘What’d yuh find?’
Hashknife’s eyes traveled slowly over the crowd.
‘I found a blue-roan 6X6 horse, with a saddle on it. The buzzards
found it first, but there was enough left.’
‘Blue-roan?’ queried Bert Roddy. ‘Was it Napoleon Bonaparte
Briggs’s blue-roan?’
‘I think so, Bert.’
‘Where’s old Briggs?’ demanded Morgan. ‘I want to get my hands
on that old thief. He opened that safe——’
‘Briggs is dead,’ interrupted Hashknife. ‘He had been all battered
up, and I think a bullet had scored his head. I found him down there
in a cave, with a tight rope around his neck—jist buzzard bait.’
For several moments there was silence, broken by Spike’s ‘My
God!’
Sleepy moved back slightly, his right hand brushing over his gun-
butt.
‘He was drunk when he left here,’ said Bert Roddy. ‘He must ’a’
rode off the grade. Poor old Briggs.’
‘Do yuh think he shot himself and then choked himself to death
with the rope?’ asked Hashknife slowly.
‘Oh, I forgot that,’ said Bert. ‘He couldn’t have done all that,
Hartley.’
‘Sounds foolish,’ said Dave Morgan.
‘The body is down there in a cave to prove it.’
 ‘Oh, I’m not disputin’ yore word, Hartley.’
‘And last night,’ said Hashknife slowly, ‘somebody shot Rex
Morgan’s horse on the Coyote Cañon grade, while him and Nan Lane
was ridin’ to Cañonville. They kept shootin’, and drove the kid and
the girl over the edge, where they slid all the way to the bottom.
God only knows how they lived.[’]
‘I reckon they had a hell of a time. Briggs was down there, crazy
as a loon. He stuck ’em up with a gun and took the girl to a cave;
but the kid follered and whipped Briggs, knockin’ him out cold. I
reckon it bumped Briggs’s head pretty hard, ’cause he didn’t wake
up the last they saw of him.[’]
‘But they never roped him.’
Hashknife paused to let this soak in.
‘You mean, there was somebody else down there?’ asked Lem
hoarsely.
‘A masked man,’ said Hashknife. ‘He choked Briggs to death with
the rope, and then brought them two kids out to the south mesa,
where he left ’em. I found ’em down there, all fagged out, and
brought ’em home.’
‘What masked man?’ demanded Dave Morgan. ‘Talk sense.’
‘The man who shot Rex Morgan’s horse last night. The same man
who shot Noah Evans on the porch of the Lane ranch-house,
Morgan; shot him, thinkin’ it was the tenderfoot kid. The same man
who fired a shot through the window at the Lane ranch-house last
night, and almost killed Sleepy Stevens.’
‘There’s been quite a lot goin’ on around here, it seems to me,’
said Joe Cave, laughing shortly.
‘But yore explanation don’t tell us anythin’,’ said Dave Morgan,
stepping away from the table.
‘It told me quite a lot,’ said Hashknife. ‘But there’s more to it than
that, folks. Did any of yuh examine the spot where yuh thought
Peter Morgan was killed? Well, yuh might ’a’ been surprised. There
wasn’t any blood spilled there. Peter Morgan was dead long before
he came to that place.[’]
‘And the man, or men, who brought him there, killed him in the
6X6 ranch-house on a Navajo rug, which has a lightnin’ mark on it.
To remove the blood, they took rug and all with ’em.[’]
‘And when they was gettin’ away, that tenderfoot kid rode in on
’em, and they popped him over the head. They thought they had
killed him, and took him along to the Lane ranch. They sunk the rug
in the creek. And when they knew we had found the rug—they stole
it.’
The men were all staring at Hashknife, whose face was drawn,
his lips almost white.
‘Cave!’ he snapped. ‘You made a mistake this mornin’. You should
have been just as drunk outside of town as yuh was in it.’
Joe Cave flinched, as though some one had seared him with a
hot iron.
‘You’ve got mask-marks on yore face, Cave!’ Hashknife’s voice
snapped like a whip.
