{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_3296/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_3296","id":"gutenberg_3296","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3296","summary":null,"tags":["Augustine, of Hippo, Saint, 354-430","Bishops -- Algeria -- Hippo (Extinct city) -- Biography","Category: Biographies","Category: Classics of Literature","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Catholic Church -- Bishops -- Biography","Christian saints -- Algeria -- Hippo (Extinct city) -- Biography","Christianity","Classical Antiquity","Harvard Classics"],"text":"THE CONFESSIONS OF SAINT AUGUSTINE\n\nBy Saint Augustine\n\nBishop of Hippo\n\nTranslated by E. B. Pusey (Edward Bouverie)\n\n\nAD 401\n\n\n\n\nBOOK I\n\n\nGreat art Thou, O Lord, and greatly to be praised; great is Thy power,\nand Thy wisdom infinite. And Thee would man praise; man, but a particle\nof Thy creation; man, that bears about him his mortality, the witness of\nhis sin, the witness that Thou resistest the proud: yet would man praise\nThee; he, but a particle of Thy creation. Thou awakest us to delight in\nThy praise; for Thou madest us for Thyself, and our heart is restless,\nuntil it repose in Thee. Grant me, Lord, to know and understand which is\nfirst, to call on Thee or to praise Thee? and, again, to know Thee or\nto call on Thee? for who can call on Thee, not knowing Thee? for he that\nknoweth Thee not, may call on Thee as other than Thou art. Or, is it\nrather, that we call on Thee that we may know Thee? but how shall they\ncall on Him in whom they have not believed? or how shall they believe\nwithout a preacher? and they that seek the Lord shall praise Him: for\nthey that seek shall find Him, and they that find shall praise Him.\nI will seek Thee, Lord, by calling on Thee; and will call on Thee,\nbelieving in Thee; for to us hast Thou been preached. My faith, Lord,\nshall call on Thee, which Thou hast given me, wherewith Thou hast\ninspired me, through the Incarnation of Thy Son, through the ministry of\nthe Preacher.\n\nAnd how shall I call upon my God, my God and Lord, since, when I call\nfor Him, I shall be calling Him to myself? and what room is there within\nme, whither my God can come into me? whither can God come into me, God\nwho made heaven and earth? is there, indeed, O Lord my God, aught in me\nthat can contain Thee? do then heaven and earth, which Thou hast made,\nand wherein Thou hast made me, contain Thee? or, because nothing which\nexists could exist without Thee, doth therefore whatever exists contain\nThee? Since, then, I too exist, why do I seek that Thou shouldest enter\ninto me, who were not, wert Thou not in me? Why? because I am not gone\ndown in hell, and yet Thou art there also. For if I go down into hell,\nThou art there. I could not be then, O my God, could not be at all,\nwert Thou not in me; or, rather, unless I were in Thee, of whom are all\nthings, by whom are all things, in whom are all things? Even so, Lord,\neven so. Whither do I call Thee, since I am in Thee? or whence canst\nThou enter into me? for whither can I go beyond heaven and earth, that\nthence my God should come into me, who hath said, I fill the heaven and\nthe earth.\n\nDo the heaven and earth then contain Thee, since Thou fillest them? or\ndost Thou fill them and yet overflow, since they do not contain Thee?\nAnd whither, when the heaven and the earth are filled, pourest Thou\nforth the remainder of Thyself? or hast Thou no need that aught contain\nThee, who containest all things, since what Thou fillest Thou fillest\nby containing it? for the vessels which Thou fillest uphold Thee not,\nsince, though they were broken, Thou wert not poured out. And when Thou\nart poured out on us, Thou art not cast down, but Thou upliftest us;\nThou art not dissipated, but Thou gatherest us. But Thou who fillest\nall things, fillest Thou them with Thy whole self? or, since all things\ncannot contain Thee wholly, do they contain part of Thee? and all at\nonce the same part? or each its own part, the greater more, the smaller\nless? And is, then one part of Thee greater, another less? or, art Thou\nwholly every where, while nothing contains Thee wholly?\n\nWhat art Thou then, my God? what, but the Lord God? For who is Lord\nbut the Lord? or who is God save our God? Most highest, most good, most\npotent, most omnipotent; most merciful, yet most just; most hidden,\nyet most present; most beautiful, yet most strong, stable, yet\nincomprehensible; unchangeable, yet all-changing; never new, never old;\nall-renewing, and bringing age upon the proud, and they know it not;\never working, ever at rest; still gathering, yet nothing lacking;\nsupporting, filling, and overspreading; creating, nourishing, and\nmaturing; seeking, yet having all things. Thou lovest, without passion;\nart jealous, without anxiety; repentest, yet grievest not; art angry,\nyet serene; changest Thy works, Thy purpose unchanged; receivest again\nwhat Thou findest, yet didst never lose; never in need, yet rejoicing\nin gains; never covetous, yet exacting usury. Thou receivest over and\nabove, that Thou mayest owe; and who hath aught that is not Thine? Thou\npayest debts, owing nothing; remittest debts, losing nothing. And what\nhad I now said, my God, my life, my holy joy? or what saith any man when\nhe speaks of Thee? Yet woe to him that speaketh not, since mute are even\nthe most eloquent.\n\nOh! that I might repose on Thee! Oh! that Thou wouldest enter into my\nheart, and inebriate it, that I may forget my ills, and embrace Thee,\nmy sole good! What art Thou to me? In Thy pity, teach me to utter it.\nOr what am I to Thee that Thou demandest my love, and, if I give it not,\nart wroth with me, and threatenest me with grievous woes? Is it then a\nslight woe to love Thee not? Oh! for Thy mercies' sake, tell me, O Lord\nmy God, what Thou art unto me. Say unto my soul, I am thy salvation. So\nspeak, that I may hear. Behold, Lord, my heart is before Thee; open Thou\nthe ears thereof, and say unto my soul, I am thy salvation. After this\nvoice let me haste, and take hold on Thee. Hide not Thy face from me.\nLet me die--lest I die--only let me see Thy face.\n\nNarrow is the mansion of my soul; enlarge Thou it, that Thou mayest\nenter in. It is ruinous; repair Thou it. It has that within which must\noffend Thine eyes; I confess and know it. But who shall cleanse it? or\nto whom should I cry, save Thee? Lord, cleanse me from my secret faults,\nand spare Thy servant from the power of the enemy. I believe, and\ntherefore do I speak. Lord, Thou knowest. Have I not confessed against\nmyself my transgressions unto Thee, and Thou, my God, hast forgiven the\niniquity of my heart? I contend not in judgment with Thee, who art the\ntruth; I fear to deceive myself; lest mine iniquity lie unto itself.\nTherefore I contend not in judgment with Thee; for if Thou, Lord,\nshouldest mark iniquities, O Lord, who shall abide it?\n\nYet suffer me to speak unto Thy mercy, me, dust and ashes. Yet suffer me\nto speak, since I speak to Thy mercy, and not to scornful man. Thou too,\nperhaps, despisest me, yet wilt Thou return and have compassion upon me.\nFor what would I say, O Lord my God, but that I know not whence I\ncame into this dying life (shall I call it?) or living death. Then\nimmediately did the comforts of Thy compassion take me up, as I heard\n(for I remember it not) from the parents of my flesh, out of whose\nsubstance Thou didst sometime fashion me. Thus there received me the\ncomforts of woman's milk. For neither my mother nor my nurses stored\ntheir own breasts for me; but Thou didst bestow the food of my infancy\nthrough them, according to Thine ordinance, whereby Thou distributest\nThy riches through the hidden springs of all things. Thou also gavest me\nto desire no more than Thou gavest; and to my nurses willingly to give\nme what Thou gavest them. For they, with a heaven-taught affection,\nwillingly gave me what they abounded with from Thee. For this my good\nfrom them, was good for them. Nor, indeed, from them was it, but through\nthem; for from Thee, O God, are all good things, and from my God is all\nmy health. This I since learned, Thou, through these Thy gifts, within\nme and without, proclaiming Thyself unto me. For then I knew but to\nsuck; to repose in what pleased, and cry at what offended my flesh;\nnothing more.\n\nAfterwards I began to smile; first in sleep, then waking: for so it\nwas told me of myself, and I believed it; for we see the like in other\ninfants, though of myself I remember it not. Thus, little by little, I\nbecame conscious where I was; and to have a wish to express my wishes\nto those who could content them, and I could not; for the wishes were\nwithin me, and they without; nor could they by any sense of theirs enter\nwithin my spirit. So I flung about at random limbs and voice, making\nthe few signs I could, and such as I could, like, though in truth very\nlittle like, what I wished. And when I was not presently obeyed (my\nwishes being hurtful or unintelligible), then I was indignant with my\nelders for not submitting to me, with those owing me no service, for\nnot serving me; and avenged myself on them by tears. Such have I learnt\ninfants to be from observing them; and that I was myself such, they, all\nunconscious, have shown me better than my nurses who knew it.\n\nAnd, lo! my infancy died long since, and I live. But Thou, Lord, who for\never livest, and in whom nothing dies: for before the foundation of the\nworlds, and before all that can be called \"before,\" Thou art, and art\nGod and Lord of all which Thou hast created: in Thee abide, fixed\nfor ever, the first causes of all things unabiding; and of all things\nchangeable, the springs abide in Thee unchangeable: and in Thee live the\neternal reasons of all things unreasoning and temporal. Say, Lord, to\nme, Thy suppliant; say, all-pitying, to me, Thy pitiable one; say, did\nmy infancy succeed another age of mine that died before it? was it\nthat which I spent within my mother's womb? for of that I have heard\nsomewhat, and have myself seen women with child? and what before that\nlife again, O God my joy, was I any where or any body? For this have I\nnone to tell me, neither father nor mother, nor experience of others,\nnor mine own memory. Dost Thou mock me for asking this, and bid me\npraise Thee and acknowledge Thee, for that I do know?\n\nI acknowledge Thee, Lord of heaven and earth, and praise Thee for my\nfirst rudiments of being, and my infancy, whereof I remember nothing;\nfor Thou hast appointed that man should from others guess much as to\nhimself; and believe much on the strength of weak females. Even then I\nhad being and life, and (at my infancy's close) I could seek for signs\nwhereby to make known to others my sensations. Whence could such a being\nbe, save from Thee, Lord? Shall any be his own artificer? or can there\nelsewhere be derived any vein, which may stream essence and life into\nus, save from thee, O Lord, in whom essence and life are one? for Thou\nThyself art supremely Essence and Life. For Thou art most high, and art\nnot changed, neither in Thee doth to-day come to a close; yet in Thee\ndoth it come to a close; because all such things also are in Thee. For\nthey had no way to pass away, unless Thou upheldest them. And since\nThy years fail not, Thy years are one to-day. How many of ours and\nour fathers' years have flowed away through Thy \"to-day,\" and from it\nreceived the measure and the mould of such being as they had; and still\nothers shall flow away, and so receive the mould of their degree of\nbeing. But Thou art still the same, and all things of tomorrow, and all\nbeyond, and all of yesterday, and all behind it, Thou hast done to-day.\nWhat is it to me, though any comprehend not this? Let him also rejoice\nand say, What thing is this? Let him rejoice even thus! and be content\nrather by not discovering to discover Thee, than by discovering not to\ndiscover Thee.\n\nHear, O God. Alas, for man's sin! So saith man, and Thou pitiest him;\nfor Thou madest him, but sin in him Thou madest not. Who remindeth me of\nthe sins of my infancy? for in Thy sight none is pure from sin, not even\nthe infant whose life is but a day upon the earth. Who remindeth me?\ndoth not each little infant, in whom I see what of myself I remember\nnot? What then was my sin? was it that I hung upon the breast and cried?\nfor should I now so do for food suitable to my age, justly should I be\nlaughed at and reproved. What I then did was worthy reproof; but since\nI could not understand reproof, custom and reason forbade me to be\nreproved. For those habits, when grown, we root out and cast away. Now\nno man, though he prunes, wittingly casts away what is good. Or was\nit then good, even for a while, to cry for what, if given, would hurt?\nbitterly to resent, that persons free, and its own elders, yea, the very\nauthors of its birth, served it not? that many besides, wiser than it,\nobeyed not the nod of its good pleasure? to do its best to strike and\nhurt, because commands were not obeyed, which had been obeyed to its\nhurt? The weakness then of infant limbs, not its will, is its innocence.\nMyself have seen and known even a baby envious; it could not speak, yet\nit turned pale and looked bitterly on its foster-brother. Who knows not\nthis? Mothers and nurses tell you that they allay these things by I know\nnot what remedies. Is that too innocence, when the fountain of milk\nis flowing in rich abundance, not to endure one to share it, though\nin extremest need, and whose very life as yet depends thereon? We bear\ngently with all this, not as being no or slight evils, but because they\nwill disappear as years increase; for, though tolerated now, the very\nsame tempers are utterly intolerable when found in riper years.\n\nThou, then, O Lord my God, who gavest life to this my infancy,\nfurnishing thus with senses (as we see) the frame Thou gavest,\ncompacting its limbs, ornamenting its proportions, and, for its general\ngood and safety, implanting in it all vital functions, Thou commandest\nme to praise Thee in these things, to confess unto Thee, and sing unto\nThy name, Thou most Highest. For Thou art God, Almighty and Good, even\nhadst Thou done nought but only this, which none could do but Thou:\nwhose Unity is the mould of all things; who out of Thy own fairness\nmakest all things fair; and orderest all things by Thy law. This age\nthen, Lord, whereof I have no remembrance, which I take on others' word,\nand guess from other infants that I have passed, true though the guess\nbe, I am yet loth to count in this life of mine which I live in this\nworld. For no less than that which I spent in my mother's womb, is it\nhid from me in the shadows of forgetfulness. But if I was shapen in\niniquity, and in sin did my mother conceive me, where, I beseech Thee, O\nmy God, where, Lord, or when, was I Thy servant guiltless? But, lo! that\nperiod I pass by; and what have I now to do with that, of which I can\nrecall no vestige?\n\nPassing hence from infancy, I came to boyhood, or rather it came to me,\ndisplacing infancy. Nor did that depart,--(for whither went it?)--and\nyet it was no more. For I was no longer a speechless infant, but a\nspeaking boy. This I remember; and have since observed how I learned to\nspeak. It was not that my elders taught me words (as, soon after, other\nlearning) in any set method; but I, longing by cries and broken accents\nand various motions of my limbs to express my thoughts, that so I might\nhave my will, and yet unable to express all I willed, or to whom I\nwilled, did myself, by the understanding which Thou, my God, gavest me,\npractise the sounds in my memory. When they named any thing, and as they\nspoke turned towards it, I saw and remembered that they called what they\nwould point out by the name they uttered. And that they meant this\nthing and no other was plain from the motion of their body, the natural\nlanguage, as it were, of all nations, expressed by the countenance,\nglances of the eye, gestures of the limbs, and tones of the voice,\nindicating the affections of the mind, as it pursues, possesses,\nrejects, or shuns. And thus by constantly hearing words, as they\noccurred in various sentences, I collected gradually for what they\nstood; and having broken in my mouth to these signs, I thereby gave\nutterance to my will. Thus I exchanged with those about me these current\nsigns of our wills, and so launched deeper into the stormy intercourse\nof human life, yet depending on parental authority and the beck of\nelders.\n\nO God my God, what miseries and mockeries did I now experience, when\nobedience to my teachers was proposed to me, as proper in a boy, in\norder that in this world I might prosper, and excel in tongue-science,\nwhich should serve to the \"praise of men,\" and to deceitful riches. Next\nI was put to school to get learning, in which I (poor wretch) knew not\nwhat use there was; and yet, if idle in learning, I was beaten. For this\nwas judged right by our forefathers; and many, passing the same course\nbefore us, framed for us weary paths, through which we were fain to\npass; multiplying toil and grief upon the sons of Adam. But, Lord, we\nfound that men called upon Thee, and we learnt from them to think of\nThee (according to our powers) as of some great One, who, though hidden\nfrom our senses, couldest hear and help us. For so I began, as a boy, to\npray to Thee, my aid and refuge; and broke the fetters of my tongue to\ncall on Thee, praying Thee, though small, yet with no small earnestness,\nthat I might not be beaten at school. And when Thou heardest me not (not\nthereby giving me over to folly), my elders, yea my very parents, who\nyet wished me no ill, mocked my stripes, my then great and grievous ill.\n\nIs there, Lord, any of soul so great, and cleaving to Thee with so\nintense affection (for a sort of stupidity will in a way do it); but\nis there any one who, from cleaving devoutly to Thee, is endued with so\ngreat a spirit, that he can think as lightly of the racks and hooks and\nother torments (against which, throughout all lands, men call on Thee\nwith extreme dread), mocking at those by whom they are feared most\nbitterly, as our parents mocked the torments which we suffered in\nboyhood from our masters? For we feared not our torments less; nor\nprayed we less to Thee to escape them. And yet we sinned, in writing or\nreading or studying less than was exacted of us. For we wanted not, O\nLord, memory or capacity, whereof Thy will gave enough for our age; but\nour sole delight was play; and for this we were punished by those who\nyet themselves were doing the like. But elder folks' idleness is called\n\"business\"; that of boys, being really the same, is punished by those\nelders; and none commiserates either boys or men. For will any of sound\ndiscretion approve of my being beaten as a boy, because, by playing a\nball, I made less progress in studies which I was to learn, only that,\nas a man, I might play more unbeseemingly? and what else did he who beat\nme? who, if worsted in some trifling discussion with his fellow-tutor,\nwas more embittered and jealous than I when beaten at ball by a\nplay-fellow?\n\nAnd yet, I sinned herein, O Lord God, the Creator and Disposer of all\nthings in nature, of sin the Disposer only, O Lord my God, I sinned in\ntransgressing the commands of my parents and those of my masters. For\nwhat they, with whatever motive, would have me learn, I might afterwards\nhave put to good use. For I disobeyed, not from a better choice, but\nfrom love of play, loving the pride of victory in my contests, and to\nhave my ears tickled with lying fables, that they might itch the more;\nthe same curiosity flashing from my eyes more and more, for the shows\nand games of my elders. Yet those who give these shows are in such\nesteem, that almost all wish the same for their children, and yet are\nvery willing that they should be beaten, if those very games detain them\nfrom the studies, whereby they would have them attain to be the givers\nof them. Look with pity, Lord, on these things, and deliver us who call\nupon Thee now; deliver those too who call not on Thee yet, that they may\ncall on Thee, and Thou mayest deliver them.\n\n  As a boy, then, I had already heard of an eternal life, promised\nus through the humility of the Lord our God stooping to our pride; and\neven from the womb of my mother, who greatly hoped in Thee, I was sealed\nwith the mark of His cross and salted with His salt. Thou sawest, Lord,\nhow while yet a boy, being seized on a time with sudden oppression of\nthe stomach, and like near to death--Thou sawest, my God (for Thou wert\nmy keeper), with what eagerness and what faith I sought, from the pious\ncare of my mother and Thy Church, the mother of us all, the baptism of\nThy Christ, my God and Lord. Whereupon the mother of my flesh, being\nmuch troubled (since, with a heart pure in Thy faith, she even more\nlovingly travailed in birth of my salvation), would in eager haste\nhave provided for my consecration and cleansing by the health-giving\nsacraments, confessing Thee, Lord Jesus, for the remission of sins,\nunless I had suddenly recovered. And so, as if I must needs be\nagain polluted should I live, my cleansing was deferred, because the\ndefilements of sin would, after that washing, bring greater and more\nperilous guilt. I then already believed: and my mother, and the whole\nhousehold, except my father: yet did not he prevail over the power of my\nmother's piety in me, that as he did not yet believe, so neither\nshould I. For it was her earnest care that Thou my God, rather than he,\nshouldest be my father; and in this Thou didst aid her to prevail over\nher husband, whom she, the better, obeyed, therein also obeying Thee,\nwho hast so commanded.\n\n  I beseech Thee, my God, I would fain know, if so Thou willest, for\nwhat purpose my baptism was then deferred? was it for my good that the\nrein was laid loose, as it were, upon me, for me to sin? or was it not\nlaid loose? If not, why does it still echo in our ears on all sides,\n\"Let him alone, let him do as he will, for he is not yet baptised?\" but\nas to bodily health, no one says, \"Let him be worse wounded, for he is\nnot yet healed.\" How much better then, had I been at once healed; and\nthen, by my friends' and my own, my soul's recovered health had been\nkept safe in Thy keeping who gavest it. Better truly. But how many and\ngreat waves of temptation seemed to hang over me after my boyhood! These\nmy mother foresaw; and preferred to expose to them the clay whence I\nmight afterwards be moulded, than the very cast, when made.\n\n  In boyhood itself, however (so much less dreaded for me than youth),\nI loved not study, and hated to be forced to it. Yet I was forced; and\nthis was well done towards me, but I did not well; for, unless forced, I\nhad not learnt. But no one doth well against his will, even though what\nhe doth, be well. Yet neither did they well who forced me, but what was\nwell came to me from Thee, my God. For they were regardless how I should\nemploy what they forced me to learn, except to satiate the insatiate\ndesires of a wealthy beggary, and a shameful glory. But Thou, by whom\nthe very hairs of our head are numbered, didst use for my good the error\nof all who urged me to learn; and my own, who would not learn, Thou\ndidst use for my punishment--a fit penalty for one, so small a boy and\nso great a sinner. So by those who did not well, Thou didst well for me;\nand by my own sin Thou didst justly punish me. For Thou hast commanded,\nand so it is, that every inordinate affection should be its own\npunishment.\n\nBut why did I so much hate the Greek, which I studied as a boy? I do not\nyet fully know. For the Latin I loved; not what my first masters, but\nwhat the so-called grammarians taught me. For those first lessons,\nreading, writing and arithmetic, I thought as great a burden and penalty\nas any Greek. And yet whence was this too, but from the sin and vanity\nof this life, because I was flesh, and a breath that passeth away and\ncometh not again? For those first lessons were better certainly, because\nmore certain; by them I obtained, and still retain, the power of reading\nwhat I find written, and myself writing what I will; whereas in the\nothers, I was forced to learn the wanderings of one Aeneas, forgetful of\nmy own, and to weep for dead Dido, because she killed herself for love;\nthe while, with dry eyes, I endured my miserable self dying among these\nthings, far from Thee, O God my life.\n\nFor what more miserable than a miserable being who commiserates not\nhimself; weeping the death of Dido for love to Aeneas, but weeping not\nhis own death for want of love to Thee, O God. Thou light of my heart,\nThou bread of my inmost soul, Thou Power who givest vigour to my mind,\nwho quickenest my thoughts, I loved Thee not. I committed fornication\nagainst Thee, and all around me thus fornicating there echoed \"Well\ndone! well done!\" for the friendship of this world is fornication\nagainst Thee; and \"Well done! well done!\" echoes on till one is ashamed\nnot to be thus a man. And for all this I wept not, I who wept for Dido\nslain, and \"seeking by the sword a stroke and wound extreme,\" myself\nseeking the while a worse extreme, the extremest and lowest of Thy\ncreatures, having forsaken Thee, earth passing into the earth. And\nif forbid to read all this, I was grieved that I might not read what\ngrieved me. Madness like this is thought a higher and a richer learning,\nthan that by which I learned to read and write.\n\nBut now, my God, cry Thou aloud in my soul; and let Thy truth tell me,\n\"Not so, not so. Far better was that first study.\" For, lo, I would\nreadily forget the wanderings of Aeneas and all the rest, rather than\nhow to read and write. But over the entrance of the Grammar School is a\nvail drawn! true; yet is this not so much an emblem of aught recondite,\nas a cloak of error. Let not those, whom I no longer fear, cry out\nagainst me, while I confess to Thee, my God, whatever my soul will, and\nacquiesce in the condemnation of my evil ways, that I may love Thy\ngood ways. Let not either buyers or sellers of grammar-learning cry out\nagainst me. For if I question them whether it be true that Aeneas came\non a time to Carthage, as the poet tells, the less learned will reply\nthat they know not, the more learned that he never did. But should I ask\nwith what letters the name \"Aeneas\" is written, every one who has\nlearnt this will answer me aright, as to the signs which men have\nconventionally settled. If, again, I should ask which might be forgotten\nwith least detriment to the concerns of life, reading and writing or\nthese poetic fictions? who does not foresee what all must answer who\nhave not wholly forgotten themselves? I sinned, then, when as a boy I\npreferred those empty to those more profitable studies, or rather loved\nthe one and hated the other. \"One and one, two\"; \"two and two, four\";\nthis was to me a hateful singsong: \"the wooden horse lined with\narmed men,\" and \"the burning of Troy,\" and \"Creusa's shade and sad\nsimilitude,\" were the choice spectacle of my vanity.\n\nWhy then did I hate the Greek classics, which have the like tales? For\nHomer also curiously wove the like fictions, and is most sweetly-vain,\nyet was he bitter to my boyish taste. And so I suppose would Virgil\nbe to Grecian children, when forced to learn him as I was Homer.\nDifficulty, in truth, the difficulty of a foreign tongue, dashed, as it\nwere, with gall all the sweetness of Grecian fable. For not one word of\nit did I understand, and to make me understand I was urged vehemently\nwith cruel threats and punishments. Time was also (as an infant) I\nknew no Latin; but this I learned without fear or suffering, by mere\nobservation, amid the caresses of my nursery and jests of friends,\nsmiling and sportively encouraging me. This I learned without any\npressure of punishment to urge me on, for my heart urged me to give\nbirth to its conceptions, which I could only do by learning words not of\nthose who taught, but of those who talked with me; in whose ears also I\ngave birth to the thoughts, whatever I conceived. No doubt, then, that\na free curiosity has more force in our learning these things, than a\nfrightful enforcement. Only this enforcement restrains the rovings of\nthat freedom, through Thy laws, O my God, Thy laws, from the master's\ncane to the martyr's trials, being able to temper for us a wholesome\nbitter, recalling us to Thyself from that deadly pleasure which lures us\nfrom Thee.\n\nHear, Lord, my prayer; let not my soul faint under Thy discipline, nor\nlet me faint in confessing unto Thee all Thy mercies, whereby Thou\nhast drawn me out of all my most evil ways, that Thou mightest become a\ndelight to me above all the allurements which I once pursued; that I may\nmost entirely love Thee, and clasp Thy hand with all my affections, and\nThou mayest yet rescue me from every temptation, even unto the end. For\nlo, O Lord, my King and my God, for Thy service be whatever useful\nthing my childhood learned; for Thy service, that I speak, write, read,\nreckon. For Thou didst grant me Thy discipline, while I was learning\nvanities; and my sin of delighting in those vanities Thou hast forgiven.\nIn them, indeed, I learnt many a useful word, but these may as well be\nlearned in things not vain; and that is the safe path for the steps of\nyouth.\n\nBut woe is thee, thou torrent of human custom! Who shall stand against\nthee? how long shalt thou not be dried up? how long roll the sons of Eve\ninto that huge and hideous ocean, which even they scarcely overpass who\nclimb the cross? Did not I read in thee of Jove the thunderer and the\nadulterer? both, doubtless, he could not be; but so the feigned thunder\nmight countenance and pander to real adultery. And now which of our\ngowned masters lends a sober ear to one who from their own school cries\nout, \"These were Homer's fictions, transferring things human to the\ngods; would he had brought down things divine to us!\" Yet more truly had\nhe said, \"These are indeed his fictions; but attributing a divine nature\nto wicked men, that crimes might be no longer crimes, and whoso commits\nthem might seem to imitate not abandoned men, but the celestial gods.\"\n\nAnd yet, thou hellish torrent, into thee are cast the sons of men with\nrich rewards, for compassing such learning; and a great solemnity is\nmade of it, when this is going on in the forum, within sight of laws\nappointing a salary beside the scholar's payments; and thou lashest\nthy rocks and roarest, \"Hence words are learnt; hence eloquence; most\nnecessary to gain your ends, or maintain opinions.\" As if we should have\nnever known such words as \"golden shower,\" \"lap,\" \"beguile,\" \"temples\nof the heavens,\" or others in that passage, unless Terence had brought\na lewd youth upon the stage, setting up Jupiter as his example of\nseduction.\n\n         \"Viewing a picture, where the tale was drawn,\n         Of Jove's descending in a golden shower\n         To Danae's lap a woman to beguile.\"\n\nAnd then mark how he excites himself to lust as by celestial authority:\n\n         \"And what God?  Great Jove,\n         Who shakes heaven's highest temples with his thunder,\n\n         And I, poor mortal man, not do the same!\n         I did it, and with all my heart I did it.\"\n\nNot one whit more easily are the words learnt for all this vileness;\nbut by their means the vileness is committed with less shame. Not that\nI blame the words, being, as it were, choice and precious vessels; but\nthat wine of error which is drunk to us in them by intoxicated teachers;\nand if we, too, drink not, we are beaten, and have no sober judge to\nwhom we may appeal. Yet, O my God (in whose presence I now without hurt\nmay remember this), all this unhappily I learnt willingly with great\ndelight, and for this was pronounced a hopeful boy.\n\nBear with me, my God, while I say somewhat of my wit, Thy gift, and on\nwhat dotages I wasted it. For a task was set me, troublesome enough to\nmy soul, upon terms of praise or shame, and fear of stripes, to speak\nthe words of Juno, as she raged and mourned that she could not\n\n        \"This Trojan prince from Latinum turn.\"\n\nWhich words I had heard that Juno never uttered; but we were forced to\ngo astray in the footsteps of these poetic fictions, and to say in prose\nmuch what he expressed in verse. And his speaking was most applauded, in\nwhom the passions of rage and grief were most preeminent, and clothed\nin the most fitting language, maintaining the dignity of the character.\nWhat is it to me, O my true life, my God, that my declamation was\napplauded above so many of my own age and class? is not all this smoke\nand wind? and was there nothing else whereon to exercise my wit and\ntongue? Thy praises, Lord, Thy praises might have stayed the yet tender\nshoot of my heart by the prop of Thy Scriptures; so had it not trailed\naway amid these empty trifles, a defiled prey for the fowls of the air.\nFor in more ways than one do men sacrifice to the rebellious angels.\n\nBut what marvel that I was thus carried away to vanities, and went out\nfrom Thy presence, O my God, when men were set before me as models, who,\nif in relating some action of theirs, in itself not ill, they committed\nsome barbarism or solecism, being censured, were abashed; but when\nin rich and adorned and well-ordered discourse they related their own\ndisordered life, being bepraised, they gloried? These things Thou seest,\nLord, and holdest Thy peace; long-suffering, and plenteous in mercy and\ntruth. Wilt Thou hold Thy peace for ever? and even now Thou drawest out\nof this horrible gulf the soul that seeketh Thee, that thirsteth for\nThy pleasures, whose heart saith unto Thee, I have sought Thy face; Thy\nface, Lord, will I seek. For darkened affections is removal from Thee.\nFor it is not by our feet, or change of place, that men leave Thee, or\nreturn unto Thee. Or did that Thy younger son look out for horses or\nchariots, or ships, fly with visible wings, or journey by the motion of\nhis limbs, that he might in a far country waste in riotous living all\nThou gavest at his departure? a loving Father, when Thou gavest, and\nmore loving unto him, when he returned empty. So then in lustful, that\nis, in darkened affections, is the true distance from Thy face.\n\nBehold, O Lord God, yea, behold patiently as Thou art wont how carefully\nthe sons of men observe the covenanted rules of letters and syllables\nreceived from those who spake before them, neglecting the eternal\ncovenant of everlasting salvation received from Thee. Insomuch, that\na teacher or learner of the hereditary laws of pronunciation will more\noffend men by speaking without the aspirate, of a \"uman being,\" in\ndespite of the laws of grammar, than if he, a \"human being,\" hate a\n\"human being\" in despite of Thine. As if any enemy could be more hurtful\nthan the hatred with which he is incensed against him; or could wound\nmore deeply him whom he persecutes, than he wounds his own soul by his\nenmity. Assuredly no science of letters can be so innate as the record\nof conscience, \"that he is doing to another what from another he would\nbe loth to suffer.\" How deep are Thy ways, O God, Thou only great,\nthat sittest silent on high and by an unwearied law dispensing penal\nblindness to lawless desires. In quest of the fame of eloquence, a man\nstanding before a human judge, surrounded by a human throng, declaiming\nagainst his enemy with fiercest hatred, will take heed most watchfully,\nlest, by an error of the tongue, he murder the word \"human being\"; but\ntakes no heed, lest, through the fury of his spirit, he murder the real\nhuman being.\n\nThis was the world at whose gate unhappy I lay in my boyhood; this\nthe stage where I had feared more to commit a barbarism, than having\ncommitted one, to envy those who had not. These things I speak and\nconfess to Thee, my God; for which I had praise from them, whom I then\nthought it all virtue to please. For I saw not the abyss of vileness,\nwherein I was cast away from Thine eyes. Before them what more foul than\nI was already, displeasing even such as myself? with innumerable lies\ndeceiving my tutor, my masters, my parents, from love of play, eagerness\nto see vain shows and restlessness to imitate them! Thefts also I\ncommitted, from my parents' cellar and table, enslaved by greediness, or\nthat I might have to give to boys, who sold me their play, which all\nthe while they liked no less than I. In this play, too, I often\nsought unfair conquests, conquered myself meanwhile by vain desire of\npreeminence. And what could I so ill endure, or, when I detected it,\nupbraided I so fiercely, as that I was doing to others? and for which\nif, detected, I was upbraided, I chose rather to quarrel than to yield.\nAnd is this the innocence of boyhood? Not so, Lord, not so; I cry Thy\nmercy, my God. For these very sins, as riper years succeed, these very\nsins are transferred from tutors and masters, from nuts and balls and\nsparrows, to magistrates and kings, to gold and manors and slaves, just\nas severer punishments displace the cane. It was the low stature then of\nchildhood which Thou our King didst commend as an emblem of lowliness,\nwhen Thou saidst, Of such is the kingdom of heaven.\n\nYet, Lord, to Thee, the Creator and Governor of the universe, most\nexcellent and most good, thanks were due to Thee our God, even hadst\nThou destined for me boyhood only. For even then I was, I lived, and\nfelt; and had an implanted providence over my well-being--a trace of\nthat mysterious Unity whence I was derived; I guarded by the inward\nsense the entireness of my senses, and in these minute pursuits, and in\nmy thoughts on things minute, I learnt to delight in truth, I hated to\nbe deceived, had a vigorous memory, was gifted with speech, was\nsoothed by friendship, avoided pain, baseness, ignorance. In so small a\ncreature, what was not wonderful, not admirable? But all are gifts of\nmy God: it was not I who gave them me; and good these are, and these\ntogether are myself. Good, then, is He that made me, and He is my good;\nand before Him will I exult for every good which of a boy I had. For it\nwas my sin, that not in Him, but in His creatures--myself and others--I\nsought for pleasures, sublimities, truths, and so fell headlong into\nsorrows, confusions, errors. Thanks be to Thee, my joy and my glory\nand my confidence, my God, thanks be to Thee for Thy gifts; but do Thou\npreserve them to me. For so wilt Thou preserve me, and those things\nshall be enlarged and perfected which Thou hast given me, and I myself\nshall be with Thee, since even to be Thou hast given me.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK II\n\n\nI will now call to mind my past foulness, and the carnal corruptions of\nmy soul; not because I love them, but that I may love Thee, O my God.\nFor love of Thy love I do it; reviewing my most wicked ways in the very\nbitterness of my remembrance, that Thou mayest grow sweet unto me (Thou\nsweetness never failing, Thou blissful and assured sweetness); and\ngathering me again out of that my dissipation, wherein I was torn\npiecemeal, while turned from Thee, the One Good, I lost myself among a\nmultiplicity of things. For I even burnt in my youth heretofore, to be\nsatiated in things below; and I dared to grow wild again, with these\nvarious and shadowy loves: my beauty consumed away, and I stank in Thine\neyes; pleasing myself, and desirous to please in the eyes of men.\n\nAnd what was it that I delighted in, but to love, and be loved? but\nI kept not the measure of love, of mind to mind, friendship's bright\nboundary: but out of the muddy concupiscence of the flesh, and the\nbubblings of youth, mists fumed up which beclouded and overcast my\nheart, that I could not discern the clear brightness of love from the\nfog of lustfulness. Both did confusedly boil in me, and hurried my\nunstayed youth over the precipice of unholy desires, and sunk me in a\ngulf of flagitiousnesses. Thy wrath had gathered over me, and I knew it\nnot. I was grown deaf by the clanking of the chain of my mortality, the\npunishment of the pride of my soul, and I strayed further from Thee,\nand Thou lettest me alone, and I was tossed about, and wasted, and\ndissipated, and I boiled over in my fornications, and Thou heldest Thy\npeace, O Thou my tardy joy! Thou then heldest Thy peace, and I wandered\nfurther and further from Thee, into more and more fruitless seed-plots\nof sorrows, with a proud dejectedness, and a restless weariness.\n\nOh! that some one had then attempered my disorder, and turned to account\nthe fleeting beauties of these, the extreme points of Thy creation! had\nput a bound to their pleasureableness, that so the tides of my youth\nmight have cast themselves upon the marriage shore, if they could not be\ncalmed, and kept within the object of a family, as Thy law prescribes,\nO Lord: who this way formest the offspring of this our death, being\nable with a gentle hand to blunt the thorns which were excluded from Thy\nparadise? For Thy omnipotency is not far from us, even when we be far\nfrom Thee. Else ought I more watchfully to have heeded the voice from\nthe clouds: Nevertheless such shall have trouble in the flesh, but I\nspare you. And it is good for a man not to touch a woman. And, he that\nis unmarried thinketh of the things of the Lord, how he may please the\nLord; but he that is married careth for the things of this world, how he\nmay please his wife.\n\nTo these words I should have listened more attentively, and being\nsevered for the kingdom of heaven's sake, had more happily awaited Thy\nembraces; but I, poor wretch, foamed like a troubled sea, following the\nrushing of my own tide, forsaking Thee, and exceeded all Thy limits; yet\nI escaped not Thy scourges. For what mortal can? For Thou wert ever with\nme mercifully rigorous, and besprinkling with most bitter alloy all my\nunlawful pleasures: that I might seek pleasures without alloy. But where\nto find such, I could not discover, save in Thee, O Lord, who teachest\nby sorrow, and woundest us, to heal; and killest us, lest we die from\nThee. Where was I, and how far was I exiled from the delights of Thy\nhouse, in that sixteenth year of the age of my flesh, when the madness\nof lust (to which human shamelessness giveth free licence, though\nunlicensed by Thy laws) took the rule over me, and I resigned myself\nwholly to it? My friends meanwhile took no care by marriage to save my\nfall; their only care was that I should learn to speak excellently, and\nbe a persuasive orator.\n\nFor that year were my studies intermitted: whilst after my return from\nMadaura (a neighbour city, whither I had journeyed to learn grammar and\nrhetoric), the expenses for a further journey to Carthage were being\nprovided for me; and that rather by the resolution than the means of my\nfather, who was but a poor freeman of Thagaste. To whom tell I this? not\nto Thee, my God; but before Thee to mine own kind, even to that small\nportion of mankind as may light upon these writings of mine. And to what\npurpose? that whosoever reads this, may think out of what depths we are\nto cry unto Thee. For what is nearer to Thine ears than a confessing\nheart, and a life of faith? Who did not extol my father, for that beyond\nthe ability of his means, he would furnish his son with all necessaries\nfor a far journey for his studies' sake? For many far abler citizens\ndid no such thing for their children. But yet this same father had no\nconcern how I grew towards Thee, or how chaste I were; so that I were\nbut copious in speech, however barren I were to Thy culture, O God, who\nart the only true and good Lord of Thy field, my heart.\n\nBut while in that my sixteenth year I lived with my parents, leaving all\nschool for a while (a season of idleness being interposed through the\nnarrowness of my parents' fortunes), the briers of unclean desires grew\nrank over my head, and there was no hand to root them out. When that my\nfather saw me at the baths, now growing towards manhood, and endued\nwith a restless youthfulness, he, as already hence anticipating his\ndescendants, gladly told it to my mother; rejoicing in that tumult of\nthe senses wherein the world forgetteth Thee its Creator, and becometh\nenamoured of Thy creature, instead of Thyself, through the fumes of that\ninvisible wine of its self-will, turning aside and bowing down to the\nvery basest things. But in my mother's breast Thou hadst already begun\nThy temple, and the foundation of Thy holy habitation, whereas my\nfather was as yet but a Catechumen, and that but recently. She then was\nstartled with a holy fear and trembling; and though I was not as yet\nbaptised, feared for me those crooked ways in which they walk who turn\ntheir back to Thee, and not their face.\n\nWoe is me! and dare I say that Thou heldest Thy peace, O my God, while I\nwandered further from Thee? Didst Thou then indeed hold Thy peace to me?\nAnd whose but Thine were these words which by my mother, Thy faithful\none, Thou sangest in my ears? Nothing whereof sunk into my heart, so as\nto do it. For she wished, and I remember in private with great anxiety\nwarned me, \"not to commit fornication; but especially never to defile\nanother man's wife.\" These seemed to me womanish advices, which I should\nblush to obey. But they were Thine, and I knew it not: and I thought\nThou wert silent and that it was she who spake; by whom Thou wert not\nsilent unto me; and in her wast despised by me, her son, the son of Thy\nhandmaid, Thy servant. But I knew it not; and ran headlong with such\nblindness, that amongst my equals I was ashamed of a less shamelessness,\nwhen I heard them boast of their flagitiousness, yea, and the more\nboasting, the more they were degraded: and I took pleasure, not only in\nthe pleasure of the deed, but in the praise. What is worthy of dispraise\nbut vice? But I made myself worse than I was, that I might not be\ndispraised; and when in any thing I had not sinned as the abandoned\nones, I would say that I had done what I had not done, that I might not\nseem contemptible in proportion as I was innocent; or of less account,\nthe more chaste.\n\nBehold with what companions I walked the streets of Babylon, and\nwallowed in the mire thereof, as if in a bed of spices and precious\nointments. And that I might cleave the faster to its very centre, the\ninvisible enemy trod me down, and seduced me, for that I was easy to be\nseduced. Neither did the mother of my flesh (who had now fled out of\nthe centre of Babylon, yet went more slowly in the skirts thereof as\nshe advised me to chastity, so heed what she had heard of me from her\nhusband, as to restrain within the bounds of conjugal affection, if it\ncould not be pared away to the quick) what she felt to be pestilent\nat present and for the future dangerous. She heeded not this, for she\nfeared lest a wife should prove a clog and hindrance to my hopes. Not\nthose hopes of the world to come, which my mother reposed in Thee; but\nthe hope of learning, which both my parents were too desirous I should\nattain; my father, because he had next to no thought of Thee, and of\nme but vain conceits; my mother, because she accounted that those\nusual courses of learning would not only be no hindrance, but even some\nfurtherance towards attaining Thee. For thus I conjecture, recalling, as\nwell as I may, the disposition of my parents. The reins, meantime, were\nslackened to me, beyond all temper of due severity, to spend my time in\nsport, yea, even unto dissoluteness in whatsoever I affected. And in all\nwas a mist, intercepting from me, O my God, the brightness of Thy truth;\nand mine iniquity burst out as from very fatness.\n\nTheft is punished by Thy law, O Lord, and the law written in the hearts\nof men, which iniquity itself effaces not. For what thief will abide a\nthief? not even a rich thief, one stealing through want. Yet I lusted to\nthieve, and did it, compelled by no hunger, nor poverty, but through a\ncloyedness of well-doing, and a pamperedness of iniquity. For I stole\nthat, of which I had enough, and much better. Nor cared I to enjoy what\nI stole, but joyed in the theft and sin itself. A pear tree there was\nnear our vineyard, laden with fruit, tempting neither for colour nor\ntaste. To shake and rob this, some lewd young fellows of us went, late\none night (having according to our pestilent custom prolonged our sports\nin the streets till then), and took huge loads, not for our eating, but\nto fling to the very hogs, having only tasted them. And this, but to\ndo what we liked only, because it was misliked. Behold my heart, O\nGod, behold my heart, which Thou hadst pity upon in the bottom of the\nbottomless pit. Now, behold, let my heart tell Thee what it sought\nthere, that I should be gratuitously evil, having no temptation to ill,\nbut the ill itself. It was foul, and I loved it; I loved to perish,\nI loved mine own fault, not that for which I was faulty, but my fault\nitself. Foul soul, falling from Thy firmament to utter destruction; not\nseeking aught through the shame, but the shame itself!\n\nFor there is an attractiveness in beautiful bodies, in gold and silver,\nand all things; and in bodily touch, sympathy hath much influence, and\neach other sense hath his proper object answerably tempered. Worldy\nhonour hath also its grace, and the power of overcoming, and of mastery;\nwhence springs also the thirst of revenge. But yet, to obtain all these,\nwe may not depart from Thee, O Lord, nor decline from Thy law. The life\nalso which here we live hath its own enchantment, through a certain\nproportion of its own, and a correspondence with all things beautiful\nhere below. Human friendship also is endeared with a sweet tie, by\nreason of the unity formed of many souls. Upon occasion of all these,\nand the like, is sin committed, while through an immoderate inclination\ntowards these goods of the lowest order, the better and higher are\nforsaken,--Thou, our Lord God, Thy truth, and Thy law. For these lower\nthings have their delights, but not like my God, who made all things;\nfor in Him doth the righteous delight, and He is the joy of the upright\nin heart.\n\nWhen, then, we ask why a crime was done, we believe it not, unless it\nappear that there might have been some desire of obtaining some of those\nwhich we called lower goods, or a fear of losing them. For they are\nbeautiful and comely; although compared with those higher and beatific\ngoods, they be abject and low. A man hath murdered another; why? he\nloved his wife or his estate; or would rob for his own livelihood; or\nfeared to lose some such things by him; or, wronged, was on fire to be\nrevenged. Would any commit murder upon no cause, delighted simply in\nmurdering? who would believe it? for as for that furious and savage man,\nof whom it is said that he was gratuitously evil and cruel, yet is the\ncause assigned; \"lest\" (saith he) \"through idleness hand or heart should\ngrow inactive.\" And to what end? that, through that practice of guilt,\nhe might, having taken the city, attain to honours, empire, riches, and\nbe freed from fear of the laws, and his embarrassments from domestic\nneeds, and consciousness of villainies. So then, not even Catiline\nhimself loved his own villainies, but something else, for whose sake he\ndid them.\n\nWhat then did wretched I so love in thee, thou theft of mine, thou deed\nof darkness, in that sixteenth year of my age? Lovely thou wert not,\nbecause thou wert theft. But art thou any thing, that thus I speak to\nthee? Fair were the pears we stole, because they were Thy creation, Thou\nfairest of all, Creator of all, Thou good God; God, the sovereign good\nand my true good. Fair were those pears, but not them did my wretched\nsoul desire; for I had store of better, and those I gathered, only that\nI might steal. For, when gathered, I flung them away, my only feast\ntherein being my own sin, which I was pleased to enjoy. For if aught\nof those pears came within my mouth, what sweetened it was the sin.\nAnd now, O Lord my God, I enquire what in that theft delighted me; and\nbehold it hath no loveliness; I mean not such loveliness as in justice\nand wisdom; nor such as is in the mind and memory, and senses, and\nanimal life of man; nor yet as the stars are glorious and beautiful in\ntheir orbs; or the earth, or sea, full of embryo-life, replacing by its\nbirth that which decayeth; nay, nor even that false and shadowy beauty\nwhich belongeth to deceiving vices.\n\nFor so doth pride imitate exaltedness; whereas Thou alone art God\nexalted over all. Ambition, what seeks it, but honours and glory?\nwhereas Thou alone art to be honoured above all, and glorious for\nevermore. The cruelty of the great would fain be feared; but who is\nto be feared but God alone, out of whose power what can be wrested or\nwithdrawn? when, or where, or whither, or by whom? The tendernesses of\nthe wanton would fain be counted love: yet is nothing more tender than\nThy charity; nor is aught loved more healthfully than that Thy truth,\nbright and beautiful above all. Curiosity makes semblance of a desire\nof knowledge; whereas Thou supremely knowest all. Yea, ignorance\nand foolishness itself is cloaked under the name of simplicity and\nuninjuriousness; because nothing is found more single than Thee: and\nwhat less injurious, since they are his own works which injure the\nsinner? Yea, sloth would fain be at rest; but what stable rest besides\nthe Lord? Luxury affects to be called plenty and abundance; but Thou art\nthe fulness and never-failing plenteousness of incorruptible pleasures.\nProdigality presents a shadow of liberality: but Thou art the most\noverflowing Giver of all good. Covetousness would possess many things;\nand Thou possessest all things. Envy disputes for excellency: what more\nexcellent than Thou? Anger seeks revenge: who revenges more justly\nthan Thou? Fear startles at things unwonted and sudden, which endangers\nthings beloved, and takes forethought for their safety; but to Thee what\nunwonted or sudden, or who separateth from Thee what Thou lovest? Or\nwhere but with Thee is unshaken safety? Grief pines away for things\nlost, the delight of its desires; because it would have nothing taken\nfrom it, as nothing can from Thee.\n\nThus doth the soul commit fornication, when she turns from Thee, seeking\nwithout Thee, what she findeth not pure and untainted, till she returns\nto Thee. Thus all pervertedly imitate Thee, who remove far from Thee,\nand lift themselves up against Thee. But even by thus imitating Thee,\nthey imply Thee to be the Creator of all nature; whence there is no\nplace whither altogether to retire from Thee. What then did I love in\nthat theft? and wherein did I even corruptly and pervertedly imitate my\nLord? Did I wish even by stealth to do contrary to Thy law, because\nby power I could not, so that being a prisoner, I might mimic a maimed\nliberty by doing with impunity things unpermitted me, a darkened\nlikeness of Thy Omnipotency? Behold, Thy servant, fleeing from his Lord,\nand obtaining a shadow. O rottenness, O monstrousness of life, and depth\nof death! could I like what I might not, only because I might not?\n\nWhat shall I render unto the Lord, that, whilst my memory recalls these\nthings, my soul is not affrighted at them? I will love Thee, O Lord,\nand thank Thee, and confess unto Thy name; because Thou hast forgiven me\nthese so great and heinous deeds of mine. To Thy grace I ascribe it, and\nto Thy mercy, that Thou hast melted away my sins as it were ice. To Thy\ngrace I ascribe also whatsoever I have not done of evil; for what might\nI not have done, who even loved a sin for its own sake? Yea, all I\nconfess to have been forgiven me; both what evils I committed by my own\nwilfulness, and what by Thy guidance I committed not. What man is\nhe, who, weighing his own infirmity, dares to ascribe his purity and\ninnocency to his own strength; that so he should love Thee the less, as\nif he had less needed Thy mercy, whereby Thou remittest sins to those\nthat turn to Thee? For whosoever, called by Thee, followed Thy voice,\nand avoided those things which he reads me recalling and confessing\nof myself, let him not scorn me, who being sick, was cured by that\nPhysician, through whose aid it was that he was not, or rather was less,\nsick: and for this let him love Thee as much, yea and more; since by\nwhom he sees me to have been recovered from such deep consumption of\nsin, by Him he sees himself to have been from the like consumption of\nsin preserved.\n\nWhat fruit had I then (wretched man!) in those things, of the\nremembrance whereof I am now ashamed? Especially, in that theft which\nI loved for the theft's sake; and it too was nothing, and therefore the\nmore miserable I, who loved it. Yet alone I had not done it: such was I\nthen, I remember, alone I had never done it. I loved then in it also\nthe company of the accomplices, with whom I did it? I did not then love\nnothing else but the theft, yea rather I did love nothing else; for that\ncircumstance of the company was also nothing. What is, in truth? who can\nteach me, save He that enlighteneth my heart, and discovereth its\ndark corners? What is it which hath come into my mind to enquire, and\ndiscuss, and consider? For had I then loved the pears I stole,\nand wished to enjoy them, I might have done it alone, had the bare\ncommission of the theft sufficed to attain my pleasure; nor needed\nI have inflamed the itching of my desires by the excitement of\naccomplices. But since my pleasure was not in those pears, it was in the\noffence itself, which the company of fellow-sinners occasioned.\n\nWhat then was this feeling? For of a truth it was too foul: and woe was\nme, who had it. But yet what was it? Who can understand his errors? It\nwas the sport, which as it were tickled our hearts, that we beguiled\nthose who little thought what we were doing, and much disliked it. Why\nthen was my delight of such sort that I did it not alone? Because none\ndoth ordinarily laugh alone? ordinarily no one; yet laughter sometimes\nmasters men alone and singly when no one whatever is with them, if\nanything very ludicrous presents itself to their senses or mind. Yet\nI had not done this alone; alone I had never done it. Behold my God,\nbefore Thee, the vivid remembrance of my soul; alone, I had never\ncommitted that theft wherein what I stole pleased me not, but that\nI stole; nor had it alone liked me to do it, nor had I done it. O\nfriendship too unfriendly! thou incomprehensible inveigler of the soul,\nthou greediness to do mischief out of mirth and wantonness, thou thirst\nof others' loss, without lust of my own gain or revenge: but when it is\nsaid, \"Let's go, let's do it,\" we are ashamed not to be shameless.\n\nWho can disentangle that twisted and intricate knottiness? Foul is it: I\nhate to think on it, to look on it. But Thee I long for, O Righteousness\nand Innocency, beautiful and comely to all pure eyes, and of a\nsatisfaction unsating. With Thee is rest entire, and life imperturbable.\nWhoso enters into Thee, enters into the joy of his Lord: and shall not\nfear, and shall do excellently in the All-Excellent. I sank away from\nThee, and I wandered, O my God, too much astray from Thee my stay, in\nthese days of my youth, and I became to myself a barren land.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK III\n\n\nTo Carthage I came, where there sang all around me in my ears a cauldron\nof unholy loves. I loved not yet, yet I loved to love, and out of a\ndeep-seated want, I hated myself for wanting not. I sought what I might\nlove, in love with loving, and safety I hated, and a way without snares.\nFor within me was a famine of that inward food, Thyself, my God; yet,\nthrough that famine I was not hungered; but was without all longing for\nincorruptible sustenance, not because filled therewith, but the more\nempty, the more I loathed it. For this cause my soul was sickly and full\nof sores, it miserably cast itself forth, desiring to be scraped by the\ntouch of objects of sense. Yet if these had not a soul, they would not\nbe objects of love. To love then, and to be beloved, was sweet to\nme; but more, when I obtained to enjoy the person I loved, I defiled,\ntherefore, the spring of friendship with the filth of concupiscence, and\nI beclouded its brightness with the hell of lustfulness; and thus\nfoul and unseemly, I would fain, through exceeding vanity, be fine\nand courtly. I fell headlong then into the love wherein I longed to be\nensnared. My God, my Mercy, with how much gall didst Thou out of Thy\ngreat goodness besprinkle for me that sweetness? For I was both beloved,\nand secretly arrived at the bond of enjoying; and was with joy fettered\nwith sorrow-bringing bonds, that I might be scourged with the iron\nburning rods of jealousy, and suspicions, and fears, and angers, and\nquarrels.\n\nStage-plays also carried me away, full of images of my miseries, and of\nfuel to my fire. Why is it, that man desires to be made sad, beholding\ndoleful and tragical things, which yet himself would no means suffer?\nyet he desires as a spectator to feel sorrow at them, and this very\nsorrow is his pleasure. What is this but a miserable madness? for a man\nis the more affected with these actions, the less free he is from such\naffections. Howsoever, when he suffers in his own person, it uses to be\nstyled misery: when he compassionates others, then it is mercy. But what\nsort of compassion is this for feigned and scenical passions? for the\nauditor is not called on to relieve, but only to grieve: and he applauds\nthe actor of these fictions the more, the more he grieves. And if the\ncalamities of those persons (whether of old times, or mere fiction)\nbe so acted, that the spectator is not moved to tears, he goes away\ndisgusted and criticising; but if he be moved to passion, he stays\nintent, and weeps for joy.\n\nAre griefs then too loved? Verily all desire joy. Or whereas no man\nlikes to be miserable, is he yet pleased to be merciful? which because\nit cannot be without passion, for this reason alone are passions loved?\nThis also springs from that vein of friendship. But whither goes that\nvein? whither flows it? wherefore runs it into that torrent of pitch\nbubbling forth those monstrous tides of foul lustfulness, into which it\nis wilfully changed and transformed, being of its own will precipitated\nand corrupted from its heavenly clearness? Shall compassion then be\nput away? by no means. Be griefs then sometimes loved. But beware of\nuncleanness, O my soul, under the guardianship of my God, the God of our\nfathers, who is to be praised and exalted above all for ever, beware of\nuncleanness. For I have not now ceased to pity; but then in the theatres\nI rejoiced with lovers when they wickedly enjoyed one another, although\nthis was imaginary only in the play. And when they lost one another, as\nif very compassionate, I sorrowed with them, yet had my delight in both.\nBut now I much more pity him that rejoiceth in his wickedness, than him\nwho is thought to suffer hardship, by missing some pernicious pleasure,\nand the loss of some miserable felicity. This certainly is the truer\nmercy, but in it grief delights not. For though he that grieves for the\nmiserable, be commended for his office of charity; yet had he, who is\ngenuinely compassionate, rather there were nothing for him to grieve\nfor. For if good will be ill willed (which can never be), then may\nhe, who truly and sincerely commiserates, wish there might be some\nmiserable, that he might commiserate. Some sorrow may then be allowed,\nnone loved. For thus dost Thou, O Lord God, who lovest souls far more\npurely than we, and hast more incorruptibly pity on them, yet are\nwounded with no sorrowfulness. And who is sufficient for these things?\n\nBut I, miserable, then loved to grieve, and sought out what to grieve\nat, when in another's and that feigned and personated misery, that\nacting best pleased me, and attracted me the most vehemently, which\ndrew tears from me. What marvel that an unhappy sheep, straying from\nThy flock, and impatient of Thy keeping, I became infected with a foul\ndisease? And hence the love of griefs; not such as should sink deep into\nme; for I loved not to suffer, what I loved to look on; but such as upon\nhearing their fictions should lightly scratch the surface; upon which,\nas on envenomed nails, followed inflamed swelling, impostumes, and a\nputrefied sore. My life being such, was it life, O my God?\n\nAnd Thy faithful mercy hovered over me afar. Upon how grievous\niniquities consumed I myself, pursuing a sacrilegious curiosity, that\nhaving forsaken Thee, it might bring me to the treacherous abyss, and\nthe beguiling service of devils, to whom I sacrificed my evil actions,\nand in all these things Thou didst scourge me! I dared even, while Thy\nsolemnities were celebrated within the walls of Thy Church, to desire,\nand to compass a business deserving death for its fruits, for which Thou\nscourgedst me with grievous punishments, though nothing to my fault,\nO Thou my exceeding mercy, my God, my refuge from those terrible\ndestroyers, among whom I wandered with a stiff neck, withdrawing\nfurther from Thee, loving mine own ways, and not Thine; loving a vagrant\nliberty.\n\nThose studies also, which were accounted commendable, had a view to\nexcelling in the courts of litigation; the more bepraised, the craftier.\nSuch is men's blindness, glorying even in their blindness. And now I\nwas chief in the rhetoric school, whereat I joyed proudly, and I swelled\nwith arrogancy, though (Lord, Thou knowest) far quieter and altogether\nremoved from the subvertings of those \"Subverters\" (for this ill-omened\nand devilish name was the very badge of gallantry) among whom I lived,\nwith a shameless shame that I was not even as they. With them I lived,\nand was sometimes delighted with their friendship, whose doings I ever\ndid abhor--i.e., their \"subvertings,\" wherewith they wantonly persecuted\nthe modesty of strangers, which they disturbed by a gratuitous jeering,\nfeeding thereon their malicious birth. Nothing can be liker the very\nactions of devils than these. What then could they be more truly called\nthan \"Subverters\"? themselves subverted and altogether perverted first,\nthe deceiving spirits secretly deriding and seducing them, wherein\nthemselves delight to jeer at and deceive others.\n\nAmong such as these, in that unsettled age of mine, learned I books\nof eloquence, wherein I desired to be eminent, out of a damnable and\nvainglorious end, a joy in human vanity. In the ordinary course of\nstudy, I fell upon a certain book of Cicero, whose speech almost all\nadmire, not so his heart. This book of his contains an exhortation\nto philosophy, and is called \"Hortensius.\" But this book altered my\naffections, and turned my prayers to Thyself O Lord; and made me have\nother purposes and desires. Every vain hope at once became worthless to\nme; and I longed with an incredibly burning desire for an immortality of\nwisdom, and began now to arise, that I might return to Thee. For not\nto sharpen my tongue (which thing I seemed to be purchasing with my\nmother's allowances, in that my nineteenth year, my father being dead\ntwo years before), not to sharpen my tongue did I employ that book; nor\ndid it infuse into me its style, but its matter.\n\nHow did I burn then, my God, how did I burn to re-mount from earthly\nthings to Thee, nor knew I what Thou wouldest do with me? For with Thee\nis wisdom. But the love of wisdom is in Greek called \"philosophy,\"\nwith which that book inflamed me. Some there be that seduce through\nphilosophy, under a great, and smooth, and honourable name colouring and\ndisguising their own errors: and almost all who in that and former ages\nwere such, are in that book censured and set forth: there also is\nmade plain that wholesome advice of Thy Spirit, by Thy good and devout\nservant: Beware lest any man spoil you through philosophy and vain\ndeceit, after the tradition of men, after the rudiments of the world,\nand not after Christ. For in Him dwelleth all the fulness of the Godhead\nbodily. And since at that time (Thou, O light of my heart, knowest)\nApostolic Scripture was not known to me, I was delighted with that\nexhortation, so far only, that I was thereby strongly roused, and\nkindled, and inflamed to love, and seek, and obtain, and hold, and\nembrace not this or that sect, but wisdom itself whatever it were; and\nthis alone checked me thus unkindled, that the name of Christ was not\nin it. For this name, according to Thy mercy, O Lord, this name of\nmy Saviour Thy Son, had my tender heart, even with my mother's milk,\ndevoutly drunk in and deeply treasured; and whatsoever was without that\nname, though never so learned, polished, or true, took not entire hold\nof me.\n\nI resolved then to bend my mind to the holy Scriptures, that I might see\nwhat they were. But behold, I see a thing not understood by the proud,\nnor laid open to children, lowly in access, in its recesses lofty, and\nveiled with mysteries; and I was not such as could enter into it, or\nstoop my neck to follow its steps. For not as I now speak, did I feel\nwhen I turned to those Scriptures; but they seemed to me unworthy to be\ncompared to the stateliness of Tully: for my swelling pride shrunk from\ntheir lowliness, nor could my sharp wit pierce the interior thereof. Yet\nwere they such as would grow up in a little one. But I disdained to be a\nlittle one; and, swollen with pride, took myself to be a great one.\n\nTherefore I fell among men proudly doting, exceeding carnal and prating,\nin whose mouths were the snares of the Devil, limed with the mixture of\nthe syllables of Thy name, and of our Lord Jesus Christ, and of the Holy\nGhost, the Paraclete, our Comforter. These names departed not out of\ntheir mouth, but so far forth as the sound only and the noise of the\ntongue, for the heart was void of truth. Yet they cried out \"Truth,\nTruth,\" and spake much thereof to me, yet it was not in them: but they\nspake falsehood, not of Thee only (who truly art Truth), but even of\nthose elements of this world, Thy creatures. And I indeed ought to have\npassed by even philosophers who spake truth concerning them, for love\nof Thee, my Father, supremely good, Beauty of all things beautiful.\nO Truth, Truth, how inwardly did even then the marrow of my soul pant\nafter Thee, when they often and diversely, and in many and huge books,\nechoed of Thee to me, though it was but an echo? And these were the\ndishes wherein to me, hungering after Thee, they, instead of Thee,\nserved up the Sun and Moon, beautiful works of Thine, but yet Thy works,\nnot Thyself, no nor Thy first works. For Thy spiritual works are before\nthese corporeal works, celestial though they be, and shining. But I\nhungered and thirsted not even after those first works of Thine, but\nafter Thee Thyself, the Truth, in whom is no variableness, neither\nshadow of turning: yet they still set before me in those dishes,\nglittering fantasies, than which better were it to love this very sun\n(which is real to our sight at least), than those fantasies which by\nour eyes deceive our mind. Yet because I thought them to be Thee, I fed\nthereon; not eagerly, for Thou didst not in them taste to me as Thou\nart; for Thou wast not these emptinesses, nor was I nourished by them,\nbut exhausted rather. Food in sleep shows very like our food awake; yet\nare not those asleep nourished by it, for they are asleep. But those\nwere not even any way like to Thee, as Thou hast now spoken to me; for\nthose were corporeal fantasies, false bodies, than which these true\nbodies, celestial or terrestrial, which with our fleshly sight we\nbehold, are far more certain: these things the beasts and birds discern\nas well as we, and they are more certain than when we fancy them. And\nagain, we do with more certainty fancy them, than by them conjecture\nother vaster and infinite bodies which have no being. Such empty husks\nwas I then fed on; and was not fed. But Thou, my soul's Love, in looking\nfor whom I fail, that I may become strong, art neither those bodies\nwhich we see, though in heaven; nor those which we see not there; for\nThou hast created them, nor dost Thou account them among the chiefest of\nThy works. How far then art Thou from those fantasies of mine, fantasies\nof bodies which altogether are not, than which the images of those\nbodies, which are, are far more certain, and more certain still the\nbodies themselves, which yet Thou art not; no, nor yet the soul, which\nis the life of the bodies. So then, better and more certain is the life\nof the bodies than the bodies. But Thou art the life of souls, the life\nof lives, having life in Thyself; and changest not, life of my soul.\n\nWhere then wert Thou then to me, and how far from me? Far verily was I\nstraying from Thee, barred from the very husks of the swine, whom with\nhusks I fed. For how much better are the fables of poets and grammarians\nthan these snares? For verses, and poems, and \"Medea flying,\" are more\nprofitable truly than these men's five elements, variously disguised,\nanswering to five dens of darkness, which have no being, yet slay the\nbeliever. For verses and poems I can turn to true food, and \"Medea\nflying,\" though I did sing, I maintained not; though I heard it sung,\nI believed not: but those things I did believe. Woe, woe, by what steps\nwas I brought down to the depths of hell! toiling and turmoiling through\nwant of Truth, since I sought after Thee, my God (to Thee I confess\nit, who hadst mercy on me, not as yet confessing), not according to the\nunderstanding of the mind, wherein Thou willedst that I should excel\nthe beasts, but according to the sense of the flesh. But Thou wert more\ninward to me than my most inward part; and higher than my highest. I\nlighted upon that bold woman, simple and knoweth nothing, shadowed out\nin Solomon, sitting at the door, and saying, Eat ye bread of secrecies\nwillingly, and drink ye stolen waters which are sweet: she seduced me,\nbecause she found my soul dwelling abroad in the eye of my flesh, and\nruminating on such food as through it I had devoured.\n\nFor other than this, that which really is I knew not; and was, as it\nwere through sharpness of wit, persuaded to assent to foolish deceivers,\nwhen they asked me, \"whence is evil?\" \"is God bounded by a bodily shape,\nand has hairs and nails?\" \"are they to be esteemed righteous who had\nmany wives at once, and did kill men, and sacrifice living creatures?\"\nAt which I, in my ignorance, was much troubled, and departing from the\ntruth, seemed to myself to be making towards it; because as yet I knew\nnot that evil was nothing but a privation of good, until at last a thing\nceases altogether to be; which how should I see, the sight of whose eyes\nreached only to bodies, and of my mind to a phantasm? And I knew not God\nto be a Spirit, not one who hath parts extended in length and breadth,\nor whose being was bulk; for every bulk is less in a part than in the\nwhole: and if it be infinite, it must be less in such part as is defined\nby a certain space, than in its infinitude; and so is not wholly every\nwhere, as Spirit, as God. And what that should be in us, by which we\nwere like to God, and might be rightly said to be after the image of\nGod, I was altogether ignorant.\n\nNor knew I that true inward righteousness which judgeth not according\nto custom, but out of the most rightful law of God Almighty, whereby\nthe ways of places and times were disposed according to those times and\nplaces; itself meantime being the same always and every where, not one\nthing in one place, and another in another; according to which Abraham,\nand Isaac, and Jacob, and Moses, and David, were righteous, and all\nthose commended by the mouth of God; but were judged unrighteous by\nsilly men, judging out of man's judgment, and measuring by their own\npetty habits, the moral habits of the whole human race. As if in an\narmory, one ignorant what were adapted to each part should cover his\nhead with greaves, or seek to be shod with a helmet, and complain that\nthey fitted not: or as if on a day when business is publicly stopped in\nthe afternoon, one were angered at not being allowed to keep open shop,\nbecause he had been in the forenoon; or when in one house he observeth\nsome servant take a thing in his hand, which the butler is not suffered\nto meddle with; or something permitted out of doors, which is forbidden\nin the dining-room; and should be angry, that in one house, and one\nfamily, the same thing is not allotted every where, and to all. Even\nsuch are they who are fretted to hear something to have been lawful\nfor righteous men formerly, which now is not; or that God, for certain\ntemporal respects, commanded them one thing, and these another, obeying\nboth the same righteousness: whereas they see, in one man, and one day,\nand one house, different things to be fit for different members, and\na thing formerly lawful, after a certain time not so; in one corner\npermitted or commanded, but in another rightly forbidden and punished.\nIs justice therefore various or mutable? No, but the times, over which\nit presides, flow not evenly, because they are times. But men whose days\nare few upon the earth, for that by their senses they cannot harmonise\nthe causes of things in former ages and other nations, which they had\nnot experience of, with these which they have experience of, whereas in\none and the same body, day, or family, they easily see what is fitting\nfor each member, and season, part, and person; to the one they take\nexceptions, to the other they submit.\n\nThese things I then knew not, nor observed; they struck my sight on all\nsides, and I saw them not. I indited verses, in which I might not place\nevery foot every where, but differently in different metres; nor even in\nany one metre the self-same foot in all places. Yet the art itself, by\nwhich I indited, had not different principles for these different cases,\nbut comprised all in one. Still I saw not how that righteousness, which\ngood and holy men obeyed, did far more excellently and sublimely contain\nin one all those things which God commanded, and in no part varied;\nalthough in varying times it prescribed not every thing at once, but\napportioned and enjoined what was fit for each. And I in my blindness,\ncensured the holy Fathers, not only wherein they made use of things\npresent as God commanded and inspired them, but also wherein they were\nforetelling things to come, as God was revealing in them.\n\nCan it at any time or place be unjust to love God with all his heart,\nwith all his soul, and with all his mind; and his neighbour as himself?\nTherefore are those foul offences which be against nature, to be every\nwhere and at all times detested and punished; such as were those of the\nmen of Sodom: which should all nations commit, they should all stand\nguilty of the same crime, by the law of God, which hath not so made men\nthat they should so abuse one another. For even that intercourse which\nshould be between God and us is violated, when that same nature, of\nwhich He is Author, is polluted by perversity of lust. But those\nactions which are offences against the customs of men, are to be avoided\naccording to the customs severally prevailing; so that a thing agreed\nupon, and confirmed, by custom or law of any city or nation, may not be\nviolated at the lawless pleasure of any, whether native or foreigner.\nFor any part which harmoniseth not with its whole, is offensive. But\nwhen God commands a thing to be done, against the customs or compact of\nany people, though it were never by them done heretofore, it is to be\ndone; and if intermitted, it is to be restored; and if never ordained,\nis now to be ordained. For lawful if it be for a king, in the state\nwhich he reigns over, to command that which no one before him, nor he\nhimself heretofore, had commanded, and to obey him cannot be against the\ncommon weal of the state (nay, it were against it if he were not obeyed,\nfor to obey princes is a general compact of human society); how much\nmore unhesitatingly ought we to obey God, in all which He commands, the\nRuler of all His creatures! For as among the powers in man's society,\nthe greater authority is obeyed in preference to the lesser, so must God\nabove all.\n\nSo in acts of violence, where there is a wish to hurt, whether by\nreproach or injury; and these either for revenge, as one enemy against\nanother; or for some profit belonging to another, as the robber to\nthe traveller; or to avoid some evil, as towards one who is feared; or\nthrough envy, as one less fortunate to one more so, or one well thriven\nin any thing, to him whose being on a par with himself he fears, or\ngrieves at, or for the mere pleasure at another's pain, as spectators\nof gladiators, or deriders and mockers of others. These be the heads\nof iniquity which spring from the lust of the flesh, of the eye, or of\nrule, either singly, or two combined, or all together; and so do men\nlive ill against the three, and seven, that psaltery of ten strings,\nThy Ten Commandments, O God, most high, and most sweet. But what foul\noffences can there be against Thee, who canst not be defiled? or\nwhat acts of violence against Thee, who canst not be harmed? But Thou\navengest what men commit against themselves, seeing also when they sin\nagainst Thee, they do wickedly against their own souls, and iniquity\ngives itself the lie, by corrupting and perverting their nature, which\nThou hast created and ordained, or by an immoderate use of things\nallowed, or in burning in things unallowed, to that use which is against\nnature; or are found guilty, raging with heart and tongue against Thee,\nkicking against the pricks; or when, bursting the pale of human society,\nthey boldly joy in self-willed combinations or divisions, according as\nthey have any object to gain or subject of offence. And these things are\ndone when Thou art forsaken, O Fountain of Life, who art the only and\ntrue Creator and Governor of the Universe, and by a self-willed pride,\nany one false thing is selected therefrom and loved. So then by a\nhumble devoutness we return to Thee; and Thou cleansest us from our\nevil habits, and art merciful to their sins who confess, and hearest the\ngroaning of the prisoner, and loosest us from the chains which we made\nfor ourselves, if we lift not up against Thee the horns of an unreal\nliberty, suffering the loss of all, through covetousness of more, by\nloving more our own private good than Thee, the Good of all.\n\nAmidst these offences of foulness and violence, and so many iniquities,\nare sins of men, who are on the whole making proficiency; which by those\nthat judge rightly, are, after the rule of perfection, discommended, yet\nthe persons commended, upon hope of future fruit, as in the green blade\nof growing corn. And there are some, resembling offences of foulness or\nviolence, which yet are no sins; because they offend neither Thee, our\nLord God, nor human society; when, namely, things fitting for a given\nperiod are obtained for the service of life, and we know not whether out\nof a lust of having; or when things are, for the sake of correction, by\nconstituted authority punished, and we know not whether out of a lust of\nhurting. Many an action then which in men's sight is disapproved, is\nby Thy testimony approved; and many, by men praised, are (Thou being\nwitness) condemned: because the show of the action, and the mind of the\ndoer, and the unknown exigency of the period, severally vary. But when\nThou on a sudden commandest an unwonted and unthought of thing, yea,\nalthough Thou hast sometime forbidden it, and still for the time hidest\nthe reason of Thy command, and it be against the ordinance of some\nsociety of men, who doubts but it is to be done, seeing that society\nof men is just which serves Thee? But blessed are they who know Thy\ncommands! For all things were done by Thy servants; either to show forth\nsomething needful for the present, or to foreshow things to come.\n\nThese things I being ignorant of, scoffed at those Thy holy servants and\nprophets. And what gained I by scoffing at them, but to be scoffed at by\nThee, being insensibly and step by step drawn on to those follies, as\nto believe that a fig-tree wept when it was plucked, and the tree, its\nmother, shed milky tears? Which fig notwithstanding (plucked by some\nother's, not his own, guilt) had some Manichaean saint eaten, and\nmingled with his bowels, he should breathe out of it angels, yea, there\nshall burst forth particles of divinity, at every moan or groan in his\nprayer, which particles of the most high and true God had remained bound\nin that fig, unless they had been set at liberty by the teeth or belly\nof some \"Elect\" saint! And I, miserable, believed that more mercy was\nto be shown to the fruits of the earth than men, for whom they were\ncreated. For if any one an hungered, not a Manichaean, should ask for\nany, that morsel would seem as it were condemned to capital punishment,\nwhich should be given him.\n\nAnd Thou sentest Thine hand from above, and drewest my soul out of that\nprofound darkness, my mother, Thy faithful one, weeping to Thee for me,\nmore than mothers weep the bodily deaths of their children. For she,\nby that faith and spirit which she had from Thee, discerned the death\nwherein I lay, and Thou heardest her, O Lord; Thou heardest her, and\ndespisedst not her tears, when streaming down, they watered the ground\nunder her eyes in every place where she prayed; yea Thou heardest her.\nFor whence was that dream whereby Thou comfortedst her; so that she\nallowed me to live with her, and to eat at the same table in the\nhouse, which she had begun to shrink from, abhorring and detesting\nthe blasphemies of my error? For she saw herself standing on a certain\nwooden rule, and a shining youth coming towards her, cheerful and\nsmiling upon her, herself grieving, and overwhelmed with grief. But he\nhaving (in order to instruct, as is their wont not to be instructed)\nenquired of her the causes of her grief and daily tears, and she\nanswering that she was bewailing my perdition, he bade her rest\ncontented, and told her to look and observe, \"That where she was, there\nwas I also.