With a jerk of his hand, Cave started to reach for his face, but
sagged back against the bar.
‘And you made a mistake, Morgan,’ whispered Hashknife. ‘Why
didn’t yuh kill Briggs on flat ground, so yuh could search him,
instead of shooting him off the grade into the cañon, where you
couldn’t get at him? He had somethin’ in his pocket that you needed
bad.’
Joe Cave was the first to act. As he sagged back against the bar,
his right hand flashed down to his gun. He was trapped. Morgan’s
gun was coming out like a flash, but his bullet ripped into the floor,
echoing the crash of Sleepy’s forty-five.
Cave sprang away from the bar, screaming a curse, with Spike
Cahill, clinging like grim death to his gun-hand. Lem shot across the
space, knocking the table aside, and threw one arm around Cave’s
neck, shutting off his wind, while Spike tore away the gun.
 Morgan went to his knees, blindly groping for the gun, which had
fallen from his nerveless hand, but Hashknife kicked it aside, and
Morgan sprawled on his face. They flung Cave into a chair and Lem
handcuffed him, while Cave cursed them bitterly.
One of the men ran for the doctor, but Lem turned Morgan over
to discover that a doctor was not needed. Hashknife patted Sleepy
on the back and leaned against the bar.
‘Dead, is he?’ gritted Joe Cave.
‘You’re lucky not to be with him,’ said Spike nervously.
‘Like hell, I am! Why didn’t he live long enough to tell the truth?
Nobody will believe me. Dave killed Pete. I was out there with him.
[’]
‘He didn’t go to kill him; he went to borrow money. I wasn’t even
in the house. He wouldn’t lend Dave money; so Dave killed him. I
don’t know how Hartley knows so damn much about it. Dave wanted
to lay the blame on Lane; so we took the body there. We didn’t
know who that kid was, but Dave said to take him along.[’]
‘I shot Noah Evans by mistake. Dave promised to give me this
saloon for helpin’ him. He wanted to git rid of that tenderfoot, and
yesterday we had a quarrel about it. I was afraid he’d kill me, as
soon as I done his dirty work. I shot the kid’s horse on the grade,
and I swiped the rug, jist before I shot through the winder. And
that’s all the truth.’
‘And Dave Morgan robbed Pete’s safe, didn’t he?’ asked Spike.
‘Sure did. He was worried about a will. He thought old Briggs
knowed too much so he waylaid Briggs on the Coyote Cañon grade.
But Briggs fell into the cañon.’
‘What did you go down there for to-day?’ asked Hashknife.
‘To see what happened. I know that cañon like a book.’
‘And you choked Briggs?’
‘You found him, didn’t yuh. No use of me lyin’.’
‘Well, for God’s sake!’ blurted Lem. ‘Old man Lane ain’t guilty a-
tall.’
 ‘But who tied Pete on the horse?’ asked Lem. ‘That part of it ain’t
explained.’
‘Nan and Rex,’ said Hashknife. ‘They found the body in the corral,
and wanted to get rid of it. That’s what made me sure Paul Lane
never killed him, Lem. If he had, he’d have hid the body—not left it
there to cinch him for murder.[’]
‘If there hadn’t been any more shootin’, I might have believed old
man Lane guilty; but there was too much shootin’ goin’ on. The fact
that Dave Morgan would inherit the 6X6 made me suspect him; but
he couldn’t do it all alone. He had to have help, but I didn’t know
who to suspect.[’]
‘I never thought of Joe Cave until Lem fired him for bein’ drunk.’
‘Wasn’t anythin’ about that, was there?’ asked Lem.
‘A puncher,’ said Hashknife slowly, ‘don’t usually get drunk that
early in the mornin’, and they don’t usually take a chance on losin’ a
good job. It kinda looked to me as though Joe wanted to lose that
job; so I rode out of town to see how he acted after he got away
from town. He sobered up too quick. He had to be fired in order to
make it look right. Yuh see, he was due to take over this saloon.’
‘Morgan said yuh ought to be killed,’ said Joe wearily.