\" And when she looked, she saw me standing by her in the same\nrule. Whence was this, but that Thine ears were towards her heart? O\nThou Good omnipotent, who so carest for every one of us, as if Thou\ncaredst for him only; and so for all, as if they were but one!\n\nWhence was this also, that when she had told me this vision, and I would\nfain bend it to mean, \"That she rather should not despair of being one\nday what I was\"; she presently, without any hesitation, replies: \"No;\nfor it was not told me that, 'where he, there thou also'; but 'where\nthou, there he also'?\" I confess to Thee, O Lord, that to the best of my\nremembrance (and I have oft spoken of this), that Thy answer, through\nmy waking mother,--that she was not perplexed by the plausibility of my\nfalse interpretation, and so quickly saw what was to be seen, and which\nI certainly had not perceived before she spake,--even then moved me more\nthan the dream itself, by which a joy to the holy woman, to be fulfilled\nso long after, was, for the consolation of her present anguish, so long\nbefore foresignified. For almost nine years passed, in which I wallowed\nin the mire of that deep pit, and the darkness of falsehood, often\nassaying to rise, but dashed down the more grievously. All which time\nthat chaste, godly, and sober widow (such as Thou lovest), now more\ncheered with hope, yet no whit relaxing in her weeping and mourning,\nceased not at all hours of her devotions to bewail my case unto Thee.\nAnd her prayers entered into Thy presence; and yet Thou sufferedst me to\nbe yet involved and reinvolved in that darkness.\n\nThou gavest her meantime another answer, which I call to mind; for much\nI pass by, hasting to those things which more press me to confess unto\nThee, and much I do not remember. Thou gavest her then another answer,\nby a Priest of Thine, a certain Bishop brought up in Thy Church,\nand well studied in Thy books. Whom when this woman had entreated to\nvouchsafe to converse with me, refute my errors, unteach me ill things,\nand teach me good things (for this he was wont to do, when he found\npersons fitted to receive it), he refused, wisely, as I afterwards\nperceived. For he answered, that I was yet unteachable, being puffed\nup with the novelty of that heresy, and had already perplexed divers\nunskilful persons with captious questions, as she had told him: \"but\nlet him alone a while\" (saith he), \"only pray God for him, he will of\nhimself by reading find what that error is, and how great its impiety.\"\nAt the same time he told her, how himself, when a little one, had by his\nseduced mother been consigned over to the Manichees, and had not\nonly read, but frequently copied out almost all, their books, and had\n(without any argument or proof from any one) seen how much that sect was\nto be avoided; and had avoided it. Which when he had said, and she would\nnot be satisfied, but urged him more, with entreaties and many tears,\nthat he would see me and discourse with me; he, a little displeased at\nher importunity, saith, \"Go thy ways and God bless thee, for it is not\npossible that the son of these tears should perish.\" Which answer she\ntook (as she often mentioned in her conversations with me) as if it had\nsounded from heaven.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK IV\n\n\nFor this space of nine years (from my nineteenth year to my\neight-and-twentieth) we lived seduced and seducing, deceived and\ndeceiving, in divers lusts; openly, by sciences which they call liberal;\nsecretly, with a false-named religion; here proud, there superstitious,\nevery where vain. Here, hunting after the emptiness of popular praise,\ndown even to theatrical applauses, and poetic prizes, and strifes for\ngrassy garlands, and the follies of shows, and the intemperance of\ndesires. There, desiring to be cleansed from these defilements, by\ncarrying food to those who were called \"elect\" and \"holy,\" out of which,\nin the workhouse of their stomachs, they should forge for us Angels\nand Gods, by whom we might be cleansed. These things did I follow, and\npractise with my friends, deceived by me, and with me. Let the arrogant\nmock me, and such as have not been, to their soul's health, stricken and\ncast down by Thee, O my God; but I would still confess to Thee mine own\nshame in Thy praise. Suffer me, I beseech Thee, and give me grace to go\nover in my present remembrance the wanderings of my forepassed time,\nand to offer unto Thee the sacrifice of thanksgiving. For what am I to\nmyself without Thee, but a guide to mine own downfall? or what am I even\nat the best, but an infant sucking the milk Thou givest, and feeding\nupon Thee, the food that perisheth not? But what sort of man is any man,\nseeing he is but a man? Let now the strong and the mighty laugh at us,\nbut let us poor and needy confess unto Thee.\n\nIn those years I taught rhetoric, and, overcome by cupidity, made sale\nof a loquacity to overcome by. Yet I preferred (Lord, Thou knowest)\nhonest scholars (as they are accounted), and these I, without artifice,\ntaught artifices, not to be practised against the life of the guiltless,\nthough sometimes for the life of the guilty. And Thou, O God, from afar\nperceivedst me stumbling in that slippery course, and amid much smoke\nsending out some sparks of faithfulness, which I showed in that my\nguidance of such as loved vanity, and sought after leasing, myself their\ncompanion. In those years I had one,--not in that which is called\nlawful marriage, but whom I had found out in a wayward passion, void of\nunderstanding; yet but one, remaining faithful even to her; in whom I\nin my own case experienced what difference there is betwixt the\nself-restraint of the marriage-covenant, for the sake of issue, and\nthe bargain of a lustful love, where children are born against their\nparents' will, although, once born, they constrain love.\n\nI remember also, that when I had settled to enter the lists for a\ntheatrical prize, some wizard asked me what I would give him to win; but\nI, detesting and abhorring such foul mysteries, answered, \"Though the\ngarland were of imperishable gold, I would not suffer a fly to be\nkilled to gain me it.\" For he was to kill some living creatures in his\nsacrifices, and by those honours to invite the devils to favour me. But\nthis ill also I rejected, not out of a pure love for Thee, O God of my\nheart; for I knew not how to love Thee, who knew not how to conceive\naught beyond a material brightness. And doth not a soul, sighing after\nsuch fictions, commit fornication against Thee, trust in things unreal,\nand feed the wind? Still I would not forsooth have sacrifices offered\nto devils for me, to whom I was sacrificing myself by that superstition.\nFor what else is it to feed the wind, but to feed them, that is by going\nastray to become their pleasure and derision?\n\nThose impostors then, whom they style Mathematicians, I consulted\nwithout scruple; because they seemed to use no sacrifice, nor to pray to\nany spirit for their divinations: which art, however, Christian and\ntrue piety consistently rejects and condemns. For, it is a good thing to\nconfess unto Thee, and to say, Have mercy upon me, heal my soul, for I\nhave sinned against Thee; and not to abuse Thy mercy for a licence to\nsin, but to remember the Lord's words, Behold, thou art made whole, sin\nno more, lest a worse thing come unto thee. All which wholesome advice\nthey labour to destroy, saying, \"The cause of thy sin is inevitably\ndetermined in heaven\"; and \"This did Venus, or Saturn, or Mars\":\nthat man, forsooth, flesh and blood, and proud corruption, might be\nblameless; while the Creator and Ordainer of heaven and the stars is\nto bear the blame. And who is He but our God? the very sweetness and\nwell-spring of righteousness, who renderest to every man according to\nhis works: and a broken and contrite heart wilt Thou not despise.\n\nThere was in those days a wise man, very skilful in physic, and renowned\ntherein, who had with his own proconsular hand put the Agonistic garland\nupon my distempered head, but not as a physician: for this disease Thou\nonly curest, who resistest the proud, and givest grace to the humble.\nBut didst Thou fail me even by that old man, or forbear to heal my soul?\nFor having become more acquainted with him, and hanging assiduously and\nfixedly on his speech (for though in simple terms, it was vivid, lively,\nand earnest), when he had gathered by my discourse that I was given to\nthe books of nativity-casters, he kindly and fatherly advised me to cast\nthem away, and not fruitlessly bestow a care and diligence, necessary\nfor useful things, upon these vanities; saying, that he had in his\nearliest years studied that art, so as to make it the profession whereby\nhe should live, and that, understanding Hippocrates, he could soon have\nunderstood such a study as this; and yet he had given it over, and taken\nto physic, for no other reason but that he found it utterly false;\nand he, a grave man, would not get his living by deluding people. \"But\nthou,\" saith he, \"hast rhetoric to maintain thyself by, so that thou\nfollowest this of free choice, not of necessity: the more then oughtest\nthou to give me credit herein, who laboured to acquire it so perfectly\nas to get my living by it alone.\" Of whom when I had demanded, how then\ncould many true things be foretold by it, he answered me (as he could)\n\"that the force of chance, diffused throughout the whole order of\nthings, brought this about. For if when a man by haphazard opens the\npages of some poet, who sang and thought of something wholly different,\na verse oftentimes fell out, wondrously agreeable to the present\nbusiness: it were not to be wondered at, if out of the soul of man,\nunconscious what takes place in it, by some higher instinct an answer\nshould be given, by hap, not by art, corresponding to the business and\nactions of the demander.\"\n\nAnd thus much, either from or through him, Thou conveyedst to me, and\ntracedst in my memory, what I might hereafter examine for myself. But at\nthat time neither he, nor my dearest Nebridius, a youth singularly good\nand of a holy fear, who derided the whole body of divination, could\npersuade me to cast it aside, the authority of the authors swaying me\nyet more, and as yet I had found no certain proof (such as I sought)\nwhereby it might without all doubt appear, that what had been truly\nforetold by those consulted was the result of haphazard, not of the art\nof the star-gazers.\n\nIn those years when I first began to teach rhetoric in my native town,\nI had made one my friend, but too dear to me, from a community of\npursuits, of mine own age, and, as myself, in the first opening flower\nof youth. He had grown up of a child with me, and we had been both\nschool-fellows and play-fellows. But he was not yet my friend as\nafterwards, nor even then, as true friendship is; for true it cannot be,\nunless in such as Thou cementest together, cleaving unto Thee, by that\nlove which is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost, which is\ngiven unto us. Yet was it but too sweet, ripened by the warmth of\nkindred studies: for, from the true faith (which he as a youth had\nnot soundly and thoroughly imbibed), I had warped him also to those\nsuperstitious and pernicious fables, for which my mother bewailed me.\nWith me he now erred in mind, nor could my soul be without him. But\nbehold Thou wert close on the steps of Thy fugitives, at once God of\nvengeance, and Fountain of mercies, turning us to Thyself by wonderful\nmeans; Thou tookest that man out of this life, when he had scarce filled\nup one whole year of my friendship, sweet to me above all sweetness of\nthat my life.\n\nWho can recount all Thy praises, which he hath felt in his one self?\nWhat diddest Thou then, my God, and how unsearchable is the abyss of\nThy judgments? For long, sore sick of a fever, he lay senseless in\na death-sweat; and his recovery being despaired of, he was baptised,\nunknowing; myself meanwhile little regarding, and presuming that his\nsoul would retain rather what it had received of me, not what was\nwrought on his unconscious body. But it proved far otherwise: for he was\nrefreshed, and restored. Forthwith, as soon as I could speak with him\n(and I could, so soon as he was able, for I never left him, and we hung\nbut too much upon each other), I essayed to jest with him, as though he\nwould jest with me at that baptism which he had received, when utterly\nabsent in mind and feeling, but had now understood that he had received.\nBut he so shrunk from me, as from an enemy; and with a wonderful and\nsudden freedom bade me, as I would continue his friend, forbear such\nlanguage to him. I, all astonished and amazed, suppressed all my\nemotions till he should grow well, and his health were strong enough for\nme to deal with him as I would. But he was taken away from my frenzy,\nthat with Thee he might be preserved for my comfort; a few days after in\nmy absence, he was attacked again by the fever, and so departed.\n\nAt this grief my heart was utterly darkened; and whatever I beheld was\ndeath. My native country was a torment to me, and my father's house a\nstrange unhappiness; and whatever I had shared with him, wanting him,\nbecame a distracting torture. Mine eyes sought him every where, but he\nwas not granted them; and I hated all places, for that they had not him;\nnor could they now tell me, \"he is coming,\" as when he was alive and\nabsent. I became a great riddle to myself, and I asked my soul, why she\nwas so sad, and why she disquieted me sorely: but she knew not what to\nanswer me. And if I said, Trust in God, she very rightly obeyed me not;\nbecause that most dear friend, whom she had lost, was, being man, both\ntruer and better than that phantasm she was bid to trust in. Only tears\nwere sweet to me, for they succeeded my friend, in the dearest of my\naffections.\n\nAnd now, Lord, these things are passed by, and time hath assuaged my\nwound. May I learn from Thee, who art Truth, and approach the ear of my\nheart unto Thy mouth, that Thou mayest tell me why weeping is sweet to\nthe miserable? Hast Thou, although present every where, cast away our\nmisery far from Thee? And Thou abidest in Thyself, but we are tossed\nabout in divers trials. And yet unless we mourned in Thine ears, we\nshould have no hope left. Whence then is sweet fruit gathered from the\nbitterness of life, from groaning, tears, sighs, and complaints? Doth\nthis sweeten it, that we hope Thou hearest? This is true of prayer, for\ntherein is a longing to approach unto Thee. But is it also in grief for\na thing lost, and the sorrow wherewith I was then overwhelmed? For I\nneither hoped he should return to life nor did I desire this with my\ntears; but I wept only and grieved. For I was miserable, and had lost my\njoy. Or is weeping indeed a bitter thing, and for very loathing of the\nthings which we before enjoyed, does it then, when we shrink from them,\nplease us?\n\nBut what speak I of these things? for now is no time to question, but to\nconfess unto Thee. Wretched I was; and wretched is every soul bound by\nthe friendship of perishable things; he is torn asunder when he loses\nthem, and then he feels the wretchedness which he had ere yet he lost\nthem. So was it then with me; I wept most bitterly, and found my repose\nin bitterness. Thus was I wretched, and that wretched life I held dearer\nthan my friend. For though I would willingly have changed it, yet was I\nmore unwilling to part with it than with him; yea, I know not whether I\nwould have parted with it even for him, as is related (if not feigned)\nof Pylades and Orestes, that they would gladly have died for each other\nor together, not to live together being to them worse than death. But in\nme there had arisen some unexplained feeling, too contrary to this, for\nat once I loathed exceedingly to live and feared to die. I suppose, the\nmore I loved him, the more did I hate, and fear (as a most cruel enemy)\ndeath, which had bereaved me of him: and I imagined it would speedily\nmake an end of all men, since it had power over him. Thus was it with\nme, I remember. Behold my heart, O my God, behold and see into me; for\nwell I remember it, O my Hope, who cleansest me from the impurity of\nsuch affections, directing mine eyes towards Thee, and plucking my feet\nout of the snare. For I wondered that others, subject to death, did\nlive, since he whom I loved, as if he should never die, was dead; and I\nwondered yet more that myself, who was to him a second self, could live,\nhe being dead. Well said one of his friend, \"Thou half of my soul\";\nfor I felt that my soul and his soul were \"one soul in two bodies\": and\ntherefore was my life a horror to me, because I would not live halved.\nAnd therefore perchance I feared to die, lest he whom I had much loved\nshould die wholly.\n\nO madness, which knowest not how to love men, like men! O foolish man\nthat I then was, enduring impatiently the lot of man! I fretted then,\nsighed, wept, was distracted; had neither rest nor counsel. For I bore\nabout a shattered and bleeding soul, impatient of being borne by me, yet\nwhere to repose it, I found not. Not in calm groves, not in games and\nmusic, nor in fragrant spots, nor in curious banquetings, nor in the\npleasures of the bed and the couch; nor (finally) in books or poesy,\nfound it repose. All things looked ghastly, yea, the very light;\nwhatsoever was not what he was, was revolting and hateful, except\ngroaning and tears. For in those alone found I a little refreshment. But\nwhen my soul was withdrawn from them a huge load of misery weighed\nme down. To Thee, O Lord, it ought to have been raised, for Thee to\nlighten; I knew it; but neither could nor would; the more, since, when I\nthought of Thee, Thou wert not to me any solid or substantial thing. For\nThou wert not Thyself, but a mere phantom, and my error was my God. If\nI offered to discharge my load thereon, that it might rest, it glided\nthrough the void, and came rushing down again on me; and I had remained\nto myself a hapless spot, where I could neither be, nor be from thence.\nFor whither should my heart flee from my heart? Whither should I\nflee from myself? Whither not follow myself? And yet I fled out of my\ncountry; for so should mine eyes less look for him, where they were not\nwont to see him. And thus from Thagaste, I came to Carthage.\n\nTimes lose no time; nor do they roll idly by; through our senses they\nwork strange operations on the mind. Behold, they went and came day by\nday, and by coming and going, introduced into my mind other imaginations\nand other remembrances; and little by little patched me up again with my\nold kind of delights, unto which that my sorrow gave way. And yet there\nsucceeded, not indeed other griefs, yet the causes of other griefs. For\nwhence had that former grief so easily reached my very inmost soul, but\nthat I had poured out my soul upon the dust, in loving one that must\ndie, as if he would never die? For what restored and refreshed me\nchiefly was the solaces of other friends, with whom I did love, what\ninstead of Thee I loved; and this was a great fable, and protracted lie,\nby whose adulterous stimulus, our soul, which lay itching in our ears,\nwas being defiled. But that fable would not die to me, so oft as any of\nmy friends died. There were other things which in them did more take my\nmind; to talk and jest together, to do kind offices by turns; to read\ntogether honied books; to play the fool or be earnest together; to\ndissent at times without discontent, as a man might with his own self;\nand even with the seldomness of these dissentings, to season our more\nfrequent consentings; sometimes to teach, and sometimes learn; long for\nthe absent with impatience; and welcome the coming with joy. These and\nthe like expressions, proceeding out of the hearts of those that loved\nand were loved again, by the countenance, the tongue, the eyes, and\na thousand pleasing gestures, were so much fuel to melt our souls\ntogether, and out of many make but one.\n\nThis is it that is loved in friends; and so loved, that a man's\nconscience condemns itself, if he love not him that loves him again, or\nlove not again him that loves him, looking for nothing from his person\nbut indications of his love. Hence that mourning, if one die, and\ndarkenings of sorrows, that steeping of the heart in tears, all\nsweetness turned to bitterness; and upon the loss of life of the dying,\nthe death of the living. Blessed whoso loveth Thee, and his friend in\nThee, and his enemy for Thee. For he alone loses none dear to him, to\nwhom all are dear in Him who cannot be lost. And who is this but our\nGod, the God that made heaven and earth, and filleth them, because by\nfilling them He created them? Thee none loseth, but who leaveth. And\nwho leaveth Thee, whither goeth or whither fleeth he, but from Thee\nwell-pleased, to Thee displeased? For where doth he not find Thy law in\nhis own punishment? And Thy law is truth, and truth Thou.\n\nTurn us, O God of Hosts, show us Thy countenance, and we shall be whole.\nFor whithersoever the soul of man turns itself, unless toward Thee, it\nis riveted upon sorrows, yea though it is riveted on things beautiful.\nAnd yet they, out of Thee, and out of the soul, were not, unless they\nwere from Thee. They rise, and set; and by rising, they begin as it were\nto be; they grow, that they may be perfected; and perfected, they wax\nold and wither; and all grow not old, but all wither. So then when they\nrise and tend to be, the more quickly they grow that they may be, so\nmuch the more they haste not to be. This is the law of them. Thus much\nhas Thou allotted them, because they are portions of things, which\nexist not all at once, but by passing away and succeeding, they together\ncomplete that universe, whereof they are portions. And even thus is our\nspeech completed by signs giving forth a sound: but this again is not\nperfected unless one word pass away when it hath sounded its part, that\nanother may succeed. Out of all these things let my soul praise Thee,\nO God, Creator of all; yet let not my soul be riveted unto these things\nwith the glue of love, through the senses of the body. For they go\nwhither they were to go, that they might not be; and they rend her with\npestilent longings, because she longs to be, yet loves to repose in what\nshe loves. But in these things is no place of repose; they abide not,\nthey flee; and who can follow them with the senses of the flesh? yea,\nwho can grasp them, when they are hard by? For the sense of the flesh is\nslow, because it is the sense of the flesh; and thereby is it bounded.\nIt sufficeth for that it was made for; but it sufficeth not to stay\nthings running their course from their appointed starting-place to the\nend appointed. For in Thy Word, by which they are created, they hear\ntheir decree, \"hence and hitherto.\"\n\nBe not foolish, O my soul, nor become deaf in the ear of thine heart\nwith the tumult of thy folly. Hearken thou too. The Word itself calleth\nthee to return: and there is the place of rest imperturbable, where\nlove is not forsaken, if itself forsaketh not. Behold, these things\npass away, that others may replace them, and so this lower universe be\ncompleted by all his parts. But do I depart any whither? saith the Word\nof God. There fix thy dwelling, trust there whatsoever thou hast\nthence, O my soul, at least now thou art tired out with vanities.\nEntrust Truth, whatsoever thou hast from the Truth, and thou shalt lose\nnothing; and thy decay shall bloom again, and all thy diseases be\nhealed, and thy mortal parts be reformed and renewed, and bound around\nthee: nor shall they lay thee whither themselves descend; but they\nshall stand fast with thee, and abide for ever before God, Who abideth\nand standeth fast for ever.\n\nWhy then be perverted and follow thy flesh? Be it converted and follow\nthee. Whatever by her thou hast sense of, is in part; and the whole,\nwhereof these are parts, thou knowest not; and yet they delight thee.\nBut had the sense of thy flesh a capacity for comprehending the whole,\nand not itself also, for thy punishment, been justly restricted to\na part of the whole, thou wouldest, that whatsoever existeth at this\npresent, should pass away, that so the whole might better please thee.\nFor what we speak also, by the same sense of the flesh thou hearest; yet\nwouldest not thou have the syllables stay, but fly away, that others may\ncome, and thou hear the whole. And so ever, when any one thing is made\nup of many, all of which do not exist together, all collectively would\nplease more than they do severally, could all be perceived collectively.\nBut far better than these is He who made all; and He is our God, nor\ndoth He pass away, for neither doth aught succeed Him.\n\nIf bodies please thee, praise God on occasion of them, and turn back\nthy love upon their Maker; lest in these things which please thee, thou\ndisplease. If souls please thee, be they loved in God: for they too are\nmutable, but in Him are they firmly stablished; else would they pass,\nand pass away. In Him then be they beloved; and carry unto Him along\nwith thee what souls thou canst, and say to them, \"Him let us love, Him\nlet us love: He made these, nor is He far off. For He did not make them,\nand so depart, but they are of Him, and in Him. See there He is, where\ntruth is loved. He is within the very heart, yet hath the heart strayed\nfrom Him. Go back into your heart, ye transgressors, and cleave fast to\nHim that made you. Stand with Him, and ye shall stand fast. Rest in Him,\nand ye shall be at rest. Whither go ye in rough ways? Whither go ye?\nThe good that you love is from Him; but it is good and pleasant through\nreference to Him, and justly shall it be embittered, because unjustly is\nany thing loved which is from Him, if He be forsaken for it. To what end\nthen would ye still and still walk these difficult and toilsome ways?\nThere is no rest, where ye seek it. Seek what ye seek; but it is not\nthere where ye seek. Ye seek a blessed life in the land of death; it is\nnot there. For how should there be a blessed life where life itself is\nnot?\n\n\"But our true Life came down hither, and bore our death, and slew him,\nout of the abundance of His own life: and He thundered, calling aloud to\nus to return hence to Him into that secret place, whence He came forth\nto us, first into the Virgin's womb, wherein He espoused the human\ncreation, our mortal flesh, that it might not be for ever mortal, and\nthence like a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, rejoicing as a giant\nto run his course. For He lingered not, but ran, calling aloud by words,\ndeeds, death, life, descent, ascension; crying aloud to us to return\nunto Him. And He departed from our eyes, that we might return into our\nheart, and there find Him. For He departed, and lo, He is here. He would\nnot be long with us, yet left us not; for He departed thither, whence\nHe never parted, because the world was made by Him. And in this world\nHe was, and into this world He came to save sinners, unto whom my soul\nconfesseth, and He healeth it, for it hath sinned against Him. O ye sons\nof men, how long so slow of heart? Even now, after the descent of Life\nto you, will ye not ascend and live? But whither ascend ye, when ye are\non high, and set your mouth against the heavens? Descend, that ye may\nascend, and ascend to God. For ye have fallen, by ascending against\nHim.\" Tell them this, that they may weep in the valley of tears, and\nso carry them up with thee unto God; because out of His spirit thou\nspeakest thus unto them, if thou speakest, burning with the fire of\ncharity.\n\nThese things I then knew not, and I loved these lower beauties, and I\nwas sinking to the very depths, and to my friends I said, \"Do we love\nany thing but the beautiful? What then is the beautiful? and what is\nbeauty? What is it that attracts and wins us to the things we love? for\nunless there were in them a grace and beauty, they could by no\nmeans draw us unto them.\" And I marked and perceived that in bodies\nthemselves, there was a beauty, from their forming a sort of whole, and\nagain, another from apt and mutual correspondence, as of a part of\nthe body with its whole, or a shoe with a foot, and the like. And this\nconsideration sprang up in my mind, out of my inmost heart, and I wrote\n\"on the fair and fit,\" I think, two or three books. Thou knowest, O\nLord, for it is gone from me; for I have them not, but they are strayed\nfrom me, I know not how.\n\nBut what moved me, O Lord my God, to dedicate these books unto Hierius,\nan orator of Rome, whom I knew not by face, but loved for the fame\nof his learning which was eminent in him, and some words of his I had\nheard, which pleased me? But more did he please me, for that he pleased\nothers, who highly extolled him, amazed that out of a Syrian, first\ninstructed in Greek eloquence, should afterwards be formed a wonderful\nLatin orator, and one most learned in things pertaining unto philosophy.\nOne is commended, and, unseen, he is loved: doth this love enter the\nheart of the hearer from the mouth of the commender? Not so. But by one\nwho loveth is another kindled. For hence he is loved who is commended,\nwhen the commender is believed to extol him with an unfeigned heart;\nthat is, when one that loves him, praises him.\n\nFor so did I then love men, upon the judgment of men, not Thine, O my\nGod, in Whom no man is deceived. But yet why not for qualities, like\nthose of a famous charioteer, or fighter with beasts in the theatre,\nknown far and wide by a vulgar popularity, but far otherwise, and\nearnestly, and so as I would be myself commended? For I would not be\ncommended or loved, as actors are (though I myself did commend and love\nthem), but had rather be unknown, than so known; and even hated, than\nso loved. Where now are the impulses to such various and divers kinds of\nloves laid up in one soul? Why, since we are equally men, do I love\nin another what, if I did not hate, I should not spurn and cast from\nmyself? For it holds not, that as a good horse is loved by him, who\nwould not, though he might, be that horse, therefore the same may be\nsaid of an actor, who shares our nature. Do I then love in a man, what I\nhate to be, who am a man? Man himself is a great deep, whose very hairs\nThou numberest, O Lord, and they fall not to the ground without Thee.\nAnd yet are the hairs of his head easier to be numbered than his\nfeelings, and the beatings of his heart.\n\nBut that orator was of that sort whom I loved, as wishing to be myself\nsuch; and I erred through a swelling pride, and was tossed about with\nevery wind, but yet was steered by Thee, though very secretly. And\nwhence do I know, and whence do I confidently confess unto Thee, that\nI had loved him more for the love of his commenders, than for the very\nthings for which he was commended? Because, had he been unpraised, and\nthese self-same men had dispraised him, and with dispraise and contempt\ntold the very same things of him, I had never been so kindled and\nexcited to love him. And yet the things had not been other, nor he\nhimself other; but only the feelings of the relators. See where the\nimpotent soul lies along, that is not yet stayed up by the solidity\nof truth! Just as the gales of tongues blow from the breast of the\nopinionative, so is it carried this way and that, driven forward and\nbackward, and the light is overclouded to it, and the truth unseen. And\nlo, it is before us. And it was to me a great matter, that my discourse\nand labours should be known to that man: which should he approve, I were\nthe more kindled; but if he disapproved, my empty heart, void of Thy\nsolidity, had been wounded. And yet the \"fair and fit,\" whereon I wrote\nto him, I dwelt on with pleasure, and surveyed it, and admired it,\nthough none joined therein.\n\nBut I saw not yet, whereon this weighty matter turned in Thy wisdom,\nO Thou Omnipotent, who only doest wonders; and my mind ranged through\ncorporeal forms; and \"fair,\" I defined and distinguished what is so\nin itself, and \"fit,\" whose beauty is in correspondence to some other\nthing: and this I supported by corporeal examples. And I turned to\nthe nature of the mind, but the false notion which I had of spiritual\nthings, let me not see the truth. Yet the force of truth did of itself\nflash into mine eyes, and I turned away my panting soul from incorporeal\nsubstance to lineaments, and colours, and bulky magnitudes. And not\nbeing able to see these in the mind, I thought I could not see my mind.\nAnd whereas in virtue I loved peace, and in viciousness I abhorred\ndiscord; in the first I observed a unity, but in the other, a sort\nof division. And in that unity I conceived the rational soul, and the\nnature of truth and of the chief good to consist; but in this division\nI miserably imagined there to be some unknown substance of irrational\nlife, and the nature of the chief evil, which should not only be a\nsubstance, but real life also, and yet not derived from Thee, O my God,\nof whom are all things. And yet that first I called a Monad, as it had\nbeen a soul without sex; but the latter a Duad;--anger, in deeds of\nviolence, and in flagitiousness, lust; not knowing whereof I spake. For\nI had not known or learned that neither was evil a substance, nor our\nsoul that chief and unchangeable good.\n\nFor as deeds of violence arise, if that emotion of the soul be\ncorrupted, whence vehement action springs, stirring itself insolently\nand unrulily; and lusts, when that affection of the soul is ungoverned,\nwhereby carnal pleasures are drunk in, so do errors and false opinions\ndefile the conversation, if the reasonable soul itself be corrupted; as\nit was then in me, who knew not that it must be enlightened by another\nlight, that it may be partaker of truth, seeing itself is not that\nnature of truth. For Thou shalt light my candle, O Lord my God, Thou\nshalt enlighten my darkness: and of Thy fulness have we all received,\nfor Thou art the true light that lighteth every man that cometh into the\nworld; for in Thee there is no variableness, neither shadow of change.\n\nBut I pressed towards Thee, and was thrust from Thee, that I might taste\nof death: for thou resistest the proud. But what prouder, than for me\nwith a strange madness to maintain myself to be that by nature which\nThou art? For whereas I was subject to change (so much being manifest\nto me, my very desire to become wise, being the wish, of worse to become\nbetter), yet chose I rather to imagine Thee subject to change, and\nmyself not to be that which Thou art. Therefore I was repelled by Thee,\nand Thou resistedst my vain stiffneckedness, and I imagined corporeal\nforms, and, myself flesh, I accused flesh; and, a wind that passeth\naway, I returned not to Thee, but I passed on and on to things which\nhave no being, neither in Thee, nor in me, nor in the body. Neither were\nthey created for me by Thy truth, but by my vanity devised out of\nthings corporeal. And I was wont to ask Thy faithful little ones, my\nfellow-citizens (from whom, unknown to myself, I stood exiled), I was\nwont, prating and foolishly, to ask them, \"Why then doth the soul err\nwhich God created?\" But I would not be asked, \"Why then doth God\nerr?\" And I maintained that Thy unchangeable substance did err upon\nconstraint, rather than confess that my changeable substance had gone\nastray voluntarily, and now, in punishment, lay in error.\n\nI was then some six or seven and twenty years old when I wrote those\nvolumes; revolving within me corporeal fictions, buzzing in the ears\nof my heart, which I turned, O sweet truth, to thy inward melody,\nmeditating on the \"fair and fit,\" and longing to stand and hearken to\nThee, and to rejoice greatly at the Bridegroom's voice, but could not;\nfor by the voices of mine own errors, I was hurried abroad, and through\nthe weight of my own pride, I was sinking into the lowest pit. For Thou\ndidst not make me to hear joy and gladness, nor did the bones exult\nwhich were not yet humbled.\n\nAnd what did it profit me, that scarce twenty years old, a book of\nAristotle, which they call the ten Predicaments, falling into my hands\n(on whose very name I hung, as on something great and divine, so often\nas my rhetoric master of Carthage, and others, accounted learned,\nmouthed it with cheeks bursting with pride), I read and understood it\nunaided? And on my conferring with others, who said that they scarcely\nunderstood it with very able tutors, not only orally explaining it, but\ndrawing many things in sand, they could tell me no more of it than I had\nlearned, reading it by myself. And the book appeared to me to speak very\nclearly of substances, such as \"man,\" and of their qualities, as the\nfigure of a man, of what sort it is; and stature, how many feet high;\nand his relationship, whose brother he is; or where placed; or when\nborn; or whether he stands or sits; or be shod or armed; or does, or\nsuffers anything; and all the innumerable things which might be ranged\nunder these nine Predicaments, of which I have given some specimens, or\nunder that chief Predicament of Substance.\n\nWhat did all this further me, seeing it even hindered me? when,\nimagining whatever was, was comprehended under those ten Predicaments,\nI essayed in such wise to understand, O my God, Thy wonderful and\nunchangeable Unity also, as if Thou also hadst been subjected to Thine\nown greatness or beauty; so that (as in bodies) they should exist in\nThee, as their subject: whereas Thou Thyself art Thy greatness and\nbeauty; but a body is not great or fair in that it is a body, seeing\nthat, though it were less great or fair, it should notwithstanding be\na body. But it was falsehood which of Thee I conceived, not truth,\nfictions of my misery, not the realities of Thy blessedness. For Thou\nhadst commanded, and it was done in me, that the earth should bring\nforth briars and thorns to me, and that in the sweat of my brows I\nshould eat my bread.\n\nAnd what did it profit me, that all the books I could procure of the\nso-called liberal arts, I, the vile slave of vile affections, read by\nmyself, and understood? And I delighted in them, but knew not whence\ncame all, that therein was true or certain. For I had my back to the\nlight, and my face to the things enlightened; whence my face, with which\nI discerned the things enlightened, itself was not enlightened.\nWhatever was written, either on rhetoric, or logic, geometry, music,\nand arithmetic, by myself without much difficulty or any instructor,\nI understood, Thou knowest, O Lord my God; because both quickness of\nunderstanding, and acuteness in discerning, is Thy gift: yet did I not\nthence sacrifice to Thee. So then it served not to my use, but rather\nto my perdition, since I went about to get so good a portion of my\nsubstance into my own keeping; and I kept not my strength for Thee, but\nwandered from Thee into a far country, to spend it upon harlotries. For\nwhat profited me good abilities, not employed to good uses? For I felt\nnot that those arts were attained with great difficulty, even by the\nstudious and talented, until I attempted to explain them to such; when\nhe most excelled in them who followed me not altogether slowly.\n\nBut what did this further me, imagining that Thou, O Lord God, the\nTruth, wert a vast and bright body, and I a fragment of that body?\nPerverseness too great! But such was I. Nor do I blush, O my God, to\nconfess to Thee Thy mercies towards me, and to call upon Thee, who\nblushed not then to profess to men my blasphemies, and to bark against\nThee. What profited me then my nimble wit in those sciences and all\nthose most knotty volumes, unravelled by me, without aid from human\ninstruction; seeing I erred so foully, and with such sacrilegious\nshamefulness, in the doctrine of piety? Or what hindrance was a far\nslower wit to Thy little ones, since they departed not far from Thee,\nthat in the nest of Thy Church they might securely be fledged, and\nnourish the wings of charity, by the food of a sound faith. O Lord our\nGod, under the shadow of Thy wings let us hope; protect us, and carry\nus. Thou wilt carry us both when little, and even to hoar hairs wilt\nThou carry us; for our firmness, when it is Thou, then is it firmness;\nbut when our own, it is infirmity. Our good ever lives with Thee;\nfrom which when we turn away, we are turned aside. Let us now, O Lord,\nreturn, that we may not be overturned, because with Thee our good lives\nwithout any decay, which good art Thou; nor need we fear, lest there\nbe no place whither to return, because we fell from it: for through our\nabsence, our mansion fell not--Thy eternity.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK V\n\n\nAccept the sacrifice of my confessions from the ministry of my tongue,\nwhich Thou hast formed and stirred up to confess unto Thy name. Heal\nThou all my bones, and let them say, O Lord, who is like unto Thee? For\nhe who confesses to Thee doth not teach Thee what takes place within\nhim; seeing a closed heart closes not out Thy eye, nor can man's\nhard-heartedness thrust back Thy hand: for Thou dissolvest it at Thy\nwill in pity or in vengeance, and nothing can hide itself from Thy heat.\nBut let my soul praise Thee, that it may love Thee; and let it confess\nThy own mercies to Thee, that it may praise Thee. Thy whole creation\nceaseth not, nor is silent in Thy praises; neither the spirit of man\nwith voice directed unto Thee, nor creation animate or inanimate, by the\nvoice of those who meditate thereon: that so our souls may from their\nweariness arise towards Thee, leaning on those things which Thou hast\ncreated, and passing on to Thyself, who madest them wonderfully; and\nthere is refreshment and true strength.\n\nLet the restless, the godless, depart and flee from Thee; yet Thou seest\nthem, and dividest the darkness. And behold, the universe with them is\nfair, though they are foul. And how have they injured Thee? or how have\nthey disgraced Thy government, which, from the heaven to this lowest\nearth, is just and perfect? For whither fled they, when they fled from\nThy presence? or where dost not Thou find them? But they fled, that they\nmight not see Thee seeing them, and, blinded, might stumble against Thee\n(because Thou forsakest nothing Thou hast made); that the unjust, I say,\nmight stumble upon Thee, and justly be hurt; withdrawing themselves from\nthy gentleness, and stumbling at Thy uprightness, and falling upon their\nown ruggedness. Ignorant, in truth, that Thou art every where, Whom no\nplace encompasseth! and Thou alone art near, even to those that remove\nfar from Thee. Let them then be turned, and seek Thee; because not as\nthey have forsaken their Creator, hast Thou forsaken Thy creation. Let\nthem be turned and seek Thee; and behold, Thou art there in their heart,\nin the heart of those that confess to Thee, and cast themselves upon\nThee, and weep in Thy bosom, after all their rugged ways. Then dost\nThou gently wipe away their tears, and they weep the more, and joy\nin weeping; even for that Thou, Lord,--not man of flesh and blood,\nbut--Thou, Lord, who madest them, re-makest and comfortest them. But\nwhere was I, when I was seeking Thee? And Thou wert before me, but I had\ngone away from Thee; nor did I find myself, how much less Thee!\n\nI would lay open before my God that nine-and-twentieth year of mine\nage. There had then come to Carthage a certain Bishop of the Manichees,\nFaustus by name, a great snare of the Devil, and many were entangled\nby him through that lure of his smooth language: which though I did\ncommend, yet could I separate from the truth of the things which I was\nearnest to learn: nor did I so much regard the service of oratory as the\nscience which this Faustus, so praised among them, set before me to\nfeed upon. Fame had before bespoken him most knowing in all valuable\nlearning, and exquisitely skilled in the liberal sciences. And since I\nhad read and well remembered much of the philosophers, I compared some\nthings of theirs with those long fables of the Manichees, and found the\nformer the more probable; even although they could only prevail so far\nas to make judgment of this lower world, the Lord of it they could by\nno means find out. For Thou art great, O Lord, and hast respect unto the\nhumble, but the proud Thou beholdest afar off. Nor dost Thou draw near,\nbut to the contrite in heart, nor art found by the proud, no, not though\nby curious skill they could number the stars and the sand, and measure\nthe starry heavens, and track the courses of the planets.\n\nFor with their understanding and wit, which Thou bestowedst on them,\nthey search out these things; and much have they found out; and\nforetold, many years before, eclipses of those luminaries, the sun\nand moon,--what day and hour, and how many digits,--nor did their\ncalculation fail; and it came to pass as they foretold; and they wrote\ndown the rules they had found out, and these are read at this day, and\nout of them do others foretell in what year and month of the year, and\nwhat day of the month, and what hour of the day, and what part of its\nlight, moon or sun is to be eclipsed, and so it shall be, as it is\nforeshowed. At these things men, that know not this art, marvel and are\nastonished, and they that know it, exult, and are puffed up; and by\nan ungodly pride departing from Thee, and failing of Thy light, they\nforesee a failure of the sun's light, which shall be, so long before,\nbut see not their own, which is. For they search not religiously whence\nthey have the wit, wherewith they search out this. And finding that Thou\nmadest them, they give not themselves up to Thee, to preserve what Thou\nmadest, nor sacrifice to Thee what they have made themselves; nor slay\ntheir own soaring imaginations, as fowls of the air, nor their own\ndiving curiosities (wherewith, like the fishes of the sea, they wander\nover the unknown paths of the abyss), nor their own luxuriousness, as\nbeasts of the field, that Thou, Lord, a consuming fire, mayest burn up\nthose dead cares of theirs, and re-create themselves immortally.\n\nBut they knew not the way, Thy Word, by Whom Thou madest these things\nwhich they number, and themselves who number, and the sense whereby\nthey perceive what they number, and the understanding, out of which they\nnumber; or that of Thy wisdom there is no number. But the Only Begotten\nis Himself made unto us wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification,\nand was numbered among us, and paid tribute unto Caesar. They knew not\nthis way whereby to descend to Him from themselves, and by Him ascend\nunto Him. They knew not this way, and deemed themselves exalted amongst\nthe stars and shining; and behold, they fell upon the earth, and their\nfoolish heart was darkened. They discourse many things truly concerning\nthe creature; but Truth, Artificer of the creature, they seek not\npiously, and therefore find Him not; or if they find Him, knowing Him\nto be God, they glorify Him not as God, neither are thankful, but\nbecome vain in their imaginations, and profess themselves to be wise,\nattributing to themselves what is Thine; and thereby with most perverse\nblindness, study to impute to Thee what is their own, forging lies of\nThee who art the Truth, and changing the glory of uncorruptible God\ninto an image made like corruptible man, and to birds, and four-footed\nbeasts, and creeping things, changing Thy truth into a lie, and\nworshipping and serving the creature more than the Creator.\n\nYet many truths concerning the creature retained I from these men, and\nsaw the reason thereof from calculations, the succession of times, and\nthe visible testimonies of the stars; and compared them with the saying\nof Manichaeus, which in his frenzy he had written most largely on these\nsubjects; but discovered not any account of the solstices, or equinoxes,\nor the eclipses of the greater lights, nor whatever of this sort I\nhad learned in the books of secular philosophy. But I was commanded to\nbelieve; and yet it corresponded not with what had been established by\ncalculations and my own sight, but was quite contrary.\n\nDoth then, O Lord God of truth, whoso knoweth these things, therefore\nplease Thee? Surely unhappy is he who knoweth all these, and knoweth not\nThee: but happy whoso knoweth Thee, though he know not these. And whoso\nknoweth both Thee and them is not the happier for them, but for Thee\nonly, if, knowing Thee, he glorifies Thee as God, and is thankful, and\nbecomes not vain in his imaginations. For as he is better off who knows\nhow to possess a tree, and return thanks to Thee for the use thereof,\nalthough he know not how many cubits high it is, or how wide it spreads,\nthan he that can measure it, and count all its boughs, and neither owns\nit, nor knows or loves its Creator: so a believer, whose all this world\nof wealth is, and who having nothing, yet possesseth all things, by\ncleaving unto Thee, whom all things serve, though he know not even\nthe circles of the Great Bear, yet is it folly to doubt but he is in a\nbetter state than one who can measure the heavens, and number the stars,\nand poise the elements, yet neglecteth Thee who hast made all things in\nnumber, weight, and measure.\n\nBut yet who bade that Manichaeus write on these things also, skill in\nwhich was no element of piety? For Thou hast said to man, Behold\npiety and wisdom; of which he might be ignorant, though he had perfect\nknowledge of these things; but these things, since, knowing not, he most\nimpudently dared to teach, he plainly could have no knowledge of piety.\nFor it is vanity to make profession of these worldly things even when\nknown; but confession to Thee is piety. Wherefore this wanderer to this\nend spake much of these things, that convicted by those who had truly\nlearned them, it might be manifest what understanding he had in the\nother abstruser things. For he would not have himself meanly thought of,\nbut went about to persuade men, \"That the Holy Ghost, the Comforter and\nEnricher of Thy faithful ones, was with plenary authority personally\nwithin him.\" When then he was found out to have taught falsely of the\nheaven and stars, and of the motions of the sun and moon (although these\nthings pertain not to the doctrine of religion), yet his sacrilegious\npresumption would become evident enough, seeing he delivered things\nwhich not only he knew not, but which were falsified, with so mad a\nvanity of pride, that he sought to ascribe them to himself, as to a\ndivine person.\n\nFor when I hear any Christian brother ignorant of these things, and\nmistaken on them, I can patiently behold such a man holding his opinion;\nnor do I see that any ignorance as to the position or character of the\ncorporeal creation can injure him, so long as he doth not believe any\nthing unworthy of Thee, O Lord, the Creator of all. But it doth injure\nhim, if he imagine it to pertain to the form of the doctrine of piety,\nand will yet affirm that too stiffly whereof he is ignorant. And yet\nis even such an infirmity, in the infancy of faith, borne by our mother\nCharity, till the new-born may grow up unto a perfect man, so as not\nto be carried about with every wind of doctrine. But in him who in such\nwise presumed to be the teacher, source, guide, chief of all whom he\ncould so persuade, that whoso followed him thought that he followed,\nnot a mere man, but Thy Holy Spirit; who would not judge that so great\nmadness, when once convicted of having taught any thing false, were\nto be detested and utterly rejected? But I had not as yet clearly\nascertained whether the vicissitudes of longer and shorter days and\nnights, and of day and night itself, with the eclipses of the greater\nlights, and whatever else of the kind I had read of in other books,\nmight be explained consistently with his sayings; so that, if they by\nany means might, it should still remain a question to me whether it\nwere so or no; but I might, on account of his reputed sanctity, rest my\ncredence upon his authority.\n\nAnd for almost all those nine years, wherein with unsettled mind I had\nbeen their disciple, I had longed but too intensely for the coming of\nthis Faustus. For the rest of the sect, whom by chance I had lighted\nupon, when unable to solve my objections about these things, still held\nout to me the coming of this Faustus, by conference with whom these\nand greater difficulties, if I had them, were to be most readily and\nabundantly cleared. When then he came, I found him a man of pleasing\ndiscourse, and who could speak fluently and in better terms, yet still\nbut the self-same things which they were wont to say. But what availed\nthe utmost neatness of the cup-bearer to my thirst for a more precious\ndraught? Mine ears were already cloyed with the like, nor did they seem\nto me therefore better, because better said; nor therefore true, because\neloquent; nor the soul therefore wise, because the face was comely,\nand the language graceful. But they who held him out to me were no good\njudges of things; and therefore to them he appeared understanding and\nwise, because in words pleasing. I felt however that another sort of\npeople were suspicious even of truth, and refused to assent to it, if\ndelivered in a smooth and copious discourse. But Thou, O my God, hadst\nalready taught me by wonderful and secret ways, and therefore I believe\nthat Thou taughtest me, because it is truth, nor is there besides Thee\nany teacher of truth, where or whencesoever it may shine upon us. Of\nThyself therefore had I now learned, that neither ought any thing to\nseem to be spoken truly, because eloquently; nor therefore falsely,\nbecause the utterance of the lips is inharmonious; nor, again, therefore\ntrue, because rudely delivered; nor therefore false, because the\nlanguage is rich; but that wisdom and folly are as wholesome and\nunwholesome food; and adorned or unadorned phrases as courtly or country\nvessels; either kind of meats may be served up in either kind of dishes.\n\nThat greediness then, wherewith I had of so long time expected that man,\nwas delighted verily with his action and feeling when disputing, and his\nchoice and readiness of words to clothe his ideas. I was then delighted,\nand, with many others and more than they, did I praise and extol him.\nIt troubled me, however, that in the assembly of his auditors, I was not\nallowed to put in and communicate those questions that troubled me,\nin familiar converse with him. Which when I might, and with my friends\nbegan to engage his ears at such times as it was not unbecoming for him\nto discuss with me, and had brought forward such things as moved me; I\nfound him first utterly ignorant of liberal sciences, save grammar, and\nthat but in an ordinary way. But because he had read some of Tully's\nOrations, a very few books of Seneca, some things of the poets, and such\nfew volumes of his own sect as were written in Latin and neatly, and\nwas daily practised in speaking, he acquired a certain eloquence, which\nproved the more pleasing and seductive because under the guidance of a\ngood wit, and with a kind of natural gracefulness. Is it not thus, as I\nrecall it, O Lord my God, Thou judge of my conscience? before Thee is\nmy heart, and my remembrance, Who didst at that time direct me by the\nhidden mystery of Thy providence, and didst set those shameful errors of\nmine before my face, that I might see and hate them.\n\nFor after it was clear that he was ignorant of those arts in which I\nthought he excelled, I began to despair of his opening and solving the\ndifficulties which perplexed me (of which indeed however ignorant, he\nmight have held the truths of piety, had he not been a Manichee). For\ntheir books are fraught with prolix fables, of the heaven, and stars,\nsun, and moon, and I now no longer thought him able satisfactorily to\ndecide what I much desired, whether, on comparison of these things with\nthe calculations I had elsewhere read, the account given in the books of\nManichaeus were preferable, or at least as good. Which when I proposed\nto be considered and discussed, he, so far modestly, shrunk from the\nburthen. For he knew that he knew not these things, and was not ashamed\nto confess it. For he was not one of those talking persons, many of whom\nI had endured, who undertook to teach me these things, and said nothing.\nBut this man had a heart, though not right towards Thee, yet neither\naltogether treacherous to himself. For he was not altogether ignorant of\nhis own ignorance, nor would he rashly be entangled in a dispute, whence\nhe could neither retreat nor extricate himself fairly. Even for this I\nliked him the better. For fairer is the modesty of a candid mind, than\nthe knowledge of those things which I desired; and such I found him, in\nall the more difficult and subtile questions.\n\nMy zeal for the writings of Manichaeus being thus blunted, and\ndespairing yet more of their other teachers, seeing that in divers\nthings which perplexed me, he, so renowned among them, had so turned\nout; I began to engage with him in the study of that literature, on\nwhich he also was much set (and which as rhetoric-reader I was at that\ntime teaching young students at Carthage), and to read with him, either\nwhat himself desired to hear, or such as I judged fit for his genius.\nBut all my efforts whereby I had purposed to advance in that sect,\nupon knowledge of that man, came utterly to an end; not that I detached\nmyself from them altogether, but as one finding nothing better, I had\nsettled to be content meanwhile with what I had in whatever way fallen\nupon, unless by chance something more eligible should dawn upon me.\nThus, that Faustus, to so many a snare of death, had now neither willing\nnor witting it, begun to loosen that wherein I was taken. For Thy hands,\nO my God, in the secret purpose of Thy providence, did not forsake my\nsoul; and out of my mother's heart's blood, through her tears night and\nday poured out, was a sacrifice offered for me unto Thee; and Thou didst\ndeal with me by wondrous ways. Thou didst it, O my God: for the steps\nof a man are ordered by the Lord, and He shall dispose his way. Or how\nshall we obtain salvation, but from Thy hand, re-making what it made?\n\nThou didst deal with me, that I should be persuaded to go to Rome, and\nto teach there rather, what I was teaching at Carthage. And how I was\npersuaded to this, I will not neglect to confess to Thee; because herein\nalso the deepest recesses of Thy wisdom, and Thy most present mercy to\nus, must be considered and confessed. I did not wish therefore to go to\nRome, because higher gains and higher dignities were warranted me by my\nfriends who persuaded me to this (though even these things had at that\ntime an influence over my mind), but my chief and almost only reason\nwas, that I heard that young men studied there more peacefully, and were\nkept quiet under a restraint of more regular discipline; so that they\ndid not, at their pleasures, petulantly rush into the school of\none whose pupils they were not, nor were even admitted without his\npermission. Whereas at Carthage there reigns among the scholars a most\ndisgraceful and unruly licence. They burst in audaciously, and\nwith gestures almost frantic, disturb all order which any one hath\nestablished for the good of his scholars. Divers outrages they commit,\nwith a wonderful stolidity, punishable by law, did not custom uphold\nthem; that custom evincing them to be the more miserable, in that they\nnow do as lawful what by Thy eternal law shall never be lawful; and they\nthink they do it unpunished, whereas they are punished with the very\nblindness whereby they do it, and suffer incomparably worse than what\nthey do. The manners then which, when a student, I would not make my\nown, I was fain as a teacher to endure in others: and so I was well\npleased to go where, all that knew it, assured me that the like was not\ndone. But Thou, my refuge and my portion in the land of the living;\nthat I might change my earthly dwelling for the salvation of my soul,\nat Carthage didst goad me, that I might thereby be torn from it; and at\nRome didst proffer me allurements, whereby I might be drawn thither,\nby men in love with a dying life, the one doing frantic, the other\npromising vain, things; and, to correct my steps, didst secretly use\ntheir and my own perverseness. For both they who disturbed my quiet were\nblinded with a disgraceful frenzy, and they who invited me elsewhere\nsavoured of earth. And I, who here detested real misery, was there\nseeking unreal happiness.\n\nBut why I went hence, and went thither, Thou knewest, O God, yet\nshowedst it neither to me, nor to my mother, who grievously bewailed my\njourney, and followed me as far as the sea. But I deceived her, holding\nme by force, that either she might keep me back or go with me, and I\nfeigned that I had a friend whom I could not leave, till he had a fair\nwind to sail. And I lied to my mother, and such a mother, and escaped:\nfor this also hast Thou mercifully forgiven me, preserving me, thus full\nof execrable defilements, from the waters of the sea, for the water of\nThy Grace; whereby when I was cleansed, the streams of my mother's eyes\nshould be dried, with which for me she daily watered the ground under\nher face. And yet refusing to return without me, I scarcely persuaded\nher to stay that night in a place hard by our ship, where was an Oratory\nin memory of the blessed Cyprian. That night I privily departed, but she\nwas not behind in weeping and prayer. And what, O Lord, was she with so\nmany tears asking of Thee, but that Thou wouldest not suffer me to sail?\nBut Thou, in the depth of Thy counsels and hearing the main point of her\ndesire, regardest not what she then asked, that Thou mightest make me\nwhat she ever asked. The wind blew and swelled our sails, and withdrew\nthe shore from our sight; and she on the morrow was there, frantic with\nsorrow, and with complaints and groans filled Thine ears, Who didst then\ndisregard them; whilst through my desires, Thou wert hurrying me to end\nall desire, and the earthly part of her affection to me was chastened\nby the allotted scourge of sorrows. For she loved my being with her, as\nmothers do, but much more than many; and she knew not how great joy Thou\nwert about to work for her out of my absence. She knew not; therefore\ndid she weep and wail, and by this agony there appeared in her the\ninheritance of Eve, with sorrow seeking what in sorrow she had brought\nforth. And yet, after accusing my treachery and hardheartedness, she\nbetook herself again to intercede to Thee for me, went to her wonted\nplace, and I to Rome.\n\nAnd lo, there was I received by the scourge of bodily sickness, and I\nwas going down to hell, carrying all the sins which I had committed,\nboth against Thee, and myself, and others, many and grievous, over and\nabove that bond of original sin, whereby we all die in Adam. For\nThou hadst not forgiven me any of these things in Christ, nor had He\nabolished by His Cross the enmity which by my sins I had incurred with\nThee. For how should He, by the crucifixion of a phantasm, which I\nbelieved Him to be? So true, then, was the death of my soul, as that\nof His flesh seemed to me false; and how true the death of His body,\nso false was the life of my soul, which did not believe it. And now the\nfever heightening, I was parting and departing for ever. For had I then\nparted hence, whither had I departed, but into fire and torments, such\nas my misdeeds deserved in the truth of Thy appointment? And this she\nknew not, yet in absence prayed for me. But Thou, everywhere present,\nheardest her where she was, and, where I was, hadst compassion upon me;\nthat I should recover the health of my body, though frenzied as yet\nin my sacrilegious heart. For I did not in all that danger desire Thy\nbaptism; and I was better as a boy, when I begged it of my mother's\npiety, as I have before recited and confessed. But I had grown up to my\nown shame, and I madly scoffed at the prescripts of Thy medicine, who\nwouldest not suffer me, being such, to die a double death. With which\nwound had my mother's heart been pierced, it could never be healed. For\nI cannot express the affection she bore to me, and with how much more\nvehement anguish she was now in labour of me in the spirit, than at her\nchildbearing in the flesh.\n\nI see not then how she should have been healed, had such a death of mine\nstricken through the bowels of her love. And where would have been those\nher so strong and unceasing prayers, unintermitting to Thee alone? But\nwouldest Thou, God of mercies, despise the contrite and humbled heart of\nthat chaste and sober widow, so frequent in almsdeeds, so full of duty\nand service to Thy saints, no day intermitting the oblation at Thine\naltar, twice a day, morning and evening, without any intermission,\ncoming to Thy church, not for idle tattlings and old wives' fables; but\nthat she might hear Thee in Thy discourses, and Thou her in her prayers.\nCouldest Thou despise and reject from Thy aid the tears of such an one,\nwherewith she begged of Thee not gold or silver, nor any mutable or\npassing good, but the salvation of her son's soul? Thou, by whose gift\nshe was such? Never, Lord. Yea, Thou wert at hand, and wert hearing and\ndoing, in that order wherein Thou hadst determined before that it should\nbe done. Far be it that Thou shouldest deceive her in Thy visions and\nanswers, some whereof I have, some I have not mentioned, which she laid\nup in her faithful heart, and ever praying, urged upon Thee, as\nThine own handwriting. For Thou, because Thy mercy endureth for ever,\nvouchsafest to those to whom Thou forgivest all of their debts, to\nbecome also a debtor by Thy promises.\n\nThou recoveredst me then of that sickness, and healedst the son of Thy\nhandmaid, for the time in body, that he might live, for Thee to bestow\nupon him a better and more abiding health. And even then, at Rome, I\njoined myself to those deceiving and deceived \"holy ones\"; not with\ntheir disciples only (of which number was he, in whose house I had\nfallen sick and recovered); but also with those whom they call \"The\nElect.\" For I still thought \"that it was not we that sin, but that I\nknow not what other nature sinned in us\"; and it delighted my pride, to\nbe free from blame; and when I had done any evil, not to confess I had\ndone any, that Thou mightest heal my soul because it had sinned against\nThee: but I loved to excuse it, and to accuse I know not what other\nthing, which was with me, but which I was not. But in truth it was\nwholly I, and mine impiety had divided me against myself: and that sin\nwas the more incurable, whereby I did not judge myself a sinner; and\nexecrable iniquity it was, that I had rather have Thee, Thee, O God\nAlmighty, to be overcome in me to my destruction, than myself of Thee to\nsalvation. Not as yet then hadst Thou set a watch before my mouth, and a\ndoor of safe keeping around my lips, that my heart might not turn\naside to wicked speeches, to make excuses of sins, with men that work\niniquity; and, therefore, was I still united with their Elect.\n\nBut now despairing to make proficiency in that false doctrine, even\nthose things (with which if I should find no better, I had resolved to\nrest contented) I now held more laxly and carelessly. For there half\narose a thought in me that those philosophers, whom they call Academics,\nwere wiser than the rest, for that they held men ought to doubt\neverything, and laid down that no truth can be comprehended by man:\nfor so, not then understanding even their meaning, I also was clearly\nconvinced that they thought, as they are commonly reported. Yet did I\nfreely and openly discourage that host of mine from that over-confidence\nwhich I perceived him to have in those fables, which the books of\nManichaeus are full of. Yet I lived in more familiar friendship with\nthem, than with others who were not of this heresy. Nor did I maintain\nit with my ancient eagerness; still my intimacy with that sect (Rome\nsecretly harbouring many of them) made me slower to seek any other way:\nespecially since I despaired of finding the truth, from which they had\nturned me aside, in Thy Church, O Lord of heaven and earth, Creator of\nall things visible and invisible: and it seemed to me very unseemly to\nbelieve Thee to have the shape of human flesh, and to be bounded by the\nbodily lineaments of our members. And because, when I wished to think on\nmy God, I knew not what to think of, but a mass of bodies (for what was\nnot such did not seem to me to be anything), this was the greatest, and\nalmost only cause of my inevitable error.\n\nFor hence I believed Evil also to be some such kind of substance, and\nto have its own foul and hideous bulk; whether gross, which they called\nearth, or thin and subtile (like the body of the air), which they\nimagine to be some malignant mind, creeping through that earth. And\nbecause a piety, such as it was, constrained me to believe that the good\nGod never created any evil nature, I conceived two masses, contrary\nto one another, both unbounded, but the evil narrower, the good more\nexpansive. And from this pestilent beginning, the other sacrilegious\nconceits followed on me. For when my mind endeavoured to recur to the\nCatholic faith, I was driven back, since that was not the Catholic faith\nwhich I thought to be so. And I seemed to myself more reverential, if I\nbelieved of Thee, my God (to whom Thy mercies confess out of my mouth),\nas unbounded, at least on other sides, although on that one where the\nmass of evil was opposed to Thee, I was constrained to confess Thee\nbounded; than if on all sides I should imagine Thee to be bounded by the\nform of a human body. And it seemed to me better to believe Thee to have\ncreated no evil (which to me ignorant seemed not some only, but a bodily\nsubstance, because I could not conceive of mind unless as a subtile\nbody, and that diffused in definite spaces), than to believe the nature\nof evil, such as I conceived it, could come from Thee. Yea, and our\nSaviour Himself, Thy Only Begotten, I believed to have been reached\nforth (as it were) for our salvation, out of the mass of Thy most lucid\nsubstance, so as to believe nothing of Him, but what I could imagine in\nmy vanity. His Nature then, being such, I thought could not be born\nof the Virgin Mary, without being mingled with the flesh: and how that\nwhich I had so figured to myself could be mingled, and not defiled, I\nsaw not. I feared therefore to believe Him born in the flesh, lest\nI should be forced to believe Him defiled by the flesh. Now will Thy\nspiritual ones mildly and lovingly smile upon me, if they shall read\nthese my confessions. Yet such was I.\n\nFurthermore, what the Manichees had criticised in Thy Scriptures, I\nthought could not be defended; yet at times verily I had a wish to\nconfer upon these several points with some one very well skilled in\nthose books, and to make trial what he thought thereon; for the words\nof one Helpidius, as he spoke and disputed face to face against the\nsaid Manichees, had begun to stir me even at Carthage: in that he\nhad produced things out of the Scriptures, not easily withstood, the\nManichees' answer whereto seemed to me weak. And this answer they\nliked not to give publicly, but only to us in private. It was, that the\nScriptures of the New Testament had been corrupted by I know not whom,\nwho wished to engraff the law of the Jews upon the Christian faith: yet\nthemselves produced not any uncorrupted copies. But I, conceiving of\nthings corporeal only, was mainly held down, vehemently oppressed and\nin a manner suffocated by those \"masses\"; panting under which after the\nbreath of Thy truth, I could not breathe it pure and untainted.\n\nI began then diligently to practise that for which I came to Rome, to\nteach rhetoric; and first, to gather some to my house, to whom, and\nthrough whom, I had begun to be known; when lo, I found other offences\ncommitted in Rome, to which I was not exposed in Africa. True, those\n\"subvertings\" by profligate young men were not here practised, as was\ntold me: but on a sudden, said they, to avoid paying their\nmaster's stipend, a number of youths plot together, and remove to\nanother;--breakers of faith, who for love of money hold justice cheap.\nThese also my heart hated, though not with a perfect hatred: for\nperchance I hated them more because I was to suffer by them, than\nbecause they did things utterly unlawful. Of a truth such are base\npersons, and they go a whoring from Thee, loving these fleeting\nmockeries of things temporal, and filthy lucre, which fouls the hand\nthat grasps it; hugging the fleeting world, and despising Thee, Who\nabidest, and recallest, and forgivest the adulteress soul of man, when\nshe returns to Thee. And now I hate such depraved and crooked persons,\nthough I love them if corrigible, so as to prefer to money the learning\nwhich they acquire, and to learning, Thee, O God, the truth and fulness\nof assured good, and most pure peace. But then I rather for my own sake\nmisliked them evil, than liked and wished them good for Thine.\n\nWhen therefore they of Milan had sent to Rome to the prefect of the\ncity, to furnish them with a rhetoric reader for their city, and sent\nhim at the public expense, I made application (through those very\npersons, intoxicated with Manichaean vanities, to be freed wherefrom\nI was to go, neither of us however knowing it) that Symmachus, then\nprefect of the city, would try me by setting me some subject, and so\nsend me. To Milan I came, to Ambrose the Bishop, known to the whole\nworld as among the best of men, Thy devout servant; whose eloquent\ndiscourse did then plentifully dispense unto Thy people the flour of Thy\nwheat, the gladness of Thy oil, and the sober inebriation of Thy wine.\nTo him was I unknowing led by Thee, that by him I might knowingly be\nled to Thee. That man of God received me as a father, and showed me an\nEpiscopal kindness on my coming. Thenceforth I began to love him, at\nfirst indeed not as a teacher of the truth (which I utterly despaired\nof in Thy Church), but as a person kind towards myself. And I listened\ndiligently to him preaching to the people, not with that intent I ought,\nbut, as it were, trying his eloquence, whether it answered the fame\nthereof, or flowed fuller or lower than was reported; and I hung on his\nwords attentively; but of the matter I was as a careless and scornful\nlooker-on; and I was delighted with the sweetness of his discourse,\nmore recondite, yet in manner less winning and harmonious, than that of\nFaustus. Of the matter, however, there was no comparison; for the one\nwas wandering amid Manichaean delusions, the other teaching salvation\nmost soundly. But salvation is far from sinners, such as I then stood\nbefore him; and yet was I drawing nearer by little and little, and\nunconsciously.\n\nFor though I took no pains to learn what he spake, but only to hear how\nhe spake (for that empty care alone was left me, despairing of a way,\nopen for man, to Thee), yet together with the words which I would\nchoose, came also into my mind the things which I would refuse; for\nI could not separate them. And while I opened my heart to admit \"how\neloquently he spake,\" there also entered \"how truly he spake\"; but this\nby degrees. For first, these things also had now begun to appear to\nme capable of defence; and the Catholic faith, for which I had thought\nnothing could be said against the Manichees' objections, I now thought\nmight be maintained without shamelessness; especially after I had heard\none or two places of the Old Testament resolved, and ofttimes \"in a\nfigure,\" which when I understood literally, I was slain spiritually.\nVery many places then of those books having been explained, I now blamed\nmy despair, in believing that no answer could be given to such as hated\nand scoffed at the Law and the Prophets. Yet did I not therefore then\nsee that the Catholic way was to be held, because it also could find\nlearned maintainers, who could at large and with some show of reason\nanswer objections; nor that what I held was therefore to be condemned,\nbecause both sides could be maintained. For the Catholic cause seemed to\nme in such sort not vanquished, as still not as yet to be victorious.\n\nHereupon I earnestly bent my mind, to see if in any way I could by any\ncertain proof convict the Manichees of falsehood. Could I once have\nconceived a spiritual substance, all their strongholds had been beaten\ndown, and cast utterly out of my mind; but I could not. Notwithstanding,\nconcerning the frame of this world, and the whole of nature, which the\nsenses of the flesh can reach to, as I more and more considered and\ncompared things, I judged the tenets of most of the philosophers to have\nbeen much more probable. So then after the manner of the Academics (as\nthey are supposed) doubting of every thing, and wavering between all, I\nsettled so far, that the Manichees were to be abandoned; judging that,\neven while doubting, I might not continue in that sect, to which I\nalready preferred some of the philosophers; to which philosophers\nnotwithstanding, for that they were without the saving Name of Christ,\nI utterly refused to commit the cure of my sick soul. I determined\ntherefore so long to be a Catechumen in the Catholic Church, to which\nI had been commended by my parents, till something certain should dawn\nupon me, whither I might steer my course.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK VI\n\n\nO Thou, my hope from my youth, where wert Thou to me, and whither wert\nThou gone? Hadst not Thou created me, and separated me from the beasts\nof the field, and fowls of the air? Thou hadst made me wiser, yet did I\nwalk in darkness, and in slippery places, and sought Thee abroad out of\nmyself, and found not the God of my heart; and had come into the depths\nof the sea, and distrusted and despaired of ever finding truth. My\nmother had now come to me, resolute through piety, following me over sea\nand land, in all perils confiding in Thee. For in perils of the sea, she\ncomforted the very mariners (by whom passengers unacquainted with the\ndeep, use rather to be comforted when troubled), assuring them of a safe\narrival, because Thou hadst by a vision assured her thereof. She found\nme in grievous peril, through despair of ever finding truth. But when\nI had discovered to her that I was now no longer a Manichee, though\nnot yet a Catholic Christian, she was not overjoyed, as at something\nunexpected; although she was now assured concerning that part of my\nmisery, for which she bewailed me as one dead, though to be reawakened\nby Thee, carrying me forth upon the bier of her thoughts, that Thou\nmightest say to the son of the widow, Young man, I say unto thee, Arise;\nand he should revive, and begin to speak, and Thou shouldest deliver him\nto his mother. Her heart then was shaken with no tumultuous exultation,\nwhen she heard that what she daily with tears desired of Thee was\nalready in so great part realised; in that, though I had not yet\nattained the truth, I was rescued from falsehood; but, as being assured,\nthat Thou, Who hadst promised the whole, wouldest one day give the rest,\nmost calmly, and with a heart full of confidence, she replied to me,\n\"She believed in Christ, that before she departed this life, she should\nsee me a Catholic believer.\" Thus much to me. But to Thee, Fountain\nof mercies, poured she forth more copious prayers and tears, that Thou\nwouldest hasten Thy help, and enlighten my darkness; and she hastened\nthe more eagerly to the Church, and hung upon the lips of Ambrose,\npraying for the fountain of that water, which springeth up unto life\neverlasting. But that man she loved as an angel of God, because she knew\nthat by him I had been brought for the present to that doubtful state of\nfaith I now was in, through which she anticipated most confidently that\nI should pass from sickness unto health, after the access, as it were,\nof a sharper fit, which physicians call \"the crisis.\"\n\nWhen then my mother had once, as she was wont in Afric, brought to the\nChurches built in memory of the Saints, certain cakes, and bread and\nwine, and was forbidden by the door-keeper; so soon as she knew that the\nBishop had forbidden this, she so piously and obediently embraced\nhis wishes, that I myself wondered how readily she censured her own\npractice, rather than discuss his prohibition. For wine-bibbing did not\nlay siege to her spirit, nor did love of wine provoke her to hatred of\nthe truth, as it doth too many (both men and women), who revolt at a\nlesson of sobriety, as men well-drunk at a draught mingled with\nwater. But she, when she had brought her basket with the accustomed\nfestival-food, to be but tasted by herself, and then given away, never\njoined therewith more than one small cup of wine, diluted according to\nher own abstemious habits, which for courtesy she would taste. And if\nthere were many churches of the departed saints that were to be honoured\nin that manner, she still carried round that same one cup, to be\nused every where; and this, though not only made very watery, but\nunpleasantly heated with carrying about, she would distribute to those\nabout her by small sips; for she sought there devotion, not pleasure.\nSo soon, then, as she found this custom to be forbidden by that famous\npreacher and most pious prelate, even to those that would use it\nsoberly, lest so an occasion of excess might be given to the drunken;\nand for these, as it were, anniversary funeral solemnities did much\nresemble the superstition of the Gentiles, she most willingly forbare\nit: and for a basket filled with fruits of the earth, she had learned to\nbring to the Churches of the martyrs a breast filled with more\npurified petitions, and to give what she could to the poor; that so\nthe communication of the Lord's Body might be there rightly celebrated,\nwhere, after the example of His Passion, the martyrs had been sacrificed\nand crowned. But yet it seems to me, O Lord my God, and thus thinks my\nheart of it in Thy sight, that perhaps she would not so readily have\nyielded to the cutting off of this custom, had it been forbidden by\nanother, whom she loved not as Ambrose, whom, for my salvation,\nshe loved most entirely; and he her again, for her most religious\nconversation, whereby in good works, so fervent in spirit, she was\nconstant at church; so that, when he saw me, he often burst forth into\nher praises; congratulating me that I had such a mother; not knowing\nwhat a son she had in me, who doubted of all these things, and imagined\nthe way to life could not be found out.\n\nNor did I yet groan in my prayers, that Thou wouldest help me; but\nmy spirit was wholly intent on learning, and restless to dispute. And\nAmbrose himself, as the world counts happy, I esteemed a happy man, whom\npersonages so great held in such honour; only his celibacy seemed to me\na painful course. But what hope he bore within him, what struggles he\nhad against the temptations which beset his very excellencies, or what\ncomfort in adversities, and what sweet joys Thy Bread had for the hidden\nmouth of his spirit, when chewing the cud thereof, I neither could\nconjecture, nor had experienced. Nor did he know the tides of my\nfeelings, or the abyss of my danger. For I could not ask of him, what\nI would as I would, being shut out both from his ear and speech by\nmultitudes of busy people, whose weaknesses he served. With whom when he\nwas not taken up (which was but a little time), he was either refreshing\nhis body with the sustenance absolutely necessary, or his mind with\nreading. But when he was reading, his eye glided over the pages, and\nhis heart searched out the sense, but his voice and tongue were at rest.\nOfttimes when we had come (for no man was forbidden to enter, nor was it\nhis wont that any who came should be announced to him), we saw him thus\nreading to himself, and never otherwise; and having long sat silent\n(for who durst intrude on one so intent?) we were fain to depart,\nconjecturing that in the small interval which he obtained, free from the\ndin of others' business, for the recruiting of his mind, he was loth to\nbe taken off; and perchance he dreaded lest if the author he read should\ndeliver any thing obscurely, some attentive or perplexed hearer should\ndesire him to expound it, or to discuss some of the harder questions; so\nthat his time being thus spent, he could not turn over so many volumes\nas he desired; although the preserving of his voice (which a very little\nspeaking would weaken) might be the truer reason for his reading to\nhimself. But with what intent soever he did it, certainly in such a man\nit was good.\n\nI however certainly had no opportunity of enquiring what I wished of\nthat so holy oracle of Thine, his breast, unless the thing might be\nanswered briefly. But those tides in me, to be poured out to him,\nrequired his full leisure, and never found it. I heard him indeed every\nLord's day, rightly expounding the Word of truth among the people; and\nI was more and more convinced that all the knots of those crafty\ncalumnies, which those our deceivers had knit against the Divine Books,\ncould be unravelled. But when I understood withal, that \"man created\nby Thee, after Thine own image,\" was not so understood by Thy spiritual\nsons, whom of the Catholic Mother Thou hast born again through grace,\nas though they believed and conceived of Thee as bounded by human shape\n(although what a spiritual substance should be I had not even a faint or\nshadowy notion); yet, with joy I blushed at having so many years barked\nnot against the Catholic faith, but against the fictions of carnal\nimaginations. For so rash and impious had I been, that what I ought by\nenquiring to have learned, I had pronounced on, condemning. For Thou,\nMost High, and most near; most secret, and most present; Who hast not\nlimbs some larger, some smaller, but art wholly every where, and no\nwhere in space, art not of such corporeal shape, yet hast Thou made man\nafter Thine own image; and behold, from head to foot is he contained in\nspace.