‘What did you and Morgan quarrel about down in the sheriff’s
office, Joe?’
‘My God, did you hear that, too? He wanted me to go out to the
ranch and kill Rex Morgan. I was gettin’ scared. But I wanted this
saloon. I heard them comin’ on the grade; so I let ’em past before I
shot. I never missed so bad before, but the light was awful poor.’
‘Just one thing more, Cave,’ said Hashknife. ‘When yuh had a
chance down there, why didn’t yuh kill the tenderfoot?’
Joe sighed and looked at the handcuffs.
‘I was a damn fool,’ he said slowly. ‘I don’t sabe women. This ’n
said she wanted the tenderfoot so bad that she’d rather stay with
him than git out alone. And if you’ve ever been down there, where
nothing much but a buzzard or a lion can git—yuh can sabe how bad
she wanted him.’
‘And that’s why yuh brought ’em out, Joe?’
‘Wasn’t that enough?’
The doctor came and made an examination. He did not even
open his black bag.
The crowd wanted more explanation. Hashknife drew a folded
paper from his inside vest pocket and handed it to Lem, who read it,
while the crowd leaned in over his wide shoulders to see what it was
all about. It read:
This is mi last will--when im ded.
To Mary Morgan, legal wife of Dave Morgan i hearby give the 6X6 ranch to
own. i dont give nothing to Dave Morgan he dont deserve it.
If Mary dyes it goes to her nearist kin. To Napoleon Bonaparte Briggs I hearby
give the Oasis saloon he aint got no branes so he will have to give Jack
Farewether a job as long as the saloon keeps open. This is mi onely will.
Yrs Respy
Peter Morgan
his X Mark
P.S. wrote bi Napoleon Bonaparte Briggs oct 18 1904 because Pete Morgan
cant wright.

Lem read it aloud to the men. Spike Cahill examined it, handing it
back to Lem.
‘That’s old Briggs’s writin’,’ he declared. ‘I’d know it among a
million.’
The other boys agreed with Spike.
‘That’s it,’ said Bert Roddy. ‘I know how he writes his name. But
where is Pete’s wife? Nobody around here knows he ever had a wife.’
‘The tenderfoot is her son,’ said Hashknife. ‘We can prove it, can’t
we, Lem?’
The big sheriff nodded quickly. ‘Somebody wired him when his
wife died. We got a copy of the telegram.’
 ‘Pete never got it,’ said Joe Cave. ‘It came to the post-office, and
Dave claimed it. He knowed that the kid was Pete’s son.’
‘Well, it’s all perfectly clear now,’ said Lem. ‘Ready to take a ride,
Joe?’
‘It ain’t because I’m ready, Lem. Better get me a fresh horse. I
had to circle to hell and gone across the river to get back from that
mesa.’
‘Let’s all go down and congratulate the tenderfoot,’ suggested
Spike, and, when Lem took his prisoner to Cañonville, there were
nine other riders who accompanied them to the forks of the road.
They rode up to the ranch-house and trooped inside, where they
found Rex humped down in a rocking-chair, his feet bandaged. Nan
was in her room, but the uproar awoke her and she peered out at
the wild-acting crowd.
Spike was hammering Rex on the back and trying to shake hands
with him at the same time, while the bewildered Rex was trying to
puzzle out what it was all about.
‘Put on a blanket and come out, Nan,’ advised Hashknife. ‘This
gang won’t take no for an answer.’
Nan wrapped herself in a gaudy blanket and came timidly out.
She looked like a very little and very tired Indian.
‘You tell ’em, Hashknife,’ said Spike.
‘It’s too long a tale to tell now,’ said Hashknife, ‘but it amounts to
this, Nan: yore father will be turned loose to-morrow. Dave Morgan
killed Pete Morgan, who was the father of Rex. We’ve cleared that all
up. Dave Morgan is dead, and I found the will that gives Rex the
6X6.’
‘You mean—my dad is free?’ asked Nan.
‘Jist as soon as they can unlock the jail, Nan.’
She stood there in front of them, the blanket tucked up around
her chin, crying. There was no effort to hide the tears. The cowboys
turned away.