\n\nIgnorant then how this Thy image should subsist, I should have knocked\nand proposed the doubt, how it was to be believed, not insultingly\nopposed it, as if believed. Doubt, then, what to hold for certain,\nthe more sharply gnawed my heart, the more ashamed I was, that so long\ndeluded and deceived by the promise of certainties, I had with childish\nerror and vehemence, prated of so many uncertainties. For that they were\nfalsehoods became clear to me later. However I was certain that they\nwere uncertain, and that I had formerly accounted them certain, when\nwith a blind contentiousness, I accused Thy Catholic Church, whom I now\ndiscovered, not indeed as yet to teach truly, but at least not to teach\nthat for which I had grievously censured her. So I was confounded, and\nconverted: and I joyed, O my God, that the One Only Church, the body of\nThine Only Son (wherein the name of Christ had been put upon me as an\ninfant), had no taste for infantine conceits; nor in her sound doctrine\nmaintained any tenet which should confine Thee, the Creator of all, in\nspace, however great and large, yet bounded every where by the limits of\na human form.\n\nI joyed also that the old Scriptures of the law and the Prophets were\nlaid before me, not now to be perused with that eye to which before they\nseemed absurd, when I reviled Thy holy ones for so thinking, whereas\nindeed they thought not so: and with joy I heard Ambrose in his sermons\nto the people, oftentimes most diligently recommend this text for a\nrule, The letter killeth, but the Spirit giveth life; whilst he drew\naside the mystic veil, laying open spiritually what, according to the\nletter, seemed to teach something unsound; teaching herein nothing that\noffended me, though he taught what I knew not as yet, whether it were\ntrue. For I kept my heart from assenting to any thing, fearing to fall\nheadlong; but by hanging in suspense I was the worse killed. For I\nwished to be as assured of the things I saw not, as I was that seven and\nthree are ten. For I was not so mad as to think that even this could not\nbe comprehended; but I desired to have other things as clear as this,\nwhether things corporeal, which were not present to my senses, or\nspiritual, whereof I knew not how to conceive, except corporeally. And\nby believing might I have been cured, that so the eyesight of my soul\nbeing cleared, might in some way be directed to Thy truth, which abideth\nalways, and in no part faileth. But as it happens that one who has tried\na bad physician, fears to trust himself with a good one, so was it with\nthe health of my soul, which could not be healed but by believing, and\nlest it should believe falsehoods, refused to be cured; resisting Thy\nhands, Who hast prepared the medicines of faith, and hast applied\nthem to the diseases of the whole world, and given unto them so great\nauthority.\n\nBeing led, however, from this to prefer the Catholic doctrine, I felt\nthat her proceeding was more unassuming and honest, in that she required\nto be believed things not demonstrated (whether it was that they could\nin themselves be demonstrated but not to certain persons, or could not\nat all be), whereas among the Manichees our credulity was mocked by a\npromise of certain knowledge, and then so many most fabulous and\nabsurd things were imposed to be believed, because they could not be\ndemonstrated. Then Thou, O Lord, little by little with most tender and\nmost merciful hand, touching and composing my heart, didst persuade\nme--considering what innumerable things I believed, which I saw not, nor\nwas present while they were done, as so many things in secular history,\nso many reports of places and of cities, which I had not seen; so many\nof friends, so many of physicians, so many continually of other men,\nwhich unless we should believe, we should do nothing at all in this\nlife; lastly, with how unshaken an assurance I believed of what\nparents I was born, which I could not know, had I not believed upon\nhearsay--considering all this, Thou didst persuade me, that not they who\nbelieved Thy Books (which Thou hast established in so great authority\namong almost all nations), but they who believed them not, were to be\nblamed; and that they were not to be heard, who should say to me, \"How\nknowest thou those Scriptures to have been imparted unto mankind by the\nSpirit of the one true and most true God?\" For this very thing was\nof all most to be believed, since no contentiousness of blasphemous\nquestionings, of all that multitude which I had read in the\nself-contradicting philosophers, could wring this belief from me,\n\"That Thou art\" whatsoever Thou wert (what I knew not), and \"That the\ngovernment of human things belongs to Thee.\"\n\nThis I believed, sometimes more strongly, more weakly otherwhiles; yet I\never believed both that Thou wert, and hadst a care of us; though I was\nignorant, both what was to be thought of Thy substance, and what way led\nor led back to Thee. Since then we were too weak by abstract reasonings\nto find out truth: and for this very cause needed the authority of Holy\nWrit; I had now begun to believe that Thou wouldest never have given\nsuch excellency of authority to that Writ in all lands, hadst Thou not\nwilled thereby to be believed in, thereby sought. For now what things,\nsounding strangely in the Scripture, were wont to offend me, having\nheard divers of them expounded satisfactorily, I referred to the depth\nof the mysteries, and its authority appeared to me the more venerable,\nand more worthy of religious credence, in that, while it lay open to all\nto read, it reserved the majesty of its mysteries within its profounder\nmeaning, stooping to all in the great plainness of its words and\nlowliness of its style, yet calling forth the intensest application of\nsuch as are not light of heart; that so it might receive all in its open\nbosom, and through narrow passages waft over towards Thee some few, yet\nmany more than if it stood not aloft on such a height of authority, nor\ndrew multitudes within its bosom by its holy lowliness. These things\nI thought on, and Thou wert with me; I sighed, and Thou heardest me; I\nwavered, and Thou didst guide me; I wandered through the broad way of\nthe world, and Thou didst not forsake me.\n\nI panted after honours, gains, marriage; and thou deridedst me. In these\ndesires I underwent most bitter crosses, Thou being the more gracious,\nthe less Thou sufferedst aught to grow sweet to me, which was not Thou.\nBehold my heart, O Lord, who wouldest I should remember all this, and\nconfess to Thee. Let my soul cleave unto Thee, now that Thou hast freed\nit from that fast-holding birdlime of death. How wretched was it! and\nThou didst irritate the feeling of its wound, that forsaking all else,\nit might be converted unto Thee, who art above all, and without whom all\nthings would be nothing; be converted, and be healed. How miserable was\nI then, and how didst Thou deal with me, to make me feel my misery on\nthat day, when I was preparing to recite a panegyric of the Emperor,\nwherein I was to utter many a lie, and lying, was to be applauded by\nthose who knew I lied, and my heart was panting with these anxieties,\nand boiling with the feverishness of consuming thoughts. For, passing\nthrough one of the streets of Milan, I observed a poor beggar, then, I\nsuppose, with a full belly, joking and joyous: and I sighed, and spoke\nto the friends around me, of the many sorrows of our frenzies; for that\nby all such efforts of ours, as those wherein I then toiled dragging\nalong, under the goading of desire, the burthen of my own wretchedness,\nand, by dragging, augmenting it, we yet looked to arrive only at that\nvery joyousness whither that beggar-man had arrived before us, who\nshould never perchance attain it. For what he had obtained by means of a\nfew begged pence, the same was I plotting for by many a toilsome turning\nand winding; the joy of a temporary felicity. For he verily had not the\ntrue joy; but yet I with those my ambitious designs was seeking one much\nless true. And certainly he was joyous, I anxious; he void of care, I\nfull of fears. But should any ask me, had I rather be merry or fearful?\nI would answer merry. Again, if he asked had I rather be such as he was,\nor what I then was? I should choose to be myself, though worn with cares\nand fears; but out of wrong judgment; for, was it the truth? For I ought\nnot to prefer myself to him, because more learned than he, seeing I\nhad no joy therein, but sought to please men by it; and that not to\ninstruct, but simply to please. Wherefore also Thou didst break my bones\nwith the staff of Thy correction.\n\nAway with those then from my soul who say to her, \"It makes a difference\nwhence a man's joy is. That beggar-man joyed in drunkenness; Thou\ndesiredst to joy in glory.\" What glory, Lord? That which is not in\nThee. For even as his was no true joy, so was that no true glory: and\nit overthrew my soul more. He that very night should digest his\ndrunkenness; but I had slept and risen again with mine, and was to sleep\nagain, and again to rise with it, how many days, Thou, God, knowest. But\n\"it doth make a difference whence a man's joy is.\" I know it, and the\njoy of a faithful hope lieth incomparably beyond such vanity. Yea, and\nso was he then beyond me: for he verily was the happier; not only for\nthat he was thoroughly drenched in mirth, I disembowelled with cares:\nbut he, by fair wishes, had gotten wine; I, by lying, was seeking for\nempty, swelling praise. Much to this purpose said I then to my friends:\nand I often marked in them how it fared with me; and I found it went ill\nwith me, and grieved, and doubled that very ill; and if any prosperity\nsmiled on me, I was loth to catch at it, for almost before I could grasp\nit, it flew away.\n\nThese things we, who were living as friends together, bemoaned together,\nbut chiefly and most familiarly did I speak thereof with Alypius and\nNebridius, of whom Alypius was born in the same town with me, of persons\nof chief rank there, but younger than I. For he had studied under me,\nboth when I first lectured in our town, and afterwards at Carthage, and\nhe loved me much, because I seemed to him kind, and learned; and I him,\nfor his great towardliness to virtue, which was eminent enough in one of\nno greater years. Yet the whirlpool of Carthaginian habits (amongst whom\nthose idle spectacles are hotly followed) had drawn him into the\nmadness of the Circus. But while he was miserably tossed therein, and\nI, professing rhetoric there, had a public school, as yet he used not my\nteaching, by reason of some unkindness risen betwixt his father and me.\nI had found then how deadly he doted upon the Circus, and was deeply\ngrieved that he seemed likely, nay, or had thrown away so great promise:\nyet had I no means of advising or with a sort of constraint reclaiming\nhim, either by the kindness of a friend, or the authority of a master.\nFor I supposed that he thought of me as did his father; but he was not\nsuch; laying aside then his father's mind in that matter, he began to\ngreet me, come sometimes into my lecture room, hear a little, and be\ngone.\n\nI however had forgotten to deal with him, that he should not, through\na blind and headlong desire of vain pastimes, undo so good a wit. But\nThou, O Lord, who guidest the course of all Thou hast created, hadst\nnot forgotten him, who was one day to be among Thy children, Priest\nand Dispenser of Thy Sacrament; and that his amendment might plainly be\nattributed to Thyself, Thou effectedst it through me, unknowingly. For\nas one day I sat in my accustomed place, with my scholars before me,\nhe entered, greeted me, sat down, and applied his mind to what I\nthen handled. I had by chance a passage in hand, which while I was\nexplaining, a likeness from the Circensian races occurred to me, as\nlikely to make what I would convey pleasanter and plainer, seasoned\nwith biting mockery of those whom that madness had enthralled; God, Thou\nknowest that I then thought not of curing Alypius of that infection. But\nhe took it wholly to himself, and thought that I said it simply for his\nsake. And whence another would have taken occasion of offence with me,\nthat right-minded youth took as a ground of being offended at himself,\nand loving me more fervently. For Thou hadst said it long ago, and put\nit into Thy book, Rebuke a wise man and he will love Thee. But I had\nnot rebuked him, but Thou, who employest all, knowing or not knowing, in\nthat order which Thyself knowest (and that order is just), didst of my\nheart and tongue make burning coals, by which to set on fire the\nhopeful mind, thus languishing, and so cure it. Let him be silent in Thy\npraises, who considers not Thy mercies, which confess unto Thee out of\nmy inmost soul. For he upon that speech burst out of that pit so deep,\nwherein he was wilfully plunged, and was blinded with its wretched\npastimes; and he shook his mind with a strong self-command; whereupon\nall the filths of the Circensian pastimes flew off from him, nor came he\nagain thither. Upon this, he prevailed with his unwilling father that he\nmight be my scholar. He gave way, and gave in. And Alypius beginning\nto be my hearer again, was involved in the same superstition with me,\nloving in the Manichees that show of continency which he supposed true\nand unfeigned. Whereas it was a senseless and seducing continency,\nensnaring precious souls, unable as yet to reach the depth of virtue,\nyet readily beguiled with the surface of what was but a shadowy and\ncounterfeit virtue.\n\nHe, not forsaking that secular course which his parents had charmed him\nto pursue, had gone before me to Rome, to study law, and there he was\ncarried away incredibly with an incredible eagerness after the shows of\ngladiators. For being utterly averse to and detesting spectacles, he was\none day by chance met by divers of his acquaintance and fellow-students\ncoming from dinner, and they with a familiar violence haled him,\nvehemently refusing and resisting, into the Amphitheatre, during these\ncruel and deadly shows, he thus protesting: \"Though you hale my body to\nthat place, and there set me, can you force me also to turn my mind or\nmy eyes to those shows? I shall then be absent while present, and\nso shall overcome both you and them.\" They, hearing this, led him on\nnevertheless, desirous perchance to try that very thing, whether he\ncould do as he said. When they were come thither, and had taken their\nplaces as they could, the whole place kindled with that savage pastime.\nBut he, closing the passage of his eyes, forbade his mind to range\nabroad after such evil; and would he had stopped his ears also! For in\nthe fight, when one fell, a mighty cry of the whole people striking him\nstrongly, overcome by curiosity, and as if prepared to despise and be\nsuperior to it whatsoever it were, even when seen, he opened his eyes,\nand was stricken with a deeper wound in his soul than the other, whom he\ndesired to behold, was in his body; and he fell more miserably than he\nupon whose fall that mighty noise was raised, which entered through his\nears, and unlocked his eyes, to make way for the striking and beating\ndown of a soul, bold rather than resolute, and the weaker, in that it\nhad presumed on itself, which ought to have relied on Thee. For so soon\nas he saw that blood, he therewith drunk down savageness; nor turned\naway, but fixed his eye, drinking in frenzy, unawares, and was delighted\nwith that guilty fight, and intoxicated with the bloody pastime. Nor was\nhe now the man he came, but one of the throng he came unto, yea, a true\nassociate of theirs that brought him thither. Why say more? He beheld,\nshouted, kindled, carried thence with him the madness which should goad\nhim to return not only with them who first drew him thither, but also\nbefore them, yea and to draw in others. Yet thence didst Thou with a\nmost strong and most merciful hand pluck him, and taughtest him to have\nconfidence not in himself, but in Thee. But this was after.\n\nBut this was already being laid up in his memory to be a medicine\nhereafter. So was that also, that when he was yet studying under me at\nCarthage, and was thinking over at mid-day in the market-place what he\nwas to say by heart (as scholars use to practise), Thou sufferedst him\nto be apprehended by the officers of the market-place for a thief. For\nno other cause, I deem, didst Thou, our God, suffer it, but that he who\nwas hereafter to prove so great a man, should already begin to learn\nthat in judging of causes, man was not readily to be condemned by man\nout of a rash credulity. For as he was walking up and down by himself\nbefore the judgment-seat, with his note-book and pen, lo, a young man, a\nlawyer, the real thief, privily bringing a hatchet, got in, unperceived\nby Alypius, as far as the leaden gratings which fence in the\nsilversmiths' shops, and began to cut away the lead. But the noise of\nthe hatchet being heard, the silversmiths beneath began to make a stir,\nand sent to apprehend whomever they should find. But he, hearing their\nvoices, ran away, leaving his hatchet, fearing to be taken with it.\nAlypius now, who had not seen him enter, was aware of his going, and\nsaw with what speed he made away. And being desirous to know the matter,\nentered the place; where finding the hatchet, he was standing, wondering\nand considering it, when behold, those that had been sent, find him\nalone with the hatchet in his hand, the noise whereof had startled and\nbrought them thither. They seize him, hale him away, and gathering the\ndwellers in the market-place together, boast of having taken a notorious\nthief, and so he was being led away to be taken before the judge.\n\nBut thus far was Alypius to be instructed. For forthwith, O Lord, Thou\nsuccouredst his innocency, whereof Thou alone wert witness. For as he\nwas being led either to prison or to punishment, a certain architect met\nthem, who had the chief charge of the public buildings. Glad they\nwere to meet him especially, by whom they were wont to be suspected of\nstealing the goods lost out of the market-place, as though to show him at\nlast by whom these thefts were committed. He, however, had divers times\nseen Alypius at a certain senator's house, to whom he often went to pay\nhis respects; and recognising him immediately, took him aside by the\nhand, and enquiring the occasion of so great a calamity, heard the whole\nmatter, and bade all present, amid much uproar and threats, to go with\nhim. So they came to the house of the young man who had done the\ndeed. There, before the door, was a boy so young as to be likely, not\napprehending any harm to his master, to disclose the whole. For he\nhad attended his master to the market-place. Whom so soon as Alypius\nremembered, he told the architect: and he showing the hatchet to the\nboy, asked him \"Whose that was?\" \"Ours,\" quoth he presently: and being\nfurther questioned, he discovered every thing. Thus the crime being\ntransferred to that house, and the multitude ashamed, which had begun\nto insult over Alypius, he who was to be a dispenser of Thy Word, and an\nexaminer of many causes in Thy Church, went away better experienced and\ninstructed.\n\nHim then I had found at Rome, and he clave to me by a most strong tie,\nand went with me to Milan, both that he might not leave me, and might\npractise something of the law he had studied, more to please his parents\nthan himself. There he had thrice sat as Assessor, with an uncorruptness\nmuch wondered at by others, he wondering at others rather who could\nprefer gold to honesty. His character was tried besides, not only with\nthe bait of covetousness, but with the goad of fear. At Rome he was\nAssessor to the count of the Italian Treasury. There was at that time a\nvery powerful senator, to whose favours many stood indebted, many much\nfeared. He would needs, by his usual power, have a thing allowed him\nwhich by the laws was unallowed. Alypius resisted it: a bribe was\npromised; with all his heart he scorned it: threats were held out; he\ntrampled upon them: all wondering at so unwonted a spirit, which neither\ndesired the friendship, nor feared the enmity of one so great and so\nmightily renowned for innumerable means of doing good or evil. And the\nvery judge, whose councillor Alypius was, although also unwilling\nit should be, yet did not openly refuse, but put the matter off upon\nAlypius, alleging that he would not allow him to do it: for in truth had\nthe judge done it, Alypius would have decided otherwise. With this one\nthing in the way of learning was he well-nigh seduced, that he might\nhave books copied for him at Praetorian prices, but consulting justice,\nhe altered his deliberation for the better; esteeming equity whereby he\nwas hindered more gainful than the power whereby he were allowed. These\nare slight things, but he that is faithful in little, is faithful also\nin much. Nor can that any how be void, which proceeded out of the mouth\nof Thy Truth: If ye have not been faithful in the unrighteous Mammon,\nwho will commit to your trust true riches? And if ye have not been\nfaithful in that which is another man's, who shall give you that which\nis your own? He being such, did at that time cleave to me, and with me\nwavered in purpose, what course of life was to be taken.\n\nNebridius also, who having left his native country near Carthage, yea\nand Carthage itself, where he had much lived, leaving his excellent\nfamily-estate and house, and a mother behind, who was not to follow him,\nhad come to Milan, for no other reason but that with me he might live in\na most ardent search after truth and wisdom. Like me he sighed, like\nme he wavered, an ardent searcher after true life, and a most acute\nexaminer of the most difficult questions. Thus were there the mouths\nof three indigent persons, sighing out their wants one to another, and\nwaiting upon Thee that Thou mightest give them their meat in due season.\nAnd in all the bitterness which by Thy mercy followed our worldly\naffairs, as we looked towards the end, why we should suffer all this,\ndarkness met us; and we turned away groaning, and saying, How long shall\nthese things be? This too we often said; and so saying forsook them not,\nfor as yet there dawned nothing certain, which these forsaken, we might\nembrace.\n\nAnd I, viewing and reviewing things, most wondered at the length of time\nfrom that my nineteenth year, wherein I had begun to kindle with the\ndesire of wisdom, settling when I had found her, to abandon all the\nempty hopes and lying frenzies of vain desires. And lo, I was now in\nmy thirtieth year, sticking in the same mire, greedy of enjoying things\npresent, which passed away and wasted my soul; while I said to myself,\n\"Tomorrow I shall find it; it will appear manifestly and I shall grasp\nit; lo, Faustus the Manichee will come, and clear every thing! O you\ngreat men, ye Academicians, it is true then, that no certainty can\nbe attained for the ordering of life! Nay, let us search the more\ndiligently, and despair not. Lo, things in the ecclesiastical books\nare not absurd to us now, which sometimes seemed absurd, and may be\notherwise taken, and in a good sense. I will take my stand, where, as\na child, my parents placed me, until the clear truth be found out. But\nwhere shall it be sought or when? Ambrose has no leisure; we have no\nleisure to read; where shall we find even the books? Whence, or when\nprocure them? from whom borrow them? Let set times be appointed, and\ncertain hours be ordered for the health of our soul. Great hope has\ndawned; the Catholic Faith teaches not what we thought, and vainly\naccused it of; her instructed members hold it profane to believe God to\nbe bounded by the figure of a human body: and do we doubt to 'knock,'\nthat the rest 'may be opened'? The forenoons our scholars take up; what\ndo we during the rest? Why not this? But when then pay we court to our\ngreat friends, whose favour we need? When compose what we may sell\nto scholars? When refresh ourselves, unbending our minds from this\nintenseness of care?\n\n\"Perish every thing, dismiss we these empty vanities, and betake\nourselves to the one search for truth! Life is vain, death uncertain; if\nit steals upon us on a sudden, in what state shall we depart hence?\nand where shall we learn what here we have neglected? and shall we not\nrather suffer the punishment of this negligence? What, if death itself\ncut off and end all care and feeling? Then must this be ascertained.\nBut God forbid this! It is no vain and empty thing, that the excellent\ndignity of the authority of the Christian Faith hath overspread the\nwhole world. Never would such and so great things be by God wrought for\nus, if with the death of the body the life of the soul came to an end.\nWherefore delay then to abandon worldly hopes, and give ourselves wholly\nto seek after God and the blessed life? But wait! Even those things are\npleasant; they have some, and no small sweetness. We must not lightly\nabandon them, for it were a shame to return again to them. See, it is\nno great matter now to obtain some station, and then what should we more\nwish for? We have store of powerful friends; if nothing else offer, and\nwe be in much haste, at least a presidentship may be given us: and a\nwife with some money, that she increase not our charges: and this shall\nbe the bound of desire. Many great men, and most worthy of imitation,\nhave given themselves to the study of wisdom in the state of marriage.\"\n\nWhile I went over these things, and these winds shifted and drove my\nheart this way and that, time passed on, but I delayed to turn to the\nLord; and from day to day deferred to live in Thee, and deferred not\ndaily to die in myself. Loving a happy life, I feared it in its own\nabode, and sought it, by fleeing from it. I thought I should be too\nmiserable, unless folded in female arms; and of the medicine of Thy\nmercy to cure that infirmity I thought not, not having tried it. As for\ncontinency, I supposed it to be in our own power (though in myself I did\nnot find that power), being so foolish as not to know what is written,\nNone can be continent unless Thou give it; and that Thou wouldest give\nit, if with inward groanings I did knock at Thine ears, and with a\nsettled faith did cast my care on Thee.\n\nAlypius indeed kept me from marrying; alleging that so could we by no\nmeans with undistracted leisure live together in the love of wisdom, as\nwe had long desired. For himself was even then most pure in this point,\nso that it was wonderful; and that the more, since in the outset of his\nyouth he had entered into that course, but had not stuck fast therein;\nrather had he felt remorse and revolting at it, living thenceforth until\nnow most continently. But I opposed him with the examples of those who\nas married men had cherished wisdom, and served God acceptably, and\nretained their friends, and loved them faithfully. Of whose greatness of\nspirit I was far short; and bound with the disease of the flesh, and its\ndeadly sweetness, drew along my chain, dreading to be loosed, and as if\nmy wound had been fretted, put back his good persuasions, as it were the\nhand of one that would unchain me. Moreover, by me did the serpent\nspeak unto Alypius himself, by my tongue weaving and laying in his\npath pleasurable snares, wherein his virtuous and free feet might be\nentangled.\n\nFor when he wondered that I, whom he esteemed not slightly, should stick\nso fast in the birdlime of that pleasure, as to protest (so oft as we\ndiscussed it) that I could never lead a single life; and urged in my\ndefence when I saw him wonder, that there was great difference between\nhis momentary and scarce-remembered knowledge of that life, which so\nhe might easily despise, and my continued acquaintance whereto if the\nhonourable name of marriage were added, he ought not to wonder why I\ncould not contemn that course; he began also to desire to be married;\nnot as overcome with desire of such pleasure, but out of curiosity. For\nhe would fain know, he said, what that should be, without which my life,\nto him so pleasing, would to me seem not life but a punishment. For his\nmind, free from that chain, was amazed at my thraldom; and through that\namazement was going on to a desire of trying it, thence to the trial\nitself, and thence perhaps to sink into that bondage whereat he\nwondered, seeing he was willing to make a covenant with death; and he\nthat loves danger, shall fall into it. For whatever honour there be in\nthe office of well-ordering a married life, and a family, moved us but\nslightly. But me for the most part the habit of satisfying an insatiable\nappetite tormented, while it held me captive; him, an admiring wonder\nwas leading captive. So were we, until Thou, O Most High, not forsaking\nour dust, commiserating us miserable, didst come to our help, by\nwondrous and secret ways.\n\nContinual effort was made to have me married. I wooed, I was\npromised, chiefly through my mother's pains, that so once married, the\nhealth-giving baptism might cleanse me, towards which she rejoiced\nthat I was being daily fitted, and observed that her prayers, and Thy\npromises, were being fulfilled in my faith. At which time verily, both\nat my request and her own longing, with strong cries of heart she\ndaily begged of Thee, that Thou wouldest by a vision discover unto her\nsomething concerning my future marriage; Thou never wouldest. She saw\nindeed certain vain and fantastic things, such as the energy of the\nhuman spirit, busied thereon, brought together; and these she told me\nof, not with that confidence she was wont, when Thou showedst her any\nthing, but slighting them. For she could, she said, through a certain\nfeeling, which in words she could not express, discern betwixt Thy\nrevelations, and the dreams of her own soul. Yet the matter was pressed\non, and a maiden asked in marriage, two years under the fit age; and, as\npleasing, was waited for.\n\nAnd many of us friends conferring about, and detesting the turbulent\nturmoils of human life, had debated and now almost resolved on living\napart from business and the bustle of men; and this was to be thus\nobtained; we were to bring whatever we might severally procure, and\nmake one household of all; so that through the truth of our friendship\nnothing should belong especially to any; but the whole thus derived from\nall, should as a whole belong to each, and all to all. We thought there\nmight be some often persons in this society; some of whom were very\nrich, especially Romanianus our townsman, from childhood a very familiar\nfriend of mine, whom the grievous perplexities of his affairs had\nbrought up to court; who was the most earnest for this project; and\ntherein was his voice of great weight, because his ample estate far\nexceeded any of the rest. We had settled also that two annual officers,\nas it were, should provide all things necessary, the rest being\nundisturbed. But when we began to consider whether the wives, which\nsome of us already had, others hoped to have, would allow this, all that\nplan, which was being so well moulded, fell to pieces in our hands, was\nutterly dashed and cast aside. Thence we betook us to sighs, and groans,\nand our steps to follow the broad and beaten ways of the world; for many\nthoughts were in our heart, but Thy counsel standeth for ever. Out\nof which counsel Thou didst deride ours, and preparedst Thine own;\npurposing to give us meat in due season, and to fill our souls with\nblessing.\n\nMeanwhile my sins were being multiplied, and my concubine being torn\nfrom my side as a hindrance to my marriage, my heart which clave unto\nher was torn and wounded and bleeding. And she returned to Afric, vowing\nunto Thee never to know any other man, leaving with me my son by her.\nBut unhappy I, who could not imitate a very woman, impatient of delay,\ninasmuch as not till after two years was I to obtain her I sought not\nbeing so much a lover of marriage as a slave to lust, procured another,\nthough no wife, that so by the servitude of an enduring custom, the\ndisease of my soul might be kept up and carried on in its vigour, or\neven augmented, into the dominion of marriage. Nor was that my wound\ncured, which had been made by the cutting away of the former, but after\ninflammation and most acute pain, it mortified, and my pains became less\nacute, but more desperate.\n\nTo Thee be praise, glory to Thee, Fountain of mercies. I was becoming\nmore miserable, and Thou nearer. Thy right hand was continually ready to\npluck me out of the mire, and to wash me thoroughly, and I knew it\nnot; nor did anything call me back from a yet deeper gulf of carnal\npleasures, but the fear of death, and of Thy judgment to come; which\namid all my changes, never departed from my breast. And in my disputes\nwith my friends Alypius and Nebridius of the nature of good and evil, I\nheld that Epicurus had in my mind won the palm, had I not believed that\nafter death there remained a life for the soul, and places of requital\naccording to men's deserts, which Epicurus would not believe. And I\nasked, \"were we immortal, and to live in perpetual bodily pleasure,\nwithout fear of losing it, why should we not be happy, or what else\nshould we seek?\" not knowing that great misery was involved in this very\nthing, that, being thus sunk and blinded, I could not discern that light\nof excellence and beauty, to be embraced for its own sake, which the eye\nof flesh cannot see, and is seen by the inner man. Nor did I, unhappy,\nconsider from what source it sprung, that even on these things, foul as\nthey were, I with pleasure discoursed with my friends, nor could I,\neven according to the notions I then had of happiness, be happy without\nfriends, amid what abundance soever of carnal pleasures. And yet these\nfriends I loved for themselves only, and I felt that I was beloved of\nthem again for myself only.\n\nO crooked paths! Woe to the audacious soul, which hoped, by forsaking\nThee, to gain some better thing! Turned it hath, and turned again, upon\nback, sides, and belly, yet all was painful; and Thou alone rest.\nAnd behold, Thou art at hand, and deliverest us from our wretched\nwanderings, and placest us in Thy way, and dost comfort us, and say,\n\"Run; I will carry you; yea I will bring you through; there also will I\ncarry you.\"\n\n\n\n\nBOOK VII\n\n\nDeceased was now that my evil and abominable youth, and I was passing\ninto early manhood; the more defiled by vain things as I grew in years,\nwho could not imagine any substance, but such as is wont to be seen with\nthese eyes. I thought not of Thee, O God, under the figure of a human\nbody; since I began to hear aught of wisdom, I always avoided this; and\nrejoiced to have found the same in the faith of our spiritual mother,\nThy Catholic Church. But what else to conceive of Thee I knew not. And\nI, a man, and such a man, sought to conceive of Thee the sovereign,\nonly, true God; and I did in my inmost soul believe that Thou wert\nincorruptible, and uninjurable, and unchangeable; because though not\nknowing whence or how, yet I saw plainly, and was sure, that that which\nmay be corrupted must be inferior to that which cannot; what could not\nbe injured I preferred unhesitatingly to what could receive injury; the\nunchangeable to things subject to change. My heart passionately cried\nout against all my phantoms, and with this one blow I sought to beat\naway from the eye of my mind all that unclean troop which buzzed around\nit. And lo, being scarce put off, in the twinkling of an eye they\ngathered again thick about me, flew against my face, and beclouded\nit; so that though not under the form of the human body, yet was I\nconstrained to conceive of Thee (that incorruptible, uninjurable, and\nunchangeable, which I preferred before the corruptible, and injurable,\nand changeable) as being in space, whether infused into the world, or\ndiffused infinitely without it. Because whatsoever I conceived, deprived\nof this space, seemed to me nothing, yea altogether nothing, not even\na void, as if a body were taken out of its place, and the place should\nremain empty of any body at all, of earth and water, air and heaven, yet\nwould it remain a void place, as it were a spacious nothing.\n\nI then being thus gross-hearted, nor clear even to myself, whatsoever\nwas not extended over certain spaces, nor diffused, nor condensed, nor\nswelled out, or did not or could not receive some of these dimensions,\nI thought to be altogether nothing. For over such forms as my eyes are\nwont to range, did my heart then range: nor yet did I see that this same\nnotion of the mind, whereby I formed those very images, was not of this\nsort, and yet it could not have formed them, had not itself been some\ngreat thing. So also did I endeavour to conceive of Thee, Life of my\nlife, as vast, through infinite spaces on every side penetrating\nthe whole mass of the universe, and beyond it, every way, through\nunmeasurable boundless spaces; so that the earth should have Thee, the\nheaven have Thee, all things have Thee, and they be bounded in Thee, and\nThou bounded nowhere. For that as the body of this air which is above\nthe earth, hindereth not the light of the sun from passing through it,\npenetrating it, not by bursting or by cutting, but by filling it wholly:\nso I thought the body not of heaven, air, and sea only, but of the earth\ntoo, pervious to Thee, so that in all its parts, the greatest as the\nsmallest, it should admit Thy presence, by a secret inspiration, within\nand without, directing all things which Thou hast created. So I guessed,\nonly as unable to conceive aught else, for it was false. For thus should\na greater part of the earth contain a greater portion of Thee, and a\nless, a lesser: and all things should in such sort be full of Thee,\nthat the body of an elephant should contain more of Thee, than that of\na sparrow, by how much larger it is, and takes up more room; and thus\nshouldest Thou make the several portions of Thyself present unto the\nseveral portions of the world, in fragments, large to the large,\npetty to the petty. But such art not Thou. But not as yet hadst Thou\nenlightened my darkness.\n\nIt was enough for me, Lord, to oppose to those deceived deceivers, and\ndumb praters, since Thy word sounded not out of them;--that was enough\nwhich long ago, while we were yet at Carthage, Nebridius used to\npropound, at which all we that heard it were staggered: \"That said\nnation of darkness, which the Manichees are wont to set as an opposing\nmass over against Thee, what could it have done unto Thee, hadst Thou\nrefused to fight with it? For, if they answered, 'it would have\ndone Thee some hurt,' then shouldest Thou be subject to injury and\ncorruption: but it could do Thee no hurt,' then was no reason brought\nfor Thy fighting with it; and fighting in such wise, as that a certain\nportion or member of Thee, or offspring of Thy very Substance, should be\nmingled with opposed powers, and natures not created by Thee, and be\nby them so far corrupted and changed to the worse, as to be turned\nfrom happiness into misery, and need assistance, whereby it might be\nextricated and purified; and that this offspring of Thy Substance was\nthe soul, which being enthralled, defiled, corrupted, Thy Word, free,\npure, and whole, might relieve; that Word itself being still corruptible\nbecause it was of one and the same Substance. So then, should they\naffirm Thee, whatsoever Thou art, that is, Thy Substance whereby\nThou art, to be incorruptible, then were all these sayings false and\nexecrable; but if corruptible, the very statement showed it to be false\nand revolting.\" This argument then of Nebridius sufficed against those\nwho deserved wholly to be vomited out of the overcharged stomach; for\nthey had no escape, without horrible blasphemy of heart and tongue, thus\nthinking and speaking of Thee.\n\nBut I also as yet, although I held and was firmly persuaded that Thou\nour Lord the true God, who madest not only our souls, but our bodies,\nand not only our souls and bodies, but all beings, and all things, wert\nundefilable and unalterable, and in no degree mutable; yet understood I\nnot, clearly and without difficulty, the cause of evil. And yet whatever\nit were, I perceived it was in such wise to be sought out, as should not\nconstrain me to believe the immutable God to be mutable, lest I should\nbecome that evil I was seeking out. I sought it out then, thus far free\nfrom anxiety, certain of the untruth of what these held, from whom I\nshrunk with my whole heart: for I saw, that through enquiring the origin\nof evil, they were filled with evil, in that they preferred to think\nthat Thy substance did suffer ill than their own did commit it.\n\nAnd I strained to perceive what I now heard, that free-will was the\ncause of our doing ill, and Thy just judgment of our suffering ill. But\nI was not able clearly to discern it. So then endeavouring to draw my\nsoul's vision out of that deep pit, I was again plunged therein, and\nendeavouring often, I was plunged back as often. But this raised me a\nlittle into Thy light, that I knew as well that I had a will, as that I\nlived: when then I did will or nill any thing, I was most sure that no\nother than myself did will and nill: and I all but saw that there\nwas the cause of my sin. But what I did against my will, I saw that\nI suffered rather than did, and I judged not to be my fault, but my\npunishment; whereby, however, holding Thee to be just, I speedily\nconfessed myself to be not unjustly punished. But again I said, Who made\nme? Did not my God, Who is not only good, but goodness itself? Whence\nthen came I to will evil and nill good, so that I am thus justly\npunished? who set this in me, and ingrafted into me this plant of\nbitterness, seeing I was wholly formed by my most sweet God? If the\ndevil were the author, whence is that same devil? And if he also by his\nown perverse will, of a good angel became a devil, whence, again, came\nin him that evil will whereby he became a devil, seeing the whole nature\nof angels was made by that most good Creator? By these thoughts I was\nagain sunk down and choked; yet not brought down to that hell of error\n(where no man confesseth unto Thee), to think rather that Thou dost\nsuffer ill, than that man doth it.\n\nFor I was in such wise striving to find out the rest, as one who had\nalready found that the incorruptible must needs be better than the\ncorruptible: and Thee therefore, whatsoever Thou wert, I confessed to\nbe incorruptible. For never soul was, nor shall be, able to conceive any\nthing which may be better than Thou, who art the sovereign and the\nbest good. But since most truly and certainly, the incorruptible is\npreferable to the corruptible (as I did now prefer it), then, wert Thou\nnot incorruptible, I could in thought have arrived at something better\nthan my God. Where then I saw the incorruptible to be preferable to the\ncorruptible, there ought I to seek for Thee, and there observe \"wherein\nevil itself was\"; that is, whence corruption comes, by which Thy\nsubstance can by no means be impaired. For corruption does no ways\nimpair our God; by no will, by no necessity, by no unlooked-for chance:\nbecause He is God, and what He wills is good, and Himself is that\ngood; but to be corrupted is not good. Nor art Thou against Thy will\nconstrained to any thing, since Thy will is not greater than Thy power.\nBut greater should it be, were Thyself greater than Thyself. For the\nwill and power of God is God Himself. And what can be unlooked-for by\nThee, Who knowest all things? Nor is there any nature in things, but\nThou knowest it. And what should we more say, \"why that substance which\nGod is should not be corruptible,\" seeing if it were so, it should not\nbe God?\n\nAnd I sought \"whence is evil,\" and sought in an evil way; and saw not\nthe evil in my very search. I set now before the sight of my spirit\nthe whole creation, whatsoever we can see therein (as sea, earth, air,\nstars, trees, mortal creatures); yea, and whatever in it we do not see,\nas the firmament of heaven, all angels moreover, and all the spiritual\ninhabitants thereof. But these very beings, as though they were\nbodies, did my fancy dispose in place, and I made one great mass of Thy\ncreation, distinguished as to the kinds of bodies; some, real bodies,\nsome, what myself had feigned for spirits. And this mass I made huge,\nnot as it was (which I could not know), but as I thought convenient, yet\nevery way finite. But Thee, O Lord, I imagined on every part environing\nand penetrating it, though every way infinite: as if there were a sea,\nevery where, and on every side, through unmeasured space, one only\nboundless sea, and it contained within it some sponge, huge, but\nbounded; that sponge must needs, in all its parts, be filled from that\nunmeasurable sea: so conceived I Thy creation, itself finite, full of\nThee, the Infinite; and I said, Behold God, and behold what God hath\ncreated; and God is good, yea, most mightily and incomparably better\nthan all these: but yet He, the Good, created them good; and see how\nHe environeth and fulfils them. Where is evil then, and whence, and how\ncrept it in hither? What is its root, and what its seed? Or hath it no\nbeing? Why then fear we and avoid what is not? Or if we fear it idly,\nthen is that very fear evil, whereby the soul is thus idly goaded and\nracked. Yea, and so much a greater evil, as we have nothing to fear, and\nyet do fear. Therefore either is that evil which we fear, or else evil\nis, that we fear. Whence is it then? seeing God, the Good, hath created\nall these things good. He indeed, the greater and chiefest Good, hath\ncreated these lesser goods; still both Creator and created, all are\ngood. Whence is evil? Or, was there some evil matter of which He made,\nand formed, and ordered it, yet left something in it which He did not\nconvert into good? Why so then? Had He no might to turn and change the\nwhole, so that no evil should remain in it, seeing He is All-mighty?\nLastly, why would He make any thing at all of it, and not rather by\nthe same All-mightiness cause it not to be at all? Or, could it then be\nagainst His will? Or if it were from eternity, why suffered He it so to\nbe for infinite spaces of times past, and was pleased so long after to\nmake something out of it? Or if He were suddenly pleased now to effect\nsomewhat, this rather should the All-mighty have effected, that this\nevil matter should not be, and He alone be, the whole, true, sovereign,\nand infinite Good. Or if it was not good that He who was good should not\nalso frame and create something that were good, then, that evil matter\nbeing taken away and brought to nothing, He might form good matter,\nwhereof to create all things. For He should not be All-mighty, if He\nmight not create something good without the aid of that matter which\nHimself had not created. These thoughts I revolved in my miserable\nheart, overcharged with most gnawing cares, lest I should die ere I had\nfound the truth; yet was the faith of Thy Christ, our Lord and Saviour,\nprofessed in the Church Catholic, firmly fixed in my heart, in many\npoints, indeed, as yet unformed, and fluctuating from the rule of\ndoctrine; yet did not my mind utterly leave it, but rather daily took in\nmore and more of it.\n\nBy this time also had I rejected the lying divinations and impious\ndotages of the astrologers. Let Thine own mercies, out of my very\ninmost soul, confess unto Thee for this also, O my God. For Thou, Thou\naltogether (for who else calls us back from the death of all errors,\nsave the Life which cannot die, and the Wisdom which needing no light\nenlightens the minds that need it, whereby the universe is directed,\ndown to the whirling leaves of trees?)--Thou madest provision for my\nobstinacy wherewith I struggled against Vindicianus, an acute old man,\nand Nebridius, a young man of admirable talents; the first vehemently\naffirming, and the latter often (though with some doubtfulness) saying,\n\"That there was no such art whereby to foresee things to come, but that\nmen's conjectures were a sort of lottery, and that out of many things\nwhich they said should come to pass, some actually did, unawares to them\nwho spake it, who stumbled upon it, through their oft speaking.\"\nThou providedst then a friend for me, no negligent consulter of the\nastrologers; nor yet well skilled in those arts, but (as I said) a\ncurious consulter with them, and yet knowing something, which he said\nhe had heard of his father, which how far it went to overthrow the\nestimation of that art, he knew not. This man then, Firminus by name,\nhaving had a liberal education, and well taught in Rhetoric, consulted\nme, as one very dear to him, what, according to his so-called\nconstellations, I thought on certain affairs of his, wherein his worldly\nhopes had risen, and I, who had herein now begun to incline towards\nNebridius' opinion, did not altogether refuse to conjecture, and tell\nhim what came into my unresolved mind; but added, that I was now almost\npersuaded that these were but empty and ridiculous follies. Thereupon he\ntold me that his father had been very curious in such books, and had\na friend as earnest in them as himself, who with joint study and\nconference fanned the flame of their affections to these toys, so that\nthey would observe the moments whereat the very dumb animals, which bred\nabout their houses, gave birth, and then observed the relative position\nof the heavens, thereby to make fresh experiments in this so-called art.\nHe said then that he had heard of his father, that what time his mother\nwas about to give birth to him, Firminus, a woman-servant of that friend\nof his father's was also with child, which could not escape her master,\nwho took care with most exact diligence to know the births of his very\npuppies. And so it was that (the one for his wife, and the other for his\nservant, with the most careful observation, reckoning days, hours,\nnay, the lesser divisions of the hours) both were delivered at the same\ninstant; so that both were constrained to allow the same constellations,\neven to the minutest points, the one for his son, the other for his\nnew-born slave. For so soon as the women began to be in labour, they\neach gave notice to the other what was fallen out in their houses, and\nhad messengers ready to send to one another so soon as they had notice\nof the actual birth, of which they had easily provided, each in his own\nprovince, to give instant intelligence. Thus then the messengers of\nthe respective parties met, he averred, at such an equal distance from\neither house that neither of them could make out any difference in the\nposition of the stars, or any other minutest points; and yet Firminus,\nborn in a high estate in his parents' house, ran his course through\nthe gilded paths of life, was increased in riches, raised to honours;\nwhereas that slave continued to serve his masters, without any\nrelaxation of his yoke, as Firminus, who knew him, told me.\n\nUpon hearing and believing these things, told by one of such\ncredibility, all that my resistance gave way; and first I endeavoured to\nreclaim Firminus himself from that curiosity, by telling him that upon\ninspecting his constellations, I ought if I were to predict truly, to\nhave seen in them parents eminent among their neighbours, a noble family\nin its own city, high birth, good education, liberal learning. But if\nthat servant had consulted me upon the same constellations, since they\nwere his also, I ought again (to tell him too truly) to see in them\na lineage the most abject, a slavish condition, and every thing else\nutterly at variance with the former. Whence then, if I spake the truth,\nI should, from the same constellations, speak diversely, or if I\nspake the same, speak falsely: thence it followed most certainly that\nwhatever, upon consideration of the constellations, was spoken truly,\nwas spoken not out of art, but chance; and whatever spoken falsely, was\nnot out of ignorance in the art, but the failure of the chance.\n\nAn opening thus made, ruminating with myself on the like things, that\nno one of those dotards (who lived by such a trade, and whom I longed\nto attack, and with derision to confute) might urge against me that\nFirminus had informed me falsely, or his father him; I bent my thoughts\non those that are born twins, who for the most part come out of the womb\nso near one to other, that the small interval (how much force soever\nin the nature of things folk may pretend it to have) cannot be noted\nby human observation, or be at all expressed in those figures which the\nastrologer is to inspect, that he may pronounce truly. Yet they cannot\nbe true: for looking into the same figures, he must have predicted the\nsame of Esau and Jacob, whereas the same happened not to them. Therefore\nhe must speak falsely; or if truly, then, looking into the same figures,\nhe must not give the same answer. Not by art, then, but by chance, would\nhe speak truly. For Thou, O Lord, most righteous Ruler of the Universe,\nwhile consulters and consulted know it not, dost by Thy hidden\ninspiration effect that the consulter should hear what, according to the\nhidden deservings of souls, he ought to hear, out of the unsearchable\ndepth of Thy just judgment, to Whom let no man say, What is this? Why\nthat? Let him not so say, for he is man.\n\nNow then, O my Helper, hadst Thou loosed me from those fetters: and I\nsought \"whence is evil,\" and found no way. But Thou sufferedst me not by\nany fluctuations of thought to be carried away from the Faith whereby I\nbelieved Thee both to be, and Thy substance to be unchangeable, and that\nThou hast a care of, and wouldest judge men, and that in Christ, Thy\nSon, Our Lord, and the holy Scriptures, which the authority of Thy\nCatholic Church pressed upon me, Thou hadst set the way of man's\nsalvation, to that life which is to be after this death. These things\nbeing safe and immovably settled in my mind, I sought anxiously \"whence\nwas evil?\" What were the pangs of my teeming heart, what groans, O my\nGod! yet even there were Thine ears open, and I knew it not; and when\nin silence I vehemently sought, those silent contritions of my soul were\nstrong cries unto Thy mercy. Thou knewest what I suffered, and no man.\nFor, what was that which was thence through my tongue distilled into the\nears of my most familiar friends? Did the whole tumult of my soul, for\nwhich neither time nor utterance sufficed, reach them? Yet went up the\nwhole to Thy hearing, all which I roared out from the groanings of my\nheart; and my desire was before Thee, and the light of mine eyes was not\nwith me: for that was within, I without: nor was that confined to place,\nbut I was intent on things contained in place, but there found I no\nresting-place, nor did they so receive me, that I could say, \"It is\nenough,\" \"it is well\": nor did they yet suffer me to turn back, where\nit might be well enough with me. For to these things was I superior, but\ninferior to Thee; and Thou art my true joy when subjected to Thee, and\nThou hadst subjected to me what Thou createdst below me. And this was\nthe true temperament, and middle region of my safety, to remain in\nThy Image, and by serving Thee, rule the body. But when I rose proudly\nagainst Thee, and ran against the Lord with my neck, with the thick\nbosses of my buckler, even these inferior things were set above me, and\npressed me down, and no where was there respite or space of breathing.\nThey met my sight on all sides by heaps and troops, and in thought the\nimages thereof presented themselves unsought, as I would return to\nThee, as if they would say unto me, \"Whither goest thou, unworthy\nand defiled?\" And these things had grown out of my wound; for Thou\n\"humbledst the proud like one that is wounded,\" and through my own\nswelling was I separated from Thee; yea, my pride-swollen face closed up\nmine eyes.\n\nBut Thou, Lord, abidest for ever, yet not for ever art Thou angry with\nus; because Thou pitiest our dust and ashes, and it was pleasing in Thy\nsight to reform my deformities; and by inward goads didst Thou rouse me,\nthat I should be ill at ease, until Thou wert manifested to my inward\nsight. Thus, by the secret hand of Thy medicining was my swelling\nabated, and the troubled and bedimmed eyesight of my mind, by the\nsmarting anointings of healthful sorrows, was from day to day healed.\n\nAnd Thou, willing first to show me how Thou resistest the proud, but\ngivest grace unto the humble, and by how great an act of Thy mercy Thou\nhadst traced out to men the way of humility, in that Thy Word was made\nflesh, and dwelt among men:--Thou procuredst for me, by means of one\npuffed up with most unnatural pride, certain books of the Platonists,\ntranslated from Greek into Latin. And therein I read, not indeed in the\nvery words, but to the very same purpose, enforced by many and divers\nreasons, that In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God,\nand the Word was God: the Same was in the beginning with God: all things\nwere made by Him, and without Him was nothing made: that which was made\nby Him is life, and the life was the light of men, and the light shineth\nin the darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not. And that the soul\nof man, though it bears witness to the light, yet itself is not that\nlight; but the Word of God, being God, is that true light that lighteth\nevery man that cometh into the world. And that He was in the world, and\nthe world was made by Him, and the world knew Him not. But, that He came\nunto His own, and His own received Him not; but as many as received Him,\nto them gave He power to become the sons of God, as many as believed in\nHis name; this I read not there.\n\nAgain I read there, that God the Word was born not of flesh nor of\nblood, nor of the will of man, nor of the will of the flesh, but of God.\nBut that the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, I read not there.\nFor I traced in those books that it was many and divers ways said, that\nthe Son was in the form of the Father, and thought it not robbery to be\nequal with God, for that naturally He was the Same Substance. But that\nHe emptied Himself, taking the form of a servant, being made in the\nlikeness of men, and found in fashion as a man, humbled Himself, and\nbecame obedient unto death, and that the death of the cross: wherefore\nGod exalted Him from the dead, and gave Him a name above every name,\nthat at the name of Jesus every knee should how, of things in heaven,\nand things in earth, and things under the earth; and that every tongue\nshould confess that the Lord Jesus Christ is in the glory of God the\nFather; those books have not. For that before all times and above all\ntimes Thy Only-Begotten Son remaineth unchangeable, co-eternal with\nThee, and that of His fulness souls receive, that they may be blessed;\nand that by participation of wisdom abiding in them, they are renewed,\nso as to be wise, is there. But that in due time He died for the\nungodly; and that Thou sparedst not Thine Only Son, but deliveredst Him\nfor us all, is not there. For Thou hiddest these things from the wise,\nand revealedst them to babes; that they that labour and are heavy laden\nmight come unto Him, and He refresh them, because He is meek and lowly\nin heart; and the meek He directeth in judgment, and the gentle He\nteacheth His ways, beholding our lowliness and trouble, and forgiving\nall our sins. But such as are lifted up in the lofty walk of some\nwould-be sublimer learning, hear not Him, saying, Learn of Me, for I am\nmeek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest to your souls. Although\nthey knew God, yet they glorify Him not as God, nor are thankful,\nbut wax vain in their thoughts; and their foolish heart is darkened;\nprofessing that they were wise, they became fools.\n\nAnd therefore did I read there also, that they had changed the glory of\nThy incorruptible nature into idols and divers shapes, into the likeness\nof the image of corruptible man, and birds, and beasts, and creeping\nthings; namely, into that Egyptian food for which Esau lost his\nbirthright, for that Thy first-born people worshipped the head of a\nfour-footed beast instead of Thee; turning in heart back towards Egypt;\nand bowing Thy image, their own soul, before the image of a calf that\neateth hay. These things found I here, but I fed not on them. For it\npleased Thee, O Lord, to take away the reproach of diminution from\nJacob, that the elder should serve the younger: and Thou calledst the\nGentiles into Thine inheritance. And I had come to Thee from among the\nGentiles; and I set my mind upon the gold which Thou willedst Thy people\nto take from Egypt, seeing Thine it was, wheresoever it were. And to the\nAthenians Thou saidst by Thy Apostle, that in Thee we live, move, and\nhave our being, as one of their own poets had said. And verily these\nbooks came from thence. But I set not my mind on the idols of Egypt,\nwhom they served with Thy gold, who changed the truth of God into a lie,\nand worshipped and served the creature more than the Creator.\n\nAnd being thence admonished to return to myself, I entered even into my\ninward self, Thou being my Guide: and able I was, for Thou wert become\nmy Helper. And I entered and beheld with the eye of my soul (such as\nit was), above the same eye of my soul, above my mind, the Light\nUnchangeable. Not this ordinary light, which all flesh may look upon,\nnor as it were a greater of the same kind, as though the brightness of\nthis should be manifold brighter, and with its greatness take up all\nspace. Not such was this light, but other, yea, far other from these.\nNor was it above my soul, as oil is above water, nor yet as heaven above\nearth: but above to my soul, because It made me; and I below It, because\nI was made by It. He that knows the Truth, knows what that Light is;\nand he that knows It, knows eternity. Love knoweth it. O Truth Who art\nEternity! and Love Who art Truth! and Eternity Who art Love! Thou art\nmy God, to Thee do I sigh night and day. Thee when I first knew, Thou\nliftedst me up, that I might see there was what I might see, and that I\nwas not yet such as to see. And Thou didst beat back the weakness of my\nsight, streaming forth Thy beams of light upon me most strongly, and I\ntrembled with love and awe: and I perceived myself to be far off from\nThee, in the region of unlikeness, as if I heard this Thy voice from on\nhigh: \"I am the food of grown men, grow, and thou shalt feed upon Me;\nnor shalt thou convert Me, like the food of thy flesh into thee, but\nthou shalt be converted into Me.\" And I learned, that Thou for iniquity\nchastenest man, and Thou madest my soul to consume away like a spider.\nAnd I said, \"Is Truth therefore nothing because it is not diffused\nthrough space finite or infinite?\" And Thou criedst to me from afar:\n\"Yet verily, I AM that I AM.\" And I heard, as the heart heareth, nor had\nI room to doubt, and I should sooner doubt that I live than that Truth\nis not, which is clearly seen, being understood by those things which\nare made.\n\nAnd I beheld the other things below Thee, and I perceived that they\nneither altogether are, nor altogether are not, for they are, since\nthey are from Thee, but are not, because they are not what Thou art.\nFor that truly is which remains unchangeably. It is good then for me to\nhold fast unto God; for if I remain not in Him, I cannot in myself; but\nHe remaining in Himself, reneweth all things. And Thou art the Lord my\nGod, since Thou standest not in need of my goodness.\n\nAnd it was manifested unto me, that those things be good which yet are\ncorrupted; which neither were they sovereignly good, nor unless they\nwere good could be corrupted: for if sovereignly good, they were\nincorruptible, if not good at all, there were nothing in them to be\ncorrupted. For corruption injures, but unless it diminished goodness, it\ncould not injure. Either then corruption injures not, which cannot be;\nor which is most certain, all which is corrupted is deprived of good.\nBut if they be deprived of all good, they shall cease to be. For if they\nshall be, and can now no longer be corrupted, they shall be better than\nbefore, because they shall abide incorruptibly. And what more monstrous\nthan to affirm things to become better by losing all their good?\nTherefore, if they shall be deprived of all good, they shall no longer\nbe. So long therefore as they are, they are good: therefore whatsoever\nis, is good. That evil then which I sought, whence it is, is not any\nsubstance: for were it a substance, it should be good. For either\nit should be an incorruptible substance, and so a chief good: or\na corruptible substance; which unless it were good, could not be\ncorrupted. I perceived therefore, and it was manifested to me that Thou\nmadest all things good, nor is there any substance at all, which Thou\nmadest not; and for that Thou madest not all things equal, therefore are\nall things; because each is good, and altogether very good, because our\nGod made all things very good.\n\nAnd to Thee is nothing whatsoever evil: yea, not only to Thee, but also\nto Thy creation as a whole, because there is nothing without, which may\nbreak in, and corrupt that order which Thou hast appointed it. But in\nthe parts thereof some things, because unharmonising with other some,\nare accounted evil: whereas those very things harmonise with others,\nand are good; and in themselves are good. And all these things which\nharmonise not together, do yet with the inferior part, which we call\nEarth, having its own cloudy and windy sky harmonising with it. Far be\nit then that I should say, \"These things should not be\": for should I\nsee nought but these, I should indeed long for the better; but still\nmust even for these alone praise Thee; for that Thou art to be praised,\ndo show from the earth, dragons, and all deeps, fire, hail, snow,\nice, and stormy wind, which fulfil Thy word; mountains, and all hills,\nfruitful trees, and all cedars; beasts, and all cattle, creeping things,\nand flying fowls; kings of the earth, and all people, princes, and all\njudges of the earth; young men and maidens, old men and young, praise\nThy Name. But when, from heaven, these praise Thee, praise Thee, our\nGod, in the heights all Thy angels, all Thy hosts, sun and moon, all the\nstars and light, the Heaven of heavens, and the waters that be above the\nheavens, praise Thy Name; I did not now long for things better, because\nI conceived of all: and with a sounder judgment I apprehended that the\nthings above were better than these below, but altogether better than\nthose above by themselves.\n\nThere is no soundness in them, whom aught of Thy creation displeaseth:\nas neither in me, when much which Thou hast made, displeased me. And\nbecause my soul durst not be displeased at my God, it would fain not\naccount that Thine, which displeased it. Hence it had gone into the\nopinion of two substances, and had no rest, but talked idly. And\nreturning thence, it had made to itself a God, through infinite measures\nof all space; and thought it to be Thee, and placed it in its heart;\nand had again become the temple of its own idol, to Thee abominable. But\nafter Thou hadst soothed my head, unknown to me, and closed mine eyes\nthat they should not behold vanity, I ceased somewhat of my former self,\nand my frenzy was lulled to sleep; and I awoke in Thee, and saw Thee\ninfinite, but in another way, and this sight was not derived from the\nflesh.\n\nAnd I looked back on other things; and I saw that they owed their being\nto Thee; and were all bounded in Thee: but in a different way; not as\nbeing in space; but because Thou containest all things in Thine hand\nin Thy Truth; and all things are true so far as they nor is there any\nfalsehood, unless when that is thought to be, which is not. And I saw\nthat all things did harmonise, not with their places only, but with\ntheir seasons. And that Thou, who only art Eternal, didst not begin to\nwork after innumerable spaces of times spent; for that all spaces of\ntimes, both which have passed, and which shall pass, neither go nor\ncome, but through Thee, working and abiding.\n\nAnd I perceived and found it nothing strange, that bread which is\npleasant to a healthy palate is loathsome to one distempered: and to\nsore eyes light is offensive, which to the sound is delightful. And Thy\nrighteousness displeaseth the wicked; much more the viper and reptiles,\nwhich Thou hast created good, fitting in with the inferior portions of\nThy Creation, with which the very wicked also fit in; and that the more,\nby how much they be unlike Thee; but with the superior creatures, by how\nmuch they become more like to Thee. And I enquired what iniquity was,\nand found it to be no substance, but the perversion of the will, turned\naside from Thee, O God, the Supreme, towards these lower things, and\ncasting out its bowels, and puffed up outwardly.\n\nAnd I wondered that I now loved Thee, and no phantasm for Thee. And\nyet did I not press on to enjoy my God; but was borne up to Thee by Thy\nbeauty, and soon borne down from Thee by mine own weight, sinking with\nsorrow into these inferior things. This weight was carnal custom. Yet\ndwelt there with me a remembrance of Thee; nor did I any way doubt that\nthere was One to whom I might cleave, but that I was not yet such as to\ncleave to Thee: for that the body which is corrupted presseth down the\nsoul, and the earthly tabernacle weigheth down the mind that museth upon\nmany things. And most certain I was, that Thy invisible works from the\ncreation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things\nthat are made, even Thy eternal power and Godhead. For examining whence\nit was that I admired the beauty of bodies celestial or terrestrial;\nand what aided me in judging soundly on things mutable, and pronouncing,\n\"This ought to be thus, this not\"; examining, I say, whence it was that\nI so judged, seeing I did so judge, I had found the unchangeable and\ntrue Eternity of Truth above my changeable mind. And thus by degrees\nI passed from bodies to the soul, which through the bodily senses\nperceives; and thence to its inward faculty, to which the bodily senses\nrepresent things external, whitherto reach the faculties of beasts; and\nthence again to the reasoning faculty, to which what is received from\nthe senses of the body, is referred to be judged. Which finding\nitself also to be in me a thing variable, raised itself up to its\nown understanding, and drew away my thoughts from the power of habit,\nwithdrawing itself from those troops of contradictory phantasms; that so\nit might find what that light was whereby it was bedewed, when, without\nall doubting, it cried out, \"That the unchangeable was to be preferred\nto the changeable\"; whence also it knew That Unchangeable, which, unless\nit had in some way known, it had had no sure ground to prefer it to the\nchangeable. And thus with the flash of one trembling glance it arrived\nat THAT WHICH IS. And then I saw Thy invisible things understood by\nthe things which are made. But I could not fix my gaze thereon; and my\ninfirmity being struck back, I was thrown again on my wonted habits,\ncarrying along with me only a loving memory thereof, and a longing for\nwhat I had, as it were, perceived the odour of, but was not yet able to\nfeed on.\n\nThen I sought a way of obtaining strength sufficient to enjoy Thee; and\nfound it not, until I embraced that Mediator betwixt God and men, the\nMan Christ Jesus, who is over all, God blessed for evermore, calling\nunto me, and saying, I am the way, the truth, and the life, and mingling\nthat food which I was unable to receive, with our flesh. For, the Word\nwas made flesh, that Thy wisdom, whereby Thou createdst all things,\nmight provide milk for our infant state. For I did not hold to my Lord\nJesus Christ, I, humbled, to the Humble; nor knew I yet whereto His\ninfirmity would guide us. For Thy Word, the Eternal Truth, far above the\nhigher parts of Thy Creation, raises up the subdued unto Itself: but\nin this lower world built for Itself a lowly habitation of our clay,\nwhereby to abase from themselves such as would be subdued, and bring\nthem over to Himself; allaying their swelling, and fomenting their love;\nto the end they might go on no further in self-confidence, but rather\nconsent to become weak, seeing before their feet the Divinity weak by\ntaking our coats of skin; and wearied, might cast themselves down upon\nIt, and It rising, might lift them up.\n\nBut I thought otherwise; conceiving only of my Lord Christ as of a man\nof excellent wisdom, whom no one could be equalled unto; especially,\nfor that being wonderfully born of a Virgin, He seemed, in conformity\ntherewith, through the Divine care for us, to have attained that great\neminence of authority, for an ensample of despising things temporal for\nthe obtaining of immortality. But what mystery there lay in \"The Word\nwas made flesh,\" I could not even imagine. Only I had learnt out of what\nis delivered to us in writing of Him that He did eat, and drink, sleep,\nwalk, rejoiced in spirit, was sorrowful, discoursed; that flesh did not\ncleave by itself unto Thy Word, but with the human soul and mind. All\nknow this who know the unchangeableness of Thy Word, which I now knew,\nas far as I could, nor did I at all doubt thereof. For, now to move the\nlimbs of the body by will, now not, now to be moved by some affection,\nnow not, now to deliver wise sayings through human signs, now to keep\nsilence, belong to soul and mind subject to variation. And should these\nthings be falsely written of Him, all the rest also would risk the\ncharge, nor would there remain in those books any saving faith for\nmankind. Since then they were written truly, I acknowledged a perfect\nman to be in Christ; not the body of a man only, nor, with the body, a\nsensitive soul without a rational, but very man; whom, not only as being\na form of Truth, but for a certain great excellence of human nature and\na more perfect participation of wisdom, I judged to be preferred before\nothers. But Alypius imagined the Catholics to believe God to be so\nclothed with flesh, that besides God and flesh, there was no soul at all\nin Christ, and did not think that a human mind was ascribed to Him. And\nbecause he was well persuaded that the actions recorded of Him could\nonly be performed by a vital and a rational creature, he moved the more\nslowly towards the Christian Faith. But understanding afterwards that\nthis was the error of the Apollinarian heretics, he joyed in and was\nconformed to the Catholic Faith. But somewhat later, I confess, did I\nlearn how in that saying, The Word was made flesh, the Catholic truth\nis distinguished from the falsehood of Photinus. For the rejection of\nheretics makes the tenets of Thy Church and sound doctrine to stand out\nmore clearly. For there must also be heresies, that the approved may be\nmade manifest among the weak.\n\nBut having then read those books of the Platonists, and thence been\ntaught to search for incorporeal truth, I saw Thy invisible things,\nunderstood by those things which are made; and though cast back, I\nperceived what that was which through the darkness of my mind I was\nhindered from contemplating, being assured \"That Thou wert, and wert\ninfinite, and yet not diffused in space, finite or infinite; and that\nThou truly art Who art the same ever, in no part nor motion varying;\nand that all other things are from Thee, on this most sure ground alone,\nthat they are.\" Of these things I was assured, yet too unsure to enjoy\nThee. I prated as one well skilled; but had I not sought Thy way in\nChrist our Saviour, I had proved to be, not skilled, but killed. For now\nI had begun to wish to seem wise, being filled with mine own punishment,\nyet I did not mourn, but rather scorn, puffed up with knowledge. For\nwhere was that charity building upon the foundation of humility, which\nis Christ Jesus? or when should these books teach me it? Upon these, I\nbelieve, Thou therefore willedst that I should fall, before I studied\nThy Scriptures, that it might be imprinted on my memory how I was\naffected by them; and that afterwards when my spirits were tamed through\nThy books, and my wounds touched by Thy healing fingers, I might discern\nand distinguish between presumption and confession; between those who\nsaw whither they were to go, yet saw not the way, and the way that\nleadeth not to behold only but to dwell in the beatific country. For\nhad I first been formed in Thy Holy Scriptures, and hadst Thou in the\nfamiliar use of them grown sweet unto me, and had I then fallen upon\nthose other volumes, they might perhaps have withdrawn me from the solid\nground of piety, or, had I continued in that healthful frame which I had\nthence imbibed, I might have thought that it might have been obtained by\nthe study of those books alone.\n\nMost eagerly then did I seize that venerable writing of Thy Spirit; and\nchiefly the Apostle Paul. Whereupon those difficulties vanished away,\nwherein he once seemed to me to contradict himself, and the text of his\ndiscourse not to agree with the testimonies of the Law and the Prophets.\nAnd the face of that pure word appeared to me one and the same; and I\nlearned to rejoice with trembling. So I began; and whatsoever truth\nI had read in those other books, I found here amid the praise of Thy\nGrace; that whoso sees, may not so glory as if he had not received, not\nonly what he sees, but also that he sees (for what hath he, which he\nhath not received?), and that he may be not only admonished to behold\nThee, who art ever the same, but also healed, to hold Thee; and that he\nwho cannot see afar off, may yet walk on the way, whereby he may arrive,\nand behold, and hold Thee. For, though a man be delighted with the law\nof God after the inner man, what shall he do with that other law in his\nmembers which warreth against the law of his mind, and bringeth him\ninto captivity to the law of sin which is in his members? For, Thou art\nrighteous, O Lord, but we have sinned and committed iniquity, and have\ndone wickedly, and Thy hand is grown heavy upon us, and we are justly\ndelivered over unto that ancient sinner, the king of death; because\nhe persuaded our will to be like his will whereby he abode not in Thy\ntruth. What shall wretched man do? who shall deliver him from the body\nof his death, but only Thy Grace, through Jesus Christ our Lord, whom\nThou hast begotten co-eternal, and formedst in the beginning of Thy\nways, in whom the prince of this world found nothing worthy of death,\nyet killed he Him; and the handwriting, which was contrary to us, was\nblotted out? This those writings contain not. Those pages present not\nthe image of this piety, the tears of confession, Thy sacrifice, a\ntroubled spirit, a broken and a contrite heart, the salvation of the\npeople, the Bridal City, the earnest of the Holy Ghost, the Cup of our\nRedemption. No man sings there, Shall not my soul be submitted unto God?\nfor of Him cometh my salvation. For He is my God and my salvation, my\nguardian, I shall no more be moved. No one there hears Him call, Come\nunto Me, all ye that labour. They scorn to learn of Him, because He is\nmeek and lowly in heart; for these things hast Thou hid from the wise\nand prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes. For it is one thing,\nfrom the mountain's shaggy top to see the land of peace, and to find no\nway thither; and in vain to essay through ways unpassable, opposed and\nbeset by fugitives and deserters, under their captain the lion and the\ndragon: and another to keep on the way that leads thither, guarded by\nthe host of the heavenly General; where they spoil not who have deserted\nthe heavenly army; for they avoid it, as very torment. These things did\nwonderfully sink into my bowels, when I read that least of Thy Apostles,\nand had meditated upon Thy works, and trembled exceedingly.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK VIII\n\n\nO my God, let me, with thanksgiving, remember, and confess unto Thee Thy\nmercies on me. Let my bones be bedewed with Thy love, and let them say\nunto Thee, Who is like unto Thee, O Lord? Thou hast broken my bonds in\nsunder, I will offer unto Thee the sacrifice of thanksgiving. And how\nThou hast broken them, I will declare; and all who worship Thee, when\nthey hear this, shall say, \"Blessed be the Lord, in heaven and in earth,\ngreat and wonderful is his name.\" Thy words had stuck fast in my heart,\nand I was hedged round about on all sides by Thee. Of Thy eternal life I\nwas now certain, though I saw it in a figure and as through a glass. Yet\nI had ceased to doubt that there was an incorruptible substance, whence\nwas all other substance; nor did I now desire to be more certain of\nThee, but more steadfast in Thee. But for my temporal life, all was\nwavering, and my heart had to be purged from the old leaven. The Way,\nthe Saviour Himself, well pleased me, but as yet I shrunk from going\nthrough its straitness. And Thou didst put into my mind, and it seemed\ngood in my eyes, to go to Simplicianus, who seemed to me a good servant\nof Thine; and Thy grace shone in him. I had heard also that from his\nvery youth he had lived most devoted unto Thee. Now he was grown into\nyears; and by reason of so great age spent in such zealous following of\nThy ways, he seemed to me likely to have learned much experience; and\nso he had. Out of which store I wished that he would tell me (setting\nbefore him my anxieties) which were the fittest way for one in my case\nto walk in Thy paths.\n\nFor, I saw the church full; and one went this way, and another that way.\nBut I was displeased that I led a secular life; yea now that my desires\nno longer inflamed me, as of old, with hopes of honour and profit,\na very grievous burden it was to undergo so heavy a bondage. For, in\ncomparison of Thy sweetness, and the beauty of Thy house which I loved,\nthose things delighted me no longer. But still I was enthralled with\nthe love of woman; nor did the Apostle forbid me to marry, although he\nadvised me to something better, chiefly wishing that all men were as\nhimself was. But I being weak, chose the more indulgent place; and\nbecause of this alone, was tossed up and down in all beside, faint and\nwasted with withering cares, because in other matters I was constrained\nagainst my will to conform myself to a married life, to which I was\ngiven up and enthralled. I had heard from the mouth of the Truth,\nthat there were some eunuchs which had made themselves eunuchs for the\nkingdom of heaven's sake: but, saith He, let him who can receive it,\nreceive it. Surely vain are all men who are ignorant of God, and could\nnot out of the good things which are seen, find out Him who is good. But\nI was no longer in that vanity; I had surmounted it; and by the common\nwitness of all Thy creatures had found Thee our Creator, and Thy Word,\nGod with Thee, and together with Thee one God, by whom Thou createdst\nall things. There is yet another kind of ungodly, who knowing God,\nglorified Him not as God, neither were thankful. Into this also had\nI fallen, but Thy right hand upheld me, and took me thence, and Thou\nplacedst me where I might recover. For Thou hast said unto man, Behold,\nthe fear of the Lord is wisdom, and, Desire not to seem wise; because\nthey who affirmed themselves to be wise, became fools. But I had now\nfound the goodly pearl, which, selling all that I had, I ought to have\nbought, and I hesitated.\n\nTo Simplicianus then I went, the father of Ambrose (a Bishop now) in\nreceiving Thy grace, and whom Ambrose truly loved as a father. To him I\nrelated the mazes of my wanderings. But when I mentioned that I had read\ncertain books of the Platonists, which Victorinus, sometime Rhetoric\nProfessor of Rome (who had died a Christian, as I had heard), had\ntranslated into Latin, he testified his joy that I had not fallen upon\nthe writings of other philosophers, full of fallacies and deceits, after\nthe rudiments of this world, whereas the Platonists many ways led to the\nbelief in God and His Word. Then to exhort me to the humility of\nChrist, hidden from the wise, and revealed to little ones, he spoke of\nVictorinus himself, whom while at Rome he had most intimately known: and\nof him he related what I will not conceal. For it contains great praise\nof Thy grace, to be confessed unto Thee, how that aged man, most learned\nand skilled in the liberal sciences, and who had read, and weighed\nso many works of the philosophers; the instructor of so many noble\nSenators, who also, as a monument of his excellent discharge of his\noffice, had (which men of this world esteem a high honour) both deserved\nand obtained a statue in the Roman Forum; he, to that age a worshipper\nof idols, and a partaker of the sacrilegious rites, to which almost all\nthe nobility of Rome were given up, and had inspired the people with the\nlove of\n\n         Anubis, barking Deity, and all\n         The monster Gods of every kind, who fought\n         'Gainst Neptune, Venus, and Minerva:\n\nwhom Rome once conquered, now adored, all which the aged Victorinus had\nwith thundering eloquence so many years defended;--he now blushed not\nto be the child of Thy Christ, and the new-born babe of Thy fountain;\nsubmitting his neck to the yoke of humility, and subduing his forehead\nto the reproach of the Cross.