‘Hell!’ snorted Spike.
 ‘What are you kickin’ about?’ growled Bert.
‘Somebody stepped on my foot.’
‘Ain’t been anybody within six feet of yuh.’
‘And I—I own the 6X6?’ asked Rex foolishly.
‘Yuh shore do!’ exclaimed Spike. ‘It’s yore ranch, kid.’
Rex blinked at them foolishly. ‘And Peter Morgan was my father?
It was he who sent that check to my mother?’
‘I reckon it was Briggs,’ said Hashknife. ‘Peter Morgan didn’t want
anybody to know; so he had Briggs send the checks.’
‘Was he ashamed of my mother?’
‘I dunno. We’ll never know, Rex; they’re both gone. You be
content with what he left yuh.’
Rex nodded dumbly. He could hardly understand his great
fortune. The boys came and shook hands with him. They all wanted
to shake hands with Nan, but she had slipped away to her room.
The boys filed out of the house, mounted their horses, and headed
back to Mesa City. Hashknife yawned wearily and started for the
door.
‘Hashknife,’ said Rex slowly, ‘I don’t understand anything. I know
you are the one responsible for all this good fortune, but I can’t
think of just what to say. If, as you say, the 6X6 belongs to me—will
you take charge of it? I don’t know anything about it. I’d like to hire
all those boys.’
‘Well, I dunno. Might work out thataway, Rex. We’ve got to put
up our horses now.’
He and Sleepy stabled their mounts and gave them a feed of
oats. As they closed the stable door, Sleepy said:
‘How much of that will is true, Hashknife?’
‘How much?’ Hashknife hesitated for several moments.
‘Yore fingers are all stained with ink, cowboy.’
Hashknife chuckled softly. ‘Some day, you’ll be a detective,
Sleepy. C’mere.’
 They backed against the stable, where Hashknife took a
crumpled piece of paper from his hip pocket. He scratched a match
and held the paper for Sleepy to read. The writing was identical with
that of the other will, but read:
This is mi last will--when im ded.
To Mary Morgan, mi legil wife i hearby leave the 6X6 ranch and everthing on
it. i dont give nothing to Dave Morgan he dont deserve it.
If Mary dyes it goes to her nearist kin. To Napoleon Bonaparte Briggs I hearby
give the Oasis saloon he aint got no branes so he will have to give Jack
Farewether a job as long as the saloon keeps open. This is mi onely will.
Yrs Respy
Peter Morgan
his X Mark
P.S. wrote bi Napoleon Bonaparte Briggs oct 18 1904 because Pete Morgan
cant wright.

Hashknife was obliged to light a second match, before Sleepy

could finish reading the document, and, as Sleepy straightened up
with a soft whistle of astonishment, Hashknife touched the match to
a corner of the paper and they watched it burn to crinkly ashes.
‘I wrote that other will, Sleepy,’ said Hashknife slowly. ‘It works
out the same way, as far as the property is concerned. But when a
young man is slated to marry a danged sweet young lady, and don’t
know anythin’ about his paternal ancestor, why not start him off
right, as far as his father is concerned?’
‘That’s right,’ said Sleepy softly. ‘It don’t hurt nobody. Look at
that, will yuh?’
Silhouetted against the ranch-house window were two figures,
about a foot apart. One figure greatly resembled a blanketed Indian,
the other a scarecrow, with rags dangling from its arms, making
queer motions.
Sleepy laughed softly. ‘Look at him, will yuh? He’s probably tellin’
her in good English what he’s goin’ to do with the 6X6. Betcha he
ain’t even kissed her. Hashknife, that feller is almost dumb enough
to make a good cowpuncher.’
 Suddenly the figures blended, and Hashknife turned his back as
he fumbled for his cigarette papers.
‘Not so dumb,’ he said slowly.
‘Well, that one is over,’ chuckled Sleepy.
‘Good. Now, I can heat some water and soak my blisters.’
They pulled their hats low over their eyes and headed for the
kitchen door.
THE END
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