\n\nO Lord, Lord, Which hast bowed the heavens and come down, touched the\nmountains and they did smoke, by what means didst Thou convey Thyself\ninto that breast? He used to read (as Simplicianus said) the holy\nScripture, most studiously sought and searched into all the Christian\nwritings, and said to Simplicianus (not openly, but privately and as\na friend), \"Understand that I am already a Christian.\" Whereto he\nanswered, \"I will not believe it, nor will I rank you among Christians,\nunless I see you in the Church of Christ.\" The other, in banter,\nreplied, \"Do walls then make Christians?\" And this he often said, that\nhe was already a Christian; and Simplicianus as often made the same\nanswer, and the conceit of the \"walls\" was by the other as often\nrenewed. For he feared to offend his friends, proud daemon-worshippers,\nfrom the height of whose Babylonian dignity, as from cedars of Libanus,\nwhich the Lord had not yet broken down, he supposed the weight of enmity\nwould fall upon him. But after that by reading and earnest thought he\nhad gathered firmness, and feared to be denied by Christ before the holy\nangels, should he now be afraid to confess Him before men, and appeared\nto himself guilty of a heavy offence, in being ashamed of the Sacraments\nof the humility of Thy Word, and not being ashamed of the sacrilegious\nrites of those proud daemons, whose pride he had imitated and their\nrites adopted, he became bold-faced against vanity, and shame-faced\ntowards the truth, and suddenly and unexpectedly said to Simplicianus\n(as himself told me), \"Go we to the Church; I wish to be made a\nChristian.\" But he, not containing himself for joy, went with him. And\nhaving been admitted to the first Sacrament and become a Catechumen, not\nlong after he further gave in his name, that he might be regenerated by\nbaptism, Rome wondering, the Church rejoicing. The proud saw, and were\nwroth; they gnashed with their teeth, and melted away. But the Lord\nGod was the hope of Thy servant, and he regarded not vanities and lying\nmadness.\n\nTo conclude, when the hour was come for making profession of his faith\n(which at Rome they, who are about to approach to Thy grace, deliver,\nfrom an elevated place, in the sight of all the faithful, in a set\nform of words committed to memory), the presbyters, he said, offered\nVictorinus (as was done to such as seemed likely through bashfulness to\nbe alarmed) to make his profession more privately: but he chose rather\nto profess his salvation in the presence of the holy multitude. \"For\nit was not salvation that he taught in rhetoric, and yet that he had\npublicly professed: how much less then ought he, when pronouncing Thy\nword, to dread Thy meek flock, who, when delivering his own words,\nhad not feared a mad multitude!\" When, then, he went up to make his\nprofession, all, as they knew him, whispered his name one to another\nwith the voice of congratulation. And who there knew him not? and there\nran a low murmur through all the mouths of the rejoicing multitude,\nVictorinus! Victorinus! Sudden was the burst of rapture, that they saw\nhim; suddenly were they hushed that they might hear him. He pronounced\nthe true faith with an excellent boldness, and all wished to draw him\ninto their very heart; yea by their love and joy they drew him thither,\nsuch were the hands wherewith they drew him.\n\nGood God! what takes place in man, that he should more rejoice at the\nsalvation of a soul despaired of, and freed from greater peril, than if\nthere had always been hope of him, or the danger had been less? For so\nThou also, merciful Father, dost more rejoice over one penitent than\nover ninety-nine just persons that need no repentance. And with much\njoyfulness do we hear, so often as we hear with what joy the sheep which\nhad strayed is brought back upon the shepherd's shoulder, and the groat\nis restored to Thy treasury, the neighbours rejoicing with the woman\nwho found it; and the joy of the solemn service of Thy house forceth\nto tears, when in Thy house it is read of Thy younger son, that he was\ndead, and liveth again; had been lost, and is found. For Thou rejoicest\nin us, and in Thy holy angels, holy through holy charity. For Thou art\never the same; for all things which abide not the same nor for ever,\nThou for ever knowest in the same way.\n\nWhat then takes place in the soul, when it is more delighted at finding\nor recovering the things it loves, than if it had ever had them? yea,\nand other things witness hereunto; and all things are full of witnesses,\ncrying out, \"So is it.\" The conquering commander triumpheth; yet had he\nnot conquered unless he had fought; and the more peril there was in the\nbattle, so much the more joy is there in the triumph. The storm tosses\nthe sailors, threatens shipwreck; all wax pale at approaching death;\nsky and sea are calmed, and they are exceeding joyed, as having been\nexceeding afraid. A friend is sick, and his pulse threatens danger; all\nwho long for his recovery are sick in mind with him. He is restored,\nthough as yet he walks not with his former strength; yet there is such\njoy, as was not, when before he walked sound and strong. Yea, the very\npleasures of human life men acquire by difficulties, not those only\nwhich fall upon us unlooked for, and against our wills, but even by\nself-chosen, and pleasure-seeking trouble. Eating and drinking have no\npleasure, unless there precede the pinching of hunger and thirst. Men,\ngiven to drink, eat certain salt meats, to procure a troublesome heat,\nwhich the drink allaying, causes pleasure. It is also ordered that the\naffianced bride should not at once be given, lest as a husband he should\nhold cheap whom, as betrothed, he sighed not after.\n\nThis law holds in foul and accursed joy; this in permitted and lawful\njoy; this in the very purest perfection of friendship; this, in him who\nwas dead, and lived again; had been lost and was found. Every where the\ngreater joy is ushered in by the greater pain. What means this, O Lord\nmy God, whereas Thou art everlastingly joy to Thyself, and some things\naround Thee evermore rejoice in Thee? What means this, that this portion\nof things thus ebbs and flows alternately displeased and reconciled?\nIs this their allotted measure? Is this all Thou hast assigned to them,\nwhereas from the highest heavens to the lowest earth, from the beginning\nof the world to the end of ages, from the angel to the worm, from the\nfirst motion to the last, Thou settest each in its place, and realisest\neach in their season, every thing good after its kind? Woe is me! how\nhigh art Thou in the highest, and how deep in the deepest! and Thou\nnever departest, and we scarcely return to Thee.\n\nUp, Lord, and do; stir us up, and recall us; kindle and draw us;\ninflame, grow sweet unto us, let us now love, let us run. Do not many,\nout of a deeper hell of blindness than Victorinus, return to Thee,\napproach, and are enlightened, receiving that Light, which they who\nreceive, receive power from Thee to become Thy sons? But if they be less\nknown to the nations, even they that know them, joy less for them. For\nwhen many joy together, each also has more exuberant joy for that they\nare kindled and inflamed one by the other. Again, because those known to\nmany, influence the more towards salvation, and lead the way with many\nto follow. And therefore do they also who preceded them much rejoice in\nthem, because they rejoice not in them alone. For far be it, that in Thy\ntabernacle the persons of the rich should be accepted before the poor,\nor the noble before the ignoble; seeing rather Thou hast chosen the weak\nthings of the world to confound the strong; and the base things of this\nworld, and the things despised hast Thou chosen, and those things which\nare not, that Thou mightest bring to nought things that are. And yet\neven that least of Thy apostles, by whose tongue Thou soundedst forth\nthese words, when through his warfare, Paulus the Proconsul, his pride\nconquered, was made to pass under the easy yoke of Thy Christ, and\nbecame a provincial of the great King; he also for his former name Saul,\nwas pleased to be called Paul, in testimony of so great a victory. For\nthe enemy is more overcome in one, of whom he hath more hold; by whom\nhe hath hold of more. But the proud he hath more hold of, through their\nnobility; and by them, of more through their authority. By how much the\nmore welcome then the heart of Victorinus was esteemed, which the devil\nhad held as an impregnable possession, the tongue of Victorinus,\nwith which mighty and keen weapon he had slain many; so much the more\nabundantly ought Thy sons to rejoice, for that our King hath bound the\nstrong man, and they saw his vessels taken from him and cleansed, and\nmade meet for Thy honour; and become serviceable for the Lord, unto\nevery good work.\n\nBut when that man of Thine, Simplicianus, related to me this of\nVictorinus, I was on fire to imitate him; for for this very end had\nhe related it. But when he had subjoined also, how in the days of the\nEmperor Julian a law was made, whereby Christians were forbidden to\nteach the liberal sciences or oratory; and how he, obeying this law,\nchose rather to give over the wordy school than Thy Word, by which\nThou makest eloquent the tongues of the dumb; he seemed to me not more\nresolute than blessed, in having thus found opportunity to wait on Thee\nonly. Which thing I was sighing for, bound as I was, not with another's\nirons, but by my own iron will. My will the enemy held, and thence had\nmade a chain for me, and bound me. For of a forward will, was a lust\nmade; and a lust served, became custom; and custom not resisted, became\nnecessity. By which links, as it were, joined together (whence I called\nit a chain) a hard bondage held me enthralled. But that new will which\nhad begun to be in me, freely to serve Thee, and to wish to enjoy Thee,\nO God, the only assured pleasantness, was not yet able to overcome my\nformer wilfulness, strengthened by age. Thus did my two wills, one new,\nand the other old, one carnal, the other spiritual, struggle within me;\nand by their discord, undid my soul.\n\nThus, I understood, by my own experience, what I had read, how the flesh\nlusteth against the spirit and the spirit against the flesh. Myself\nverily either way; yet more myself, in that which I approved in myself,\nthan in that which in myself I disapproved. For in this last, it was now\nfor the more part not myself, because in much I rather endured against\nmy will, than acted willingly. And yet it was through me that custom had\nobtained this power of warring against me, because I had come willingly,\nwhither I willed not. And who has any right to speak against it, if just\npunishment follow the sinner? Nor had I now any longer my former plea,\nthat I therefore as yet hesitated to be above the world and serve Thee,\nfor that the truth was not altogether ascertained to me; for now it too\nwas. But I still under service to the earth, refused to fight under Thy\nbanner, and feared as much to be freed of all incumbrances, as we should\nfear to be encumbered with it. Thus with the baggage of this present\nworld was I held down pleasantly, as in sleep: and the thoughts wherein\nI meditated on Thee were like the efforts of such as would awake, who\nyet overcome with a heavy drowsiness, are again drenched therein. And as\nno one would sleep for ever, and in all men's sober judgment waking is\nbetter, yet a man for the most part, feeling a heavy lethargy in all his\nlimbs, defers to shake off sleep, and though half displeased, yet, even\nafter it is time to rise, with pleasure yields to it, so was I assured\nthat much better were it for me to give myself up to Thy charity, than\nto give myself over to mine own cupidity; but though the former course\nsatisfied me and gained the mastery, the latter pleased me and held me\nmastered. Nor had I any thing to answer Thee calling to me, Awake,\nthou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee\nlight. And when Thou didst on all sides show me that what Thou saidst\nwas true, I, convicted by the truth, had nothing at all to answer, but\nonly those dull and drowsy words, \"Anon, anon,\" \"presently,\" \"leave\nme but a little.\" But \"presently, presently,\" had no present, and my\n\"little while\" went on for a long while; in vain I delighted in Thy\nlaw according to the inner man, when another law in my members rebelled\nagainst the law of my mind, and led me captive under the law of sin\nwhich was in my members. For the law of sin is the violence of custom,\nwhereby the mind is drawn and holden, even against its will; but\ndeservedly, for that it willingly fell into it. Who then should deliver\nme thus wretched from the body of this death, but Thy grace only,\nthrough Jesus Christ our Lord?\n\nAnd how Thou didst deliver me out of the bonds of desire, wherewith I\nwas bound most straitly to carnal concupiscence, and out of the drudgery\nof worldly things, I will now declare, and confess unto Thy name, O\nLord, my helper and my redeemer. Amid increasing anxiety, I was doing\nmy wonted business, and daily sighing unto Thee. I attended Thy Church,\nwhenever free from the business under the burden of which I groaned.\nAlypius was with me, now after the third sitting released from his law\nbusiness, and awaiting to whom to sell his counsel, as I sold the skill\nof speaking, if indeed teaching can impart it. Nebridius had now, in\nconsideration of our friendship, consented to teach under Verecundus, a\ncitizen and a grammarian of Milan, and a very intimate friend of us all;\nwho urgently desired, and by the right of friendship challenged from our\ncompany, such faithful aid as he greatly needed. Nebridius then was not\ndrawn to this by any desire of advantage (for he might have made much\nmore of his learning had he so willed), but as a most kind and gentle\nfriend, he would not be wanting to a good office, and slight our\nrequest. But he acted herein very discreetly, shunning to become known\nto personages great according to this world, avoiding the distraction\nof mind thence ensuing, and desiring to have it free and at leisure, as\nmany hours as might be, to seek, or read, or hear something concerning\nwisdom.\n\nUpon a day then, Nebridius being absent (I recollect not why), lo, there\ncame to see me and Alypius, one Pontitianus, our countryman so far as\nbeing an African, in high office in the Emperor's court. What he would\nwith us, I know not, but we sat down to converse, and it happened that\nupon a table for some game, before us, he observed a book, took, opened\nit, and contrary to his expectation, found it the Apostle Paul; for he\nthought it some of those books which I was wearing myself in teaching.\nWhereat smiling, and looking at me, he expressed his joy and wonder that\nhe had on a sudden found this book, and this only before my eyes. For he\nwas a Christian, and baptised, and often bowed himself before Thee our\nGod in the Church, in frequent and continued prayers. When then I had\ntold him that I bestowed very great pains upon those Scriptures, a\nconversation arose (suggested by his account) on Antony the Egyptian\nmonk: whose name was in high reputation among Thy servants, though to\nthat hour unknown to us. Which when he discovered, he dwelt the more\nupon that subject, informing and wondering at our ignorance of one so\neminent. But we stood amazed, hearing Thy wonderful works most fully\nattested, in times so recent, and almost in our own, wrought in the true\nFaith and Church Catholic. We all wondered; we, that they were so great,\nand he, that they had not reached us.\n\nThence his discourse turned to the flocks in the monasteries, and their\nholy ways, a sweet-smelling savour unto Thee, and the fruitful deserts\nof the wilderness, whereof we knew nothing. And there was a monastery\nat Milan, full of good brethren, without the city walls, under the\nfostering care of Ambrose, and we knew it not. He went on with his\ndiscourse, and we listened in intent silence. He told us then how one\nafternoon at Triers, when the Emperor was taken up with the Circensian\ngames, he and three others, his companions, went out to walk in gardens\nnear the city walls, and there as they happened to walk in pairs, one\nwent apart with him, and the other two wandered by themselves; and\nthese, in their wanderings, lighted upon a certain cottage, inhabited\nby certain of Thy servants, poor in spirit, of whom is the kingdom\nof heaven, and there they found a little book containing the life of\nAntony. This one of them began to read, admire, and kindle at it; and\nas he read, to meditate on taking up such a life, and giving over his\nsecular service to serve Thee. And these two were of those whom they\nstyle agents for the public affairs. Then suddenly, filled with a holy\nlove, and a sober shame, in anger with himself cast his eyes upon his\nfriend, saying, \"Tell me, I pray thee, what would we attain by all these\nlabours of ours? what aim we at? what serve we for? Can our hopes in\ncourt rise higher than to be the Emperor's favourites? and in this, what\nis there not brittle, and full of perils? and by how many perils arrive\nwe at a greater peril? and when arrive we thither? But a friend of God,\nif I wish it, I become now at once.\" So spake he. And in pain with the\ntravail of a new life, he turned his eyes again upon the book, and\nread on, and was changed inwardly, where Thou sawest, and his mind was\nstripped of the world, as soon appeared. For as he read, and rolled up\nand down the waves of his heart, he stormed at himself a while, then\ndiscerned, and determined on a better course; and now being Thine, said\nto his friend, \"Now have I broken loose from those our hopes, and am\nresolved to serve God; and this, from this hour, in this place, I begin\nupon. If thou likest not to imitate me, oppose not.\" The other answered,\nhe would cleave to him, to partake so glorious a reward, so glorious\na service. Thus both being now Thine, were building the tower at the\nnecessary cost, the forsaking all that they had, and following Thee.\nThen Pontitianus and the other with him, that had walked in other parts\nof the garden, came in search of them to the same place; and finding\nthem, reminded them to return, for the day was now far spent. But they\nrelating their resolution and purpose, and how that will was begun and\nsettled in them, begged them, if they would not join, not to molest\nthem. But the others, though nothing altered from their former selves,\ndid yet bewail themselves (as he affirmed), and piously congratulated\nthem, recommending themselves to their prayers; and so, with hearts\nlingering on the earth, went away to the palace. But the other two,\nfixing their heart on heaven, remained in the cottage. And both had\naffianced brides, who when they heard hereof, also dedicated their\nvirginity unto God.\n\nSuch was the story of Pontitianus; but Thou, O Lord, while he was\nspeaking, didst turn me round towards myself, taking me from behind my\nback where I had placed me, unwilling to observe myself; and setting\nme before my face, that I might see how foul I was, how crooked and\ndefiled, bespotted and ulcerous. And I beheld and stood aghast; and\nwhither to flee from myself I found not. And if I sought to turn mine\neye from off myself, he went on with his relation, and Thou again didst\nset me over against myself, and thrustedst me before my eyes, that I\nmight find out mine iniquity, and hate it. I had known it, but made as\nthough I saw it not, winked at it, and forgot it.\n\nBut now, the more ardently I loved those whose healthful affections I\nheard of, that they had resigned themselves wholly to Thee to be cured,\nthe more did I abhor myself, when compared with them. For many of my\nyears (some twelve) had now run out with me since my nineteenth, when,\nupon the reading of Cicero's Hortensius, I was stirred to an earnest\nlove of wisdom; and still I was deferring to reject mere earthly\nfelicity, and give myself to search out that, whereof not the finding\nonly, but the very search, was to be preferred to the treasures and\nkingdoms of the world, though already found, and to the pleasures of the\nbody, though spread around me at my will. But I wretched, most wretched,\nin the very commencement of my early youth, had begged chastity of Thee,\nand said, \"Give me chastity and continency, only not yet.\" For I feared\nlest Thou shouldest hear me soon, and soon cure me of the disease\nof concupiscence, which I wished to have satisfied, rather than\nextinguished. And I had wandered through crooked ways in a sacrilegious\nsuperstition, not indeed assured thereof, but as preferring it to the\nothers which I did not seek religiously, but opposed maliciously.\n\nAnd I had thought that I therefore deferred from day to day to reject\nthe hopes of this world, and follow Thee only, because there did not\nappear aught certain, whither to direct my course. And now was the day\ncome wherein I was to be laid bare to myself, and my conscience was\nto upbraid me. \"Where art thou now, my tongue? Thou saidst that for an\nuncertain truth thou likedst not to cast off the baggage of vanity; now,\nit is certain, and yet that burden still oppresseth thee, while they who\nneither have so worn themselves out with seeking it, nor for often years\nand more have been thinking thereon, have had their shoulders lightened,\nand received wings to fly away.\" Thus was I gnawed within, and\nexceedingly confounded with a horrible shame, while Pontitianus was so\nspeaking. And he having brought to a close his tale and the business\nhe came for, went his way; and I into myself. What said I not against\nmyself? with what scourges of condemnation lashed I not my soul, that it\nmight follow me, striving to go after Thee! Yet it drew back; refused,\nbut excused not itself. All arguments were spent and confuted; there\nremained a mute shrinking; and she feared, as she would death, to be\nrestrained from the flux of that custom, whereby she was wasting to\ndeath.\n\nThen in this great contention of my inward dwelling, which I had\nstrongly raised against my soul, in the chamber of my heart, troubled in\nmind and countenance, I turned upon Alypius. \"What ails us?\" I exclaim:\n\"what is it? what heardest thou? The unlearned start up and take heaven\nby force, and we with our learning, and without heart, lo, where we\nwallow in flesh and blood! Are we ashamed to follow, because others\nare gone before, and not ashamed not even to follow?\" Some such words I\nuttered, and my fever of mind tore me away from him, while he, gazing on\nme in astonishment, kept silence. For it was not my wonted tone; and my\nforehead, cheeks, eyes, colour, tone of voice, spake my mind more than\nthe words I uttered. A little garden there was to our lodging, which we\nhad the use of, as of the whole house; for the master of the house, our\nhost, was not living there. Thither had the tumult of my breast hurried\nme, where no man might hinder the hot contention wherein I had engaged\nwith myself, until it should end as Thou knewest, I knew not. Only I\nwas healthfully distracted and dying, to live; knowing what evil thing I\nwas, and not knowing what good thing I was shortly to become. I retired\nthen into the garden, and Alypius, on my steps. For his presence did not\nlessen my privacy; or how could he forsake me so disturbed? We sate down\nas far removed as might be from the house. I was troubled in spirit,\nmost vehemently indignant that I entered not into Thy will and covenant,\nO my God, which all my bones cried out unto me to enter, and praised it\nto the skies. And therein we enter not by ships, or chariots, or feet,\nno, move not so far as I had come from the house to that place where we\nwere sitting. For, not to go only, but to go in thither was nothing else\nbut to will to go, but to will resolutely and thoroughly; not to turn\nand toss, this way and that, a maimed and half-divided will, struggling,\nwith one part sinking as another rose.\n\nLastly, in the very fever of my irresoluteness, I made with my body many\nsuch motions as men sometimes would, but cannot, if either they have not\nthe limbs, or these be bound with bands, weakened with infirmity, or\nany other way hindered. Thus, if I tore my hair, beat my forehead, if\nlocking my fingers I clasped my knee; I willed, I did it. But I might\nhave willed, and not done it; if the power of motion in my limbs had not\nobeyed. So many things then I did, when \"to will\" was not in itself \"to\nbe able\"; and I did not what both I longed incomparably more to do, and\nwhich soon after, when I should will, I should be able to do; because\nsoon after, when I should will, I should will thoroughly. For in these\nthings the ability was one with the will, and to will was to do; and yet\nwas it not done: and more easily did my body obey the weakest willing of\nmy soul, in moving its limbs at its nod, than the soul obeyed itself to\naccomplish in the will alone this its momentous will.\n\nWhence is this monstrousness? and to what end? Let Thy mercy gleam that\nI may ask, if so be the secret penalties of men, and those darkest\npangs of the sons of Adam, may perhaps answer me. Whence is this\nmonstrousness? and to what end? The mind commands the body, and it obeys\ninstantly; the mind commands itself, and is resisted. The mind commands\nthe hand to be moved; and such readiness is there, that command is\nscarce distinct from obedience. Yet the mind is mind, the hand is body.\nThe mind commands the mind, its own self, to will, and yet it doth not.\nWhence this monstrousness? and to what end? It commands itself, I say,\nto will, and would not command, unless it willed, and what it commands\nis not done. But it willeth not entirely: therefore doth it not command\nentirely. For so far forth it commandeth, as it willeth: and, so far\nforth is the thing commanded, not done, as it willeth not. For the will\ncommandeth that there be a will; not another, but itself. But it doth\nnot command entirely, therefore what it commandeth, is not. For were\nthe will entire, it would not even command it to be, because it would\nalready be. It is therefore no monstrousness partly to will, partly to\nnill, but a disease of the mind, that it doth not wholly rise, by truth\nupborne, borne down by custom. And therefore are there two wills, for\nthat one of them is not entire: and what the one lacketh, the other\nhath.\n\nLet them perish from Thy presence, O God, as perish vain talkers and\nseducers of the soul: who observing that in deliberating there were two\nwills, affirm that there are two minds in us of two kinds, one good, the\nother evil. Themselves are truly evil, when they hold these evil things;\nand themselves shall become good when they hold the truth and assent\nunto the truth, that Thy Apostle may say to them, Ye were sometimes\ndarkness, but now light in the Lord. But they, wishing to be light, not\nin the Lord, but in themselves, imagining the nature of the soul to\nbe that which God is, are made more gross darkness through a dreadful\narrogancy; for that they went back farther from Thee, the true Light\nthat enlightened every man that cometh into the world. Take heed what\nyou say, and blush for shame: draw near unto Him and be enlightened,\nand your faces shall not be ashamed. Myself when I was deliberating\nupon serving the Lord my God now, as I had long purposed, it was I who\nwilled, I who nilled, I, I myself. I neither willed entirely, nor nilled\nentirely. Therefore was I at strife with myself, and rent asunder by\nmyself. And this rent befell me against my will, and yet indicated, not\nthe presence of another mind, but the punishment of my own. Therefore it\nwas no more I that wrought it, but sin that dwelt in me; the punishment\nof a sin more freely committed, in that I was a son of Adam.\n\nFor if there be so many contrary natures as there be conflicting wills,\nthere shall now be not two only, but many. If a man deliberate whether\nhe should go to their conventicle or to the theatre, these Manichees\ncry out, Behold, here are two natures: one good, draws this way; another\nbad, draws back that way. For whence else is this hesitation between\nconflicting wills? But I say that both be bad: that which draws to them,\nas that which draws back to the theatre. But they believe not that\nwill to be other than good, which draws to them. What then if one of us\nshould deliberate, and amid the strife of his two wills be in a strait,\nwhether he should go to the theatre or to our church? would not these\nManichees also be in a strait what to answer? For either they must\nconfess (which they fain would not) that the will which leads to our\nchurch is good, as well as theirs, who have received and are held by the\nmysteries of theirs: or they must suppose two evil natures, and two evil\nsouls conflicting in one man, and it will not be true, which they say,\nthat there is one good and another bad; or they must be converted to the\ntruth, and no more deny that where one deliberates, one soul fluctuates\nbetween contrary wills.\n\nLet them no more say then, when they perceive two conflicting wills\nin one man, that the conflict is between two contrary souls, of two\ncontrary substances, from two contrary principles, one good, and the\nother bad. For Thou, O true God, dost disprove, check, and convict them;\nas when, both wills being bad, one deliberates whether he should kill\na man by poison or by the sword; whether he should seize this or that\nestate of another's, when he cannot both; whether he should purchase\npleasure by luxury, or keep his money by covetousness; whether he go to\nthe circus or the theatre, if both be open on one day; or thirdly, to\nrob another's house, if he have the opportunity; or, fourthly, to commit\nadultery, if at the same time he have the means thereof also; all these\nmeeting together in the same juncture of time, and all being equally\ndesired, which cannot at one time be acted: for they rend the mind\namid four, or even (amid the vast variety of things desired) more,\nconflicting wills, nor do they yet allege that there are so many divers\nsubstances. So also in wills which are good. For I ask them, is it good\nto take pleasure in reading the Apostle? or good to take pleasure in\na sober Psalm? or good to discourse on the Gospel? They will answer to\neach, \"it is good.\" What then if all give equal pleasure, and all at\nonce? Do not divers wills distract the mind, while he deliberates which\nhe should rather choose? yet are they all good, and are at variance till\none be chosen, whither the one entire will may be borne, which before\nwas divided into many. Thus also, when, above, eternity delights us, and\nthe pleasure of temporal good holds us down below, it is the same soul\nwhich willeth not this or that with an entire will; and therefore is\nrent asunder with grievous perplexities, while out of truth it sets this\nfirst, but out of habit sets not that aside.\n\nThus soul-sick was I, and tormented, accusing myself much more severely\nthan my wont, rolling and turning me in my chain, till that were wholly\nbroken, whereby I now was but just, but still was, held. And Thou, O\nLord, pressedst upon me in my inward parts by a severe mercy, redoubling\nthe lashes of fear and shame, lest I should again give way, and not\nbursting that same slight remaining tie, it should recover strength, and\nbind me the faster. For I said with myself, \"Be it done now, be it done\nnow.\" And as I spake, I all but enacted it: I all but did it, and did\nit not: yet sunk not back to my former state, but kept my stand hard by,\nand took breath. And I essayed again, and wanted somewhat less of it,\nand somewhat less, and all but touched, and laid hold of it; and yet\ncame not at it, nor touched nor laid hold of it; hesitating to die to\ndeath and to live to life: and the worse whereto I was inured, prevailed\nmore with me than the better whereto I was unused: and the very moment\nwherein I was to become other than I was, the nearer it approached me,\nthe greater horror did it strike into me; yet did it not strike me back,\nnor turned me away, but held me in suspense.\n\nThe very toys of toys, and vanities of vanities, my ancient mistresses,\nstill held me; they plucked my fleshy garment, and whispered softly,\n\"Dost thou cast us off? and from that moment shall we no more be with\nthee for ever? and from that moment shall not this or that be lawful\nfor thee for ever?\" And what was it which they suggested in that I said,\n\"this or that,\" what did they suggest, O my God? Let Thy mercy turn it\naway from the soul of Thy servant. What defilements did they suggest!\nwhat shame! And now I much less than half heard them, and not openly\nshowing themselves and contradicting me, but muttering as it were behind\nmy back, and privily plucking me, as I was departing, but to look back\non them. Yet they did retard me, so that I hesitated to burst and\nshake myself free from them, and to spring over whither I was called;\na violent habit saying to me, \"Thinkest thou, thou canst live without\nthem?\"\n\nBut now it spake very faintly. For on that side whither I had set my\nface, and whither I trembled to go, there appeared unto me the chaste\ndignity of Continency, serene, yet not relaxedly, gay, honestly alluring\nme to come and doubt not; and stretching forth to receive and embrace\nme, her holy hands full of multitudes of good examples: there were so\nmany young men and maidens here, a multitude of youth and every age,\ngrave widows and aged virgins; and Continence herself in all, not\nbarren, but a fruitful mother of children of joys, by Thee her Husband,\nO Lord. And she smiled on me with a persuasive mockery, as would she\nsay, \"Canst not thou what these youths, what these maidens can? or can\nthey either in themselves, and not rather in the Lord their God? The\nLord their God gave me unto them. Why standest thou in thyself, and\nso standest not? cast thyself upon Him, fear not He will not withdraw\nHimself that thou shouldest fall; cast thyself fearlessly upon Him, He\nwill receive, and will heal thee.\" And I blushed exceedingly, for that\nI yet heard the muttering of those toys, and hung in suspense. And she\nagain seemed to say, \"Stop thine ears against those thy unclean members\non the earth, that they may be mortified. They tell thee of delights,\nbut not as doth the law of the Lord thy God.\" This controversy in my\nheart was self against self only. But Alypius sitting close by my side,\nin silence waited the issue of my unwonted emotion.\n\nBut when a deep consideration had from the secret bottom of my soul\ndrawn together and heaped up all my misery in the sight of my heart;\nthere arose a mighty storm, bringing a mighty shower of tears. Which\nthat I might pour forth wholly, in its natural expressions, I rose from\nAlypius: solitude was suggested to me as fitter for the business of\nweeping; so I retired so far that even his presence could not be a\nburden to me. Thus was it then with me, and he perceived something of\nit; for something I suppose I had spoken, wherein the tones of my voice\nappeared choked with weeping, and so had risen up. He then remained\nwhere we were sitting, most extremely astonished. I cast myself down I\nknow not how, under a certain fig-tree, giving full vent to my tears;\nand the floods of mine eyes gushed out an acceptable sacrifice to Thee.\nAnd, not indeed in these words, yet to this purpose, spake I much unto\nThee: and Thou, O Lord, how long? how long, Lord, wilt Thou be angry for\never? Remember not our former iniquities, for I felt that I was held by\nthem. I sent up these sorrowful words: How long, how long, \"tomorrow,\nand tomorrow?\" Why not now? why not is there this hour an end to my\nuncleanness?\n\nSo was I speaking and weeping in the most bitter contrition of my heart,\nwhen, lo! I heard from a neighbouring house a voice, as of boy or girl,\nI know not, chanting, and oft repeating, \"Take up and read; Take up and\nread.\" Instantly, my countenance altered, I began to think most intently\nwhether children were wont in any kind of play to sing such words: nor\ncould I remember ever to have heard the like. So checking the torrent\nof my tears, I arose; interpreting it to be no other than a command from\nGod to open the book, and read the first chapter I should find. For I\nhad heard of Antony, that coming in during the reading of the Gospel,\nhe received the admonition, as if what was being read was spoken to him:\nGo, sell all that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have\ntreasure in heaven, and come and follow me: and by such oracle he was\nforthwith converted unto Thee. Eagerly then I returned to the place\nwhere Alypius was sitting; for there had I laid the volume of the\nApostle when I arose thence. I seized, opened, and in silence read that\nsection on which my eyes first fell: Not in rioting and drunkenness, not\nin chambering and wantonness, not in strife and envying; but put ye\non the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh, in\nconcupiscence. No further would I read; nor needed I: for instantly at\nthe end of this sentence, by a light as it were of serenity infused into\nmy heart, all the darkness of doubt vanished away.\n\nThen putting my finger between, or some other mark, I shut the volume,\nand with a calmed countenance made it known to Alypius. And what was\nwrought in him, which I knew not, he thus showed me. He asked to see\nwhat I had read: I showed him; and he looked even further than I had\nread, and I knew not what followed. This followed, him that is weak in\nthe faith, receive; which he applied to himself, and disclosed to me.\nAnd by this admonition was he strengthened; and by a good resolution and\npurpose, and most corresponding to his character, wherein he did always\nvery far differ from me, for the better, without any turbulent delay he\njoined me. Thence we go in to my mother; we tell her; she rejoiceth: we\nrelate in order how it took place; she leaps for joy, and triumpheth,\nand blesseth Thee, Who are able to do above that which we ask or think;\nfor she perceived that Thou hadst given her more for me, than she\nwas wont to beg by her pitiful and most sorrowful groanings. For thou\nconvertedst me unto Thyself, so that I sought neither wife, nor any hope\nof this world, standing in that rule of faith, where Thou hadst showed\nme unto her in a vision, so many years before. And Thou didst convert\nher mourning into joy, much more plentiful than she had desired, and\nin a much more precious and purer way than she erst required, by having\ngrandchildren of my body.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK IX\n\n\nO Lord, I am Thy servant; I am Thy servant, and the son of Thy handmaid:\nThou hast broken my bonds in sunder. I will offer to Thee the sacrifice\nof praise. Let my heart and my tongue praise Thee; yea, let all my bones\nsay, O Lord, who is like unto Thee? Let them say, and answer Thou me,\nand say unto my soul, I am thy salvation. Who am I, and what am I? What\nevil have not been either my deeds, or if not my deeds, my words, or if\nnot my words, my will? But Thou, O Lord, are good and merciful, and Thy\nright hand had respect unto the depth of my death, and from the bottom\nof my heart emptied that abyss of corruption. And this Thy whole gift\nwas, to nill what I willed, and to will what Thou willedst. But where\nthrough all those years, and out of what low and deep recess was my\nfree-will called forth in a moment, whereby to submit my neck to Thy\neasy yoke, and my shoulders unto Thy light burden, O Christ Jesus, my\nHelper and my Redeemer? How sweet did it at once become to me, to want\nthe sweetnesses of those toys! and what I feared to be parted from, was\nnow a joy to part with. For Thou didst cast them forth from me, Thou\ntrue and highest sweetness. Thou castest them forth, and for them\nenteredst in Thyself, sweeter than all pleasure, though not to flesh and\nblood; brighter than all light, but more hidden than all depths, higher\nthan all honour, but not to the high in their own conceits. Now was my\nsoul free from the biting cares of canvassing and getting, and weltering\nin filth, and scratching off the itch of lust. And my infant tongue\nspake freely to Thee, my brightness, and my riches, and my health, the\nLord my God.\n\nAnd I resolved in Thy sight, not tumultuously to tear, but gently to\nwithdraw, the service of my tongue from the marts of lip-labour: that\nthe young, no students in Thy law, nor in Thy peace, but in lying\ndotages and law-skirmishes, should no longer buy at my mouth arms for\ntheir madness. And very seasonably, it now wanted but very few days unto\nthe Vacation of the Vintage, and I resolved to endure them, then in a\nregular way to take my leave, and having been purchased by Thee, no\nmore to return for sale. Our purpose then was known to Thee; but to men,\nother than our own friends, was it not known. For we had agreed among\nourselves not to let it out abroad to any: although to us, now ascending\nfrom the valley of tears, and singing that song of degrees, Thou hadst\ngiven sharp arrows, and destroying coals against the subtle tongue,\nwhich as though advising for us, would thwart, and would out of love\ndevour us, as it doth its meat.\n\nThou hadst pierced our hearts with Thy charity, and we carried Thy words\nas it were fixed in our entrails: and the examples of Thy servants,\nwhom for black Thou hadst made bright, and for dead, alive, being piled\ntogether in the receptacle of our thoughts, kindled and burned up that\nour heavy torpor, that we should not sink down to the abyss; and they\nfired us so vehemently, that all the blasts of subtle tongues from\ngainsayers might only inflame us the more fiercely, not extinguish\nus. Nevertheless, because for Thy Name's sake which Thou hast hallowed\nthroughout the earth, this our vow and purpose might also find some to\ncommend it, it seemed like ostentation not to wait for the vacation now\nso near, but to quit beforehand a public profession, which was before\nthe eyes of all; so that all looking on this act of mine, and observing\nhow near was the time of vintage which I wished to anticipate, would\ntalk much of me, as if I had desired to appear some great one. And what\nend had it served me, that people should repute and dispute upon my\npurpose, and that our good should be evil spoken of.\n\nMoreover, it had at first troubled me that in this very summer my lungs\nbegan to give way, amid too great literary labour, and to breathe deeply\nwith difficulty, and by the pain in my chest to show that they were\ninjured, and to refuse any full or lengthened speaking; this had\ntroubled me, for it almost constrained me of necessity to lay down that\nburden of teaching, or, if I could be cured and recover, at least to\nintermit it. But when the full wish for leisure, that I might see\nhow that Thou art the Lord, arose, and was fixed, in me; my God, Thou\nknowest, I began even to rejoice that I had this secondary, and that\nno feigned, excuse, which might something moderate the offence taken by\nthose who, for their sons' sake, wished me never to have the freedom of\nThy sons. Full then of such joy, I endured till that interval of time\nwere run; it may have been some twenty days, yet they were endured\nmanfully; endured, for the covetousness which aforetime bore a part of\nthis heavy business, had left me, and I remained alone, and had been\noverwhelmed, had not patience taken its place. Perchance, some of Thy\nservants, my brethren, may say that I sinned in this, that with a heart\nfully set on Thy service, I suffered myself to sit even one hour in the\nchair of lies. Nor would I be contentious. But hast not Thou, O most\nmerciful Lord, pardoned and remitted this sin also, with my other most\nhorrible and deadly sins, in the holy water?\n\nVerecundus was worn down with care about this our blessedness, for that\nbeing held back by bonds, whereby he was most straitly bound, he saw\nthat he should be severed from us. For himself was not yet a Christian,\nhis wife one of the faithful; and yet hereby, more rigidly than by any\nother chain, was he let and hindered from the journey which we had now\nessayed. For he would not, he said, be a Christian on any other terms\nthan on those he could not. However, he offered us courteously to remain\nat his country-house so long as we should stay there. Thou, O Lord,\nshalt reward him in the resurrection of the just, seeing Thou hast\nalready given him the lot of the righteous. For although, in our\nabsence, being now at Rome, he was seized with bodily sickness, and\ntherein being made a Christian, and one of the faithful, he departed\nthis life; yet hadst Thou mercy not on him only, but on us also: lest\nremembering the exceeding kindness of our friend towards us, yet unable\nto number him among Thy flock, we should be agonised with intolerable\nsorrow. Thanks unto Thee, our God, we are Thine: Thy suggestions\nand consolations tell us, Faithful in promises, Thou now requitest\nVerecundus for his country-house of Cassiacum, where from the fever\nof the world we reposed in Thee, with the eternal freshness of Thy\nParadise: for that Thou hast forgiven him his sins upon earth, in that\nrich mountain, that mountain which yieldeth milk, Thine own mountain.\n\nHe then had at that time sorrow, but Nebridius joy. For although he\nalso, not being yet a Christian, had fallen into the pit of that most\npernicious error, believing the flesh of Thy Son to be a phantom: yet\nemerging thence, he believed as we did; not as yet endued with any\nSacraments of Thy Church, but a most ardent searcher out of truth. Whom,\nnot long after our conversion and regeneration by Thy Baptism, being\nalso a faithful member of the Church Catholic, and serving Thee in\nperfect chastity and continence amongst his people in Africa, his whole\nhouse having through him first been made Christian, didst Thou release\nfrom the flesh; and now he lives in Abraham's bosom. Whatever that be,\nwhich is signified by that bosom, there lives my Nebridius, my sweet\nfriend, and Thy child, O Lord, adopted of a freed man: there he liveth.\nFor what other place is there for such a soul? There he liveth, whereof\nhe asked much of me, a poor inexperienced man. Now lays he not his ear\nto my mouth, but his spiritual mouth unto Thy fountain, and drinketh as\nmuch as he can receive, wisdom in proportion to his thirst, endlessly\nhappy. Nor do I think that he is so inebriated therewith, as to forget\nme; seeing Thou, Lord, Whom he drinketh, art mindful of us. So were\nwe then, comforting Verecundus, who sorrowed, as far as friendship\npermitted, that our conversion was of such sort; and exhorting him to\nbecome faithful, according to his measure, namely, of a married estate;\nand awaiting Nebridius to follow us, which, being so near, he was all\nbut doing: and so, lo! those days rolled by at length; for long and many\nthey seemed, for the love I bare to the easeful liberty, that I might\nsing to Thee, from my inmost marrow, My heart hath said unto Thee, I\nhave sought Thy face: Thy face, Lord, will I seek.\n\nNow was the day come wherein I was in deed to be freed of my Rhetoric\nProfessorship, whereof in thought I was already freed. And it was done.\nThou didst rescue my tongue, whence Thou hadst before rescued my heart.\nAnd I blessed Thee, rejoicing; retiring with all mine to the villa. What\nI there did in writing, which was now enlisted in Thy service, though\nstill, in this breathing-time as it were, panting from the school of\npride, my books may witness, as well what I debated with others, as what\nwith myself alone, before Thee: what with Nebridius, who was absent, my\nEpistles bear witness. And when shall I have time to rehearse all Thy\ngreat benefits towards us at that time, especially when hasting on to\nyet greater mercies? For my remembrance recalls me, and pleasant is it\nto me, O Lord, to confess to Thee, by what inward goads Thou tamedst me;\nand how Thou hast evened me, lowering the mountains and hills of my high\nimaginations, straightening my crookedness, and smoothing my rough ways;\nand how Thou also subduedst the brother of my heart, Alypius, unto the\nname of Thy Only Begotten, our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, which\nhe would not at first vouchsafe to have inserted in our writings. For\nrather would he have them savour of the lofty cedars of the Schools,\nwhich the Lord hath now broken down, than of the wholesome herbs of the\nChurch, the antidote against serpents.\n\nOh, in what accents spake I unto Thee, my God, when I read the Psalms of\nDavid, those faithful songs, and sounds of devotion, which allow of no\nswelling spirit, as yet a Catechumen, and a novice in Thy real love,\nresting in that villa, with Alypius a Catechumen, my mother cleaving to\nus, in female garb with masculine faith, with the tranquillity of age,\nmotherly love, Christian piety! Oh, what accents did I utter unto Thee\nin those Psalms, and how was I by them kindled towards Thee, and on\nfire to rehearse them, if possible, through the whole world, against the\npride of mankind! And yet they are sung through the whole world, nor can\nany hide himself from Thy heat. With what vehement and bitter sorrow was\nI angered at the Manichees! and again I pitied them, for they knew not\nthose Sacraments, those medicines, and were mad against the antidote\nwhich might have recovered them of their madness. How I would they\nhad then been somewhere near me, and without my knowing that they were\nthere, could have beheld my countenance, and heard my words, when I read\nthe fourth Psalm in that time of my rest, and how that Psalm wrought\nupon me: When I called, the God of my righteousness heard me; in\ntribulation Thou enlargedst me. Have mercy upon me, O Lord, and hear\nmy prayer. Would that what I uttered on these words, they could hear,\nwithout my knowing whether they heard, lest they should think I spake\nit for their sakes! Because in truth neither should I speak the same\nthings, nor in the same way, if I perceived that they heard and saw me;\nnor if I spake them would they so receive them, as when I spake by and\nfor myself before Thee, out of the natural feelings of my soul.\n\nI trembled for fear, and again kindled with hope, and with rejoicing in\nThy mercy, O Father; and all issued forth both by mine eyes and voice,\nwhen Thy good Spirit turning unto us, said, O ye sons of men, how long\nslow of heart? why do ye love vanity, and seek after leasing? For I had\nloved vanity, and sought after leasing. And Thou, O Lord, hadst already\nmagnified Thy Holy One, raising Him from the dead, and setting Him at\nThy right hand, whence from on high He should send His promise, the\nComforter, the Spirit of truth. And He had already sent Him, but I knew\nit not; He had sent Him, because He was now magnified, rising again from\nthe dead, and ascending into heaven. For till then, the Spirit was not\nyet given, because Jesus was not yet glorified. And the prophet cries\nout, How long, slow of heart? why do ye love vanity, and seek after\nleasing? Know this, that the Lord hath magnified His Holy One. He cries\nout, How long? He cries out, Know this: and I so long, not knowing,\nloved vanity, and sought after leasing: and therefore I heard and\ntrembled, because it was spoken unto such as I remembered myself to\nhave been. For in those phantoms which I had held for truths, was\nthere vanity and leasing; and I spake aloud many things earnestly and\nforcibly, in the bitterness of my remembrance. Which would they had\nheard, who yet love vanity and seek after leasing! They would perchance\nhave been troubled, and have vomited it up; and Thou wouldest hear them\nwhen they cried unto Thee; for by a true death in the flesh did He die\nfor us, who now intercedeth unto Thee for us.\n\nI further read, Be angry, and sin not. And how was I moved, O my God,\nwho had now learned to be angry at myself for things past, that I might\nnot sin in time to come! Yea, to be justly angry; for that it was not\nanother nature of a people of darkness which sinned for me, as they say\nwho are not angry at themselves, and treasure up wrath against the day\nof wrath, and of the revelation of Thy just judgment. Nor were my good\nthings now without, nor sought with the eyes of flesh in that earthly\nsun; for they that would have joy from without soon become vain, and\nwaste themselves on the things seen and temporal, and in their famished\nthoughts do lick their very shadows. Oh that they were wearied out with\ntheir famine, and said, Who will show us good things? And we would say,\nand they hear, The light of Thy countenance is sealed upon us. For we\nare not that light which enlighteneth every man, but we are enlightened\nby Thee; that having been sometimes darkness, we may be light in Thee.\nOh that they could see the eternal Internal, which having tasted, I was\ngrieved that I could not show It them, so long as they brought me their\nheart in their eyes roving abroad from Thee, while they said, Who will\nshow us good things? For there, where I was angry within myself in my\nchamber, where I was inwardly pricked, where I had sacrificed, slaying\nmy old man and commencing the purpose of a new life, putting my trust\nin Thee,--there hadst Thou begun to grow sweet unto me, and hadst put\ngladness in my heart. And I cried out, as I read this outwardly, finding\nit inwardly. Nor would I be multiplied with worldly goods; wasting away\ntime, and wasted by time; whereas I had in Thy eternal Simple Essence\nother corn, and wine, and oil.\n\nAnd with a loud cry of my heart I cried out in the next verse, O in\npeace, O for The Self-same! O what said he, I will lay me down and\nsleep, for who shall hinder us, when cometh to pass that saying which is\nwritten, Death is swallowed up in victory? And Thou surpassingly art the\nSelf-same, Who art not changed; and in Thee is rest which forgetteth all\ntoil, for there is none other with Thee, nor are we to seek those many\nother things, which are not what Thou art: but Thou, Lord, alone hast\nmade me dwell in hope. I read, and kindled; nor found I what to do to\nthose deaf and dead, of whom myself had been, a pestilent person, a\nbitter and a blind bawler against those writings, which are honied\nwith the honey of heaven, and lightsome with Thine own light: and I was\nconsumed with zeal at the enemies of this Scripture.\n\nWhen shall I recall all which passed in those holy-days? Yet neither\nhave I forgotten, nor will I pass over the severity of Thy scourge, and\nthe wonderful swiftness of Thy mercy. Thou didst then torment me with\npain in my teeth; which when it had come to such height that I could not\nspeak, it came into my heart to desire all my friends present to pray\nfor me to Thee, the God of all manner of health. And this I wrote on\nwax, and gave it them to read. Presently so soon as with humble devotion\nwe had bowed our knees, that pain went away. But what pain? or how went\nit away? I was affrighted, O my Lord, my God; for from infancy I had\nnever experienced the like. And the power of Thy Nod was deeply conveyed\nto me, and rejoicing in faith, I praised Thy Name. And that faith\nsuffered me not to be at ease about my past sins, which were not yet\nforgiven me by Thy baptism.\n\nThe vintage-vacation ended, I gave notice to the Milanese to provide\ntheir scholars with another master to sell words to them; for that I had\nboth made choice to serve Thee, and through my difficulty of breathing\nand pain in my chest was not equal to the Professorship. And by letters\nI signified to Thy Prelate, the holy man Ambrose, my former errors and\npresent desires, begging his advice what of Thy Scriptures I had best\nread, to become readier and fitter for receiving so great grace. He\nrecommended Isaiah the Prophet: I believe, because he above the rest\nis a more clear foreshower of the Gospel and of the calling of the\nGentiles. But I, not understanding the first lesson in him, and\nimagining the whole to be like it, laid it by, to be resumed when better\npractised in our Lord's own words.\n\nThence, when the time was come wherein I was to give in my name, we left\nthe country and returned to Milan. It pleased Alypius also to be with\nme born again in Thee, being already clothed with the humility befitting\nThy Sacraments; and a most valiant tamer of the body, so as, with\nunwonted venture, to wear the frozen ground of Italy with his bare feet.\nWe joined with us the boy Adeodatus, born after the flesh, of my sin.\nExcellently hadst Thou made him. He was not quite fifteen, and in wit\nsurpassed many grave and learned men. I confess unto Thee Thy gifts,\nO Lord my God, Creator of all, and abundantly able to reform our\ndeformities: for I had no part in that boy, but the sin. For that we\nbrought him up in Thy discipline, it was Thou, none else, had inspired\nus with it. I confess unto Thee Thy gifts. There is a book of ours\nentitled The Master; it is a dialogue between him and me. Thou knowest\nthat all there ascribed to the person conversing with me were his ideas,\nin his sixteenth year. Much besides, and yet more admirable, I found\nin him. That talent struck awe into me. And who but Thou could be the\nworkmaster of such wonders? Soon didst Thou take his life from the\nearth: and I now remember him without anxiety, fearing nothing for\nhis childhood or youth, or his whole self. Him we joined with us, our\ncontemporary in grace, to be brought up in Thy discipline: and we were\nbaptised, and anxiety for our past life vanished from us. Nor was I\nsated in those days with the wondrous sweetness of considering the depth\nof Thy counsels concerning the salvation of mankind. How did I weep,\nin Thy Hymns and Canticles, touched to the quick by the voices of Thy\nsweet-attuned Church! The voices flowed into mine ears, and the\nTruth distilled into my heart, whence the affections of my devotion\noverflowed, and tears ran down, and happy was I therein.\n\nNot long had the Church of Milan begun to use this kind of consolation\nand exhortation, the brethren zealously joining with harmony of voice\nand hearts. For it was a year, or not much more, that Justina, mother\nto the Emperor Valentinian, a child, persecuted Thy servant Ambrose, in\nfavour of her heresy, to which she was seduced by the Arians. The devout\npeople kept watch in the Church, ready to die with their Bishop Thy\nservant. There my mother Thy handmaid, bearing a chief part of those\nanxieties and watchings, lived for prayer. We, yet unwarmed by the heat\nof Thy Spirit, still were stirred up by the sight of the amazed and\ndisquieted city. Then it was first instituted that after the manner of\nthe Eastern Churches, Hymns and Psalms should be sung, lest the people\nshould wax faint through the tediousness of sorrow: and from that day to\nthis the custom is retained, divers (yea, almost all) Thy congregations,\nthroughout other parts of the world following herein.\n\nThen didst Thou by a vision discover to Thy forenamed Bishop where the\nbodies of Gervasius and Protasius the martyrs lay hid (whom Thou hadst\nin Thy secret treasury stored uncorrupted so many years), whence Thou\nmightest seasonably produce them to repress the fury of a woman, but an\nEmpress. For when they were discovered and dug up, and with due honour\ntranslated to the Ambrosian Basilica, not only they who were vexed with\nunclean spirits (the devils confessing themselves) were cured, but a\ncertain man who had for many years been blind, a citizen, and well known\nto the city, asking and hearing the reason of the people's confused joy,\nsprang forth desiring his guide to lead him thither. Led thither, he\nbegged to be allowed to touch with his handkerchief the bier of Thy\nsaints, whose death is precious in Thy sight. Which when he had done,\nand put to his eyes, they were forthwith opened. Thence did the fame\nspread, thence Thy praises glowed, shone; thence the mind of that enemy,\nthough not turned to the soundness of believing, was yet turned back\nfrom her fury of persecuting. Thanks to Thee, O my God. Whence and\nwhither hast Thou thus led my remembrance, that I should confess these\nthings also unto Thee? which great though they be, I had passed by in\nforgetfulness. And yet then, when the odour of Thy ointments was so\nfragrant, did we not run after Thee. Therefore did I more weep among\nthe singing of Thy Hymns, formerly sighing after Thee, and at length\nbreathing in Thee, as far as the breath may enter into this our house of\ngrass.\n\nThou that makest men to dwell of one mind in one house, didst join with\nus Euodius also, a young man of our own city. Who being an officer of\nCourt, was before us converted to Thee and baptised: and quitting his\nsecular warfare, girded himself to Thine. We were together, about to\ndwell together in our devout purpose. We sought where we might serve\nThee most usefully, and were together returning to Africa: whitherward\nbeing as far as Ostia, my mother departed this life. Much I omit, as\nhastening much. Receive my confessions and thanksgivings, O my God, for\ninnumerable things whereof I am silent. But I will not omit whatsoever\nmy soul would bring forth concerning that Thy handmaid, who brought me\nforth, both in the flesh, that I might be born to this temporal light,\nand in heart, that I might be born to Light eternal. Not her gifts, but\nThine in her, would I speak of; for neither did she make nor educate\nherself. Thou createdst her; nor did her father and mother know what a\none should come from them. And the sceptre of Thy Christ, the discipline\nof Thine only Son, in a Christian house, a good member of Thy Church,\neducated her in Thy fear. Yet for her good discipline was she wont\nto commend not so much her mother's diligence, as that of a certain\ndecrepit maid-servant, who had carried her father when a child, as\nlittle ones used to be carried at the backs of elder girls. For which\nreason, and for her great age, and excellent conversation, was she,\nin that Christian family, well respected by its heads. Whence also the\ncharge of her master's daughters was entrusted to her, to which she gave\ndiligent heed, restraining them earnestly, when necessary, with a holy\nseverity, and teaching them with a grave discretion. For, except at\nthose hours wherein they were most temporately fed at their parents'\ntable, she would not suffer them, though parched with thirst, to drink\neven water; preventing an evil custom, and adding this wholesome advice:\n\"Ye drink water now, because you have not wine in your power; but when\nyou come to be married, and be made mistresses of cellars and cupboards,\nyou will scorn water, but the custom of drinking will abide.\" By this\nmethod of instruction, and the authority she had, she refrained the\ngreediness of childhood, and moulded their very thirst to such an\nexcellent moderation that what they should not, that they would not.\n\nAnd yet (as Thy handmaid told me her son) there had crept upon her\na love of wine. For when (as the manner was) she, as though a sober\nmaiden, was bidden by her parents to draw wine out of the hogshed,\nholding the vessel under the opening, before she poured the wine into\nthe flagon, she sipped a little with the tip of her lips; for more her\ninstinctive feelings refused. For this she did, not out of any desire\nof drink, but out of the exuberance of youth, whereby it boils over in\nmirthful freaks, which in youthful spirits are wont to be kept under by\nthe gravity of their elders. And thus by adding to that little, daily\nlittles (for whoso despiseth little things shall fall by little and\nlittle), she had fallen into such a habit as greedily to drink off her\nlittle cup brim-full almost of wine. Where was then that discreet old\nwoman, and that her earnest countermanding? Would aught avail against\na secret disease, if Thy healing hand, O Lord, watched not over us?\nFather, mother, and governors absent, Thou present, who createdst, who\ncallest, who also by those set over us, workest something towards the\nsalvation of our souls, what didst Thou then, O my God? how didst Thou\ncure her? how heal her? didst Thou not out of another soul bring forth a\nhard and a sharp taunt, like a lancet out of Thy secret store, and with\none touch remove all that foul stuff? For a maid-servant with whom she\nused to go to the cellar, falling to words (as it happens) with her\nlittle mistress, when alone with her, taunted her with this fault, with\nmost bitter insult, calling her wine-bibber. With which taunt she, stung\nto the quick, saw the foulness of her fault, and instantly condemned and\nforsook it. As flattering friends pervert, so reproachful enemies mostly\ncorrect. Yet not what by them Thou doest, but what themselves purposed,\ndost Thou repay them. For she in her anger sought to vex her young\nmistress, not to amend her; and did it in private, either for that the\ntime and place of the quarrel so found them; or lest herself also should\nhave anger, for discovering it thus late. But Thou, Lord, Governor\nof all in heaven and earth, who turnest to Thy purposes the deepest\ncurrents, and the ruled turbulence of the tide of times, didst by the\nvery unhealthiness of one soul heal another; lest any, when he observes\nthis, should ascribe it to his own power, even when another, whom he\nwished to be reformed, is reformed through words of his.\n\nBrought up thus modestly and soberly, and made subject rather by Thee\nto her parents, than by her parents to Thee, so soon as she was of\nmarriageable age, being bestowed upon a husband, she served him as her\nlord; and did her diligence to win him unto Thee, preaching Thee unto\nhim by her conversation; by which Thou ornamentedst her, making her\nreverently amiable, and admirable unto her husband. And she so endured\nthe wronging of her bed as never to have any quarrel with her husband\nthereon. For she looked for Thy mercy upon him, that believing in Thee,\nhe might be made chaste. But besides this, he was fervid, as in his\naffections, so in anger: but she had learnt not to resist an angry\nhusband, not in deed only, but not even in word. Only when he was\nsmoothed and tranquil, and in a temper to receive it, she would give an\naccount of her actions, if haply he had overhastily taken offence. In\na word, while many matrons, who had milder husbands, yet bore even in\ntheir faces marks of shame, would in familiar talk blame their husbands'\nlives, she would blame their tongues, giving them, as in jest, earnest\nadvice: \"That from the time they heard the marriage writings read to\nthem, they should account them as indentures, whereby they were\nmade servants; and so, remembering their condition, ought not to set\nthemselves up against their lords.\" And when they, knowing what a\ncholeric husband she endured, marvelled that it had never been heard,\nnor by any token perceived, that Patricius had beaten his wife, or that\nthere had been any domestic difference between them, even for one day,\nand confidentially asking the reason, she taught them her practice above\nmentioned. Those wives who observed it found the good, and returned\nthanks; those who observed it not, found no relief, and suffered.\n\nHer mother-in-law also, at first by whisperings of evil servants\nincensed against her, she so overcame by observance and persevering\nendurance and meekness, that she of her own accord discovered to her\nson the meddling tongues whereby the domestic peace betwixt her and her\ndaughter-in-law had been disturbed, asking him to correct them. Then,\nwhen in compliance with his mother, and for the well-ordering of the\nfamily, he had with stripes corrected those discovered, at her will who\nhad discovered them, she promised the like reward to any who, to please\nher, should speak ill of her daughter-in-law to her: and none now\nventuring, they lived together with a remarkable sweetness of mutual\nkindness.\n\nThis great gift also thou bestowedst, O my God, my mercy, upon that good\nhandmaid of Thine, in whose womb Thou createdst me, that between any\ndisagreeing and discordant parties where she was able, she showed\nherself such a peacemaker, that hearing on both sides most bitter\nthings, such as swelling and indigested choler uses to break out into,\nwhen the crudities of enmities are breathed out in sour discourses to a\npresent friend against an absent enemy, she never would disclose aught\nof the one unto the other, but what might tend to their reconcilement.\nA small good this might appear to me, did I not to my grief know\nnumberless persons, who through some horrible and wide-spreading\ncontagion of sin, not only disclose to persons mutually angered things\nsaid in anger, but add withal things never spoken, whereas to humane\nhumanity, it ought to seem a light thing not to foment or increase ill\nwill by ill words, unless one study withal by good words to quench it.\nSuch was she, Thyself, her most inward Instructor, teaching her in the\nschool of the heart.\n\nFinally, her own husband, towards the very end of his earthly life,\ndid she gain unto Thee; nor had she to complain of that in him as a\nbeliever, which before he was a believer she had borne from him. She was\nalso the servant of Thy servants; whosoever of them knew her, did in her\nmuch praise and honour and love Thee; for that through the witness of\nthe fruits of a holy conversation they perceived Thy presence in her\nheart. For she had been the wife of one man, had requited her parents,\nhad governed her house piously, was well reported of for good works, had\nbrought up children, so often travailing in birth of them, as she saw\nthem swerving from Thee. Lastly, of all of us Thy servants, O Lord (whom\non occasion of Thy own gift Thou sufferest to speak), us, who before her\nsleeping in Thee lived united together, having received the grace of Thy\nbaptism, did she so take care of, as though she had been mother of us\nall; so served us, as though she had been child to us all.\n\nThe day now approaching whereon she was to depart this life (which day\nThou well knewest, we knew not), it came to pass, Thyself, as I believe,\nby Thy secret ways so ordering it, that she and I stood alone, leaning\nin a certain window, which looked into the garden of the house where we\nnow lay, at Ostia; where removed from the din of men, we were recruiting\nfrom the fatigues of a long journey, for the voyage. We were discoursing\nthen together, alone, very sweetly; and forgetting those things which\nare behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, we\nwere enquiring between ourselves in the presence of the Truth, which\nThou art, of what sort the eternal life of the saints was to be, which\neye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of\nman. But yet we gasped with the mouth of our heart, after those heavenly\nstreams of Thy fountain, the fountain of life, which is with Thee; that\nbeing bedewed thence according to our capacity, we might in some sort\nmeditate upon so high a mystery.\n\nAnd when our discourse was brought to that point, that the very highest\ndelight of the earthly senses, in the very purest material light,\nwas, in respect of the sweetness of that life, not only not worthy of\ncomparison, but not even of mention; we raising up ourselves with a more\nglowing affection towards the \"Self-same,\" did by degrees pass through\nall things bodily, even the very heaven whence sun and moon and stars\nshine upon the earth; yea, we were soaring higher yet, by inward musing,\nand discourse, and admiring of Thy works; and we came to our own\nminds, and went beyond them, that we might arrive at that region of\nnever-failing plenty, where Thou feedest Israel for ever with the food\nof truth, and where life is the Wisdom by whom all these things are\nmade, and what have been, and what shall be, and she is not made, but\nis, as she hath been, and so shall she be ever; yea rather, to \"have\nbeen,\" and \"hereafter to be,\" are not in her, but only \"to be,\" seeing\nshe is eternal. For to \"have been,\" and to \"be hereafter,\" are not\neternal. And while we were discoursing and panting after her, we\nslightly touched on her with the whole effort of our heart; and we\nsighed, and there we leave bound the first fruits of the Spirit; and\nreturned to vocal expressions of our mouth, where the word spoken\nhas beginning and end. And what is like unto Thy Word, our Lord, who\nendureth in Himself without becoming old, and maketh all things new?\n\nWe were saying then: If to any the tumult of the flesh were hushed,\nhushed the images of earth, and waters, and air, hushed also the pole of\nheaven, yea the very soul be hushed to herself, and by not thinking on\nself surmount self, hushed all dreams and imaginary revelations, every\ntongue and every sign, and whatsoever exists only in transition, since\nif any could hear, all these say, We made not ourselves, but He made us\nthat abideth for ever--If then having uttered this, they too should be\nhushed, having roused only our ears to Him who made them, and He alone\nspeak, not by them but by Himself, that we may hear His Word, not\nthrough any tongue of flesh, nor Angel's voice, nor sound of thunder,\nnor in the dark riddle of a similitude, but might hear Whom in these\nthings we love, might hear His Very Self without these (as we two now\nstrained ourselves, and in swift thought touched on that Eternal Wisdom\nwhich abideth over all);--could this be continued on, and other visions\nof kind far unlike be withdrawn, and this one ravish, and absorb, and\nwrap up its beholder amid these inward joys, so that life might be for\never like that one moment of understanding which now we sighed after;\nwere not this, Enter into thy Master's joy? And when shall that be? When\nwe shall all rise again, though we shall not all be changed?\n\nSuch things was I speaking, and even if not in this very manner, and\nthese same words, yet, Lord, Thou knowest that in that day when we were\nspeaking of these things, and this world with all its delights became,\nas we spake, contemptible to us, my mother said, \"Son, for mine own part\nI have no further delight in any thing in this life. What I do here any\nlonger, and to what I am here, I know not, now that my hopes in this\nworld are accomplished. One thing there was for which I desired to\nlinger for a while in this life, that I might see thee a Catholic\nChristian before I died. My God hath done this for me more abundantly,\nthat I should now see thee withal, despising earthly happiness, become\nHis servant: what do I here?\"\n\nWhat answer I made her unto these things, I remember not. For scarce\nfive days after, or not much more, she fell sick of a fever; and in that\nsickness one day she fell into a swoon, and was for a while withdrawn\nfrom these visible things. We hastened round her; but she was soon\nbrought back to her senses; and looking on me and my brother standing by\nher, said to us enquiringly, \"Where was I?\" And then looking fixedly on\nus, with grief amazed: \"Here,\" saith she, \"shall you bury your mother.\"\nI held my peace and refrained weeping; but my brother spake something,\nwishing for her, as the happier lot, that she might die, not in a\nstrange place, but in her own land. Whereat, she with anxious look,\nchecking him with her eyes, for that he still savoured such things, and\nthen looking upon me: \"Behold,\" saith she, \"what he saith\": and soon\nafter to us both, \"Lay,\" she saith, \"this body any where; let not the\ncare for that any way disquiet you: this only I request, that you would\nremember me at the Lord's altar, wherever you be.\" And having delivered\nthis sentiment in what words she could, she held her peace, being\nexercised by her growing sickness.\n\nBut I, considering Thy gifts, Thou unseen God, which Thou instillest\ninto the hearts of Thy faithful ones, whence wondrous fruits do spring,\ndid rejoice and give thanks to Thee, recalling what I before knew, how\ncareful and anxious she had ever been as to her place of burial, which\nshe had provided and prepared for herself by the body of her husband.\nFor because they had lived in great harmony together, she also wished\n(so little can the human mind embrace things divine) to have this\naddition to that happiness, and to have it remembered among men, that\nafter her pilgrimage beyond the seas, what was earthly of this united\npair had been permitted to be united beneath the same earth. But when\nthis emptiness had through the fulness of Thy goodness begun to cease in\nher heart, I knew not, and rejoiced admiring what she had so disclosed\nto me; though indeed in that our discourse also in the window, when she\nsaid, \"What do I here any longer?\" there appeared no desire of dying\nin her own country. I heard afterwards also, that when we were now\nat Ostia, she with a mother's confidence, when I was absent, one day\ndiscoursed with certain of my friends about the contempt of this life,\nand the blessing of death: and when they were amazed at such courage\nwhich Thou hadst given to a woman, and asked, \"Whether she were not\nafraid to leave her body so far from her own city?\" she replied,\n\"Nothing is far to God; nor was it to be feared lest at the end of the\nworld, He should not recognise whence He were to raise me up.\" On the\nninth day then of her sickness, and the fifty-sixth year of her age, and\nthe three-and-thirtieth of mine, was that religious and holy soul freed\nfrom the body.\n\nI closed her eyes; and there flowed withal a mighty sorrow into my\nheart, which was overflowing into tears; mine eyes at the same time, by\nthe violent command of my mind, drank up their fountain wholly dry; and\nwoe was me in such a strife! But when she breathed her last, the boy\nAdeodatus burst out into a loud lament; then, checked by us all, held\nhis peace. In like manner also a childish feeling in me, which was,\nthrough my heart's youthful voice, finding its vent in weeping, was\nchecked and silenced. For we thought it not fitting to solemnise that\nfuneral with tearful lament, and groanings; for thereby do they for\nthe most part express grief for the departed, as though unhappy, or\naltogether dead; whereas she was neither unhappy in her death, nor\naltogether dead. Of this we were assured on good grounds, the testimony\nof her good conversation and her faith unfeigned.\n\nWhat then was it which did grievously pain me within, but a fresh wound\nwrought through the sudden wrench of that most sweet and dear custom of\nliving together? I joyed indeed in her testimony, when, in that her last\nsickness, mingling her endearments with my acts of duty, she called me\n\"dutiful,\" and mentioned, with great affection of love, that she never\nhad heard any harsh or reproachful sound uttered by my mouth against\nher. But yet, O my God, Who madest us, what comparison is there betwixt\nthat honour that I paid to her, and her slavery for me? Being then\nforsaken of so great comfort in her, my soul was wounded, and that life\nrent asunder as it were, which, of hers and mine together, had been made\nbut one.\n\nThe boy then being stilled from weeping, Euodius took up the Psalter,\nand began to sing, our whole house answering him, the Psalm, I will sing\nof mercy and judgments to Thee, O Lord. But hearing what we were doing,\nmany brethren and religious women came together; and whilst they (whose\noffice it was) made ready for the burial, as the manner is, I, in a part\nof the house, where I might properly, together with those who thought\nnot fit to leave me, discoursed upon something fitting the time; and by\nthis balm of truth assuaged that torment, known to Thee, they unknowing\nand listening intently, and conceiving me to be without all sense of\nsorrow. But in Thy ears, where none of them heard, I blamed the weakness\nof my feelings, and refrained my flood of grief, which gave way a little\nunto me; but again came, as with a tide, yet not so as to burst out into\ntears, nor to change of countenance; still I knew what I was keeping\ndown in my heart. And being very much displeased that these human things\nhad such power over me, which in the due order and appointment of our\nnatural condition must needs come to pass, with a new grief I grieved\nfor my grief, and was thus worn by a double sorrow.\n\nAnd behold, the corpse was carried to the burial; we went and returned\nwithout tears. For neither in those prayers which we poured forth unto\nThee, when the Sacrifice of our ransom was offered for her, when now the\ncorpse was by the grave's side, as the manner there is, previous to its\nbeing laid therein, did I weep even during those prayers; yet was I the\nwhole day in secret heavily sad, and with troubled mind prayed Thee, as\nI could, to heal my sorrow, yet Thou didst not; impressing, I believe,\nupon my memory by this one instance, how strong is the bond of all\nhabit, even upon a soul, which now feeds upon no deceiving Word. It\nseemed also good to me to go and bathe, having heard that the bath had\nits name (balneum) from the Greek Balaneion for that it drives sadness\nfrom the mind. And this also I confess unto Thy mercy, Father of the\nfatherless, that I bathed, and was the same as before I bathed. For the\nbitterness of sorrow could not exude out of my heart. Then I slept, and\nwoke up again, and found my grief not a little softened; and as I was\nalone in my bed, I remembered those true verses of Thy Ambrose. For Thou\nart the\n\n         \"Maker of all, the Lord,\n           And Ruler of the height,\n         Who, robing day in light, hast poured\n           Soft slumbers o'er the night,\n         That to our limbs the power\n           Of toil may be renew'd,\n         And hearts be rais'd that sink and cower,\n           And sorrows be subdu'd.\"\n\nAnd then by little and little I recovered my former thoughts of Thy\nhandmaid, her holy conversation towards Thee, her holy tenderness and\nobservance towards us, whereof I was suddenly deprived: and I was minded\nto weep in Thy sight, for her and for myself, in her behalf and in my\nown. And I gave way to the tears which I before restrained, to overflow\nas much as they desired; reposing my heart upon them; and it found rest\nin them, for it was in Thy ears, not in those of man, who would have\nscornfully interpreted my weeping. And now, Lord, in writing I confess\nit unto Thee. Read it, who will, and interpret it, how he will: and if\nhe finds sin therein, that I wept my mother for a small portion of an\nhour (the mother who for the time was dead to mine eyes, who had for\nmany years wept for me that I might live in Thine eyes), let him not\nderide me; but rather, if he be one of large charity, let him weep\nhimself for my sins unto Thee, the Father of all the brethren of Thy\nChrist.\n\nBut now, with a heart cured of that wound, wherein it might seem\nblameworthy for an earthly feeling, I pour out unto Thee, our God, in\nbehalf of that Thy handmaid, a far different kind of tears, flowing from\na spirit shaken by the thoughts of the dangers of every soul that dieth\nin Adam. And although she having been quickened in Christ, even before\nher release from the flesh, had lived to the praise of Thy name for\nher faith and conversation; yet dare I not say that from what time Thou\nregeneratedst her by baptism, no word issued from her mouth against Thy\nCommandment. Thy Son, the Truth, hath said, Whosoever shall say unto\nhis brother, Thou fool, shall be in danger of hell fire. And woe be even\nunto the commendable life of men, if, laying aside mercy, Thou shouldest\nexamine it. But because Thou art not extreme in enquiring after sins, we\nconfidently hope to find some place with Thee. But whosoever reckons up\nhis real merits to Thee, what reckons he up to Thee but Thine own gifts?\nO that men would know themselves to be men; and that he that glorieth\nwould glory in the Lord.\n\nI therefore, O my Praise and my Life, God of my heart, laying aside for\na while her good deeds, for which I give thanks to Thee with joy, do now\nbeseech Thee for the sins of my mother. Hearken unto me, I entreat Thee,\nby the Medicine of our wounds, Who hung upon the tree, and now sitting\nat Thy right hand maketh intercession to Thee for us. I know that she\ndealt mercifully, and from her heart forgave her debtors their debts; do\nThou also forgive her debts, whatever she may have contracted in so\nmany years, since the water of salvation. Forgive her, Lord, forgive, I\nbeseech Thee; enter not into judgment with her. Let Thy mercy be exalted\nabove Thy justice, since Thy words are true, and Thou hast promised\nmercy unto the merciful; which Thou gavest them to be, who wilt have\nmercy on whom Thou wilt have mercy; and wilt have compassion on whom\nThou hast had compassion.\n\nAnd, I believe, Thou hast already done what I ask; but accept, O Lord,\nthe free-will offerings of my mouth. For she, the day of her dissolution\nnow at hand, took no thought to have her body sumptuously wound up, or\nembalmed with spices; nor desired she a choice monument, or to be buried\nin her own land. These things she enjoined us not; but desired only to\nhave her name commemorated at Thy Altar, which she had served without\nintermission of one day: whence she knew the holy Sacrifice to be\ndispensed, by which the hand-writing that was against us is blotted out;\nthrough which the enemy was triumphed over, who summing up our offences,\nand seeking what to lay to our charge, found nothing in Him, in Whom we\nconquer. Who shall restore to Him the innocent blood? Who repay Him\nthe price wherewith He bought us, and so take us from Him? Unto the\nSacrament of which our ransom, Thy handmaid bound her soul by the bond\nof faith. Let none sever her from Thy protection: let neither the lion\nnor the dragon interpose himself by force or fraud. For she will not\nanswer that she owes nothing, lest she be convicted and seized by the\ncrafty accuser: but she will answer that her sins are forgiven her by\nHim, to Whom none can repay that price which He, Who owed nothing, paid\nfor us.\n\nMay she rest then in peace with the husband before and after whom she\nhad never any; whom she obeyed, with patience bringing forth fruit unto\nThee, that she might win him also unto Thee. And inspire, O Lord my God,\ninspire Thy servants my brethren, Thy sons my masters, whom with\nvoice, and heart, and pen I serve, that so many as shall read these\nConfessions, may at Thy Altar remember Monnica Thy handmaid, with\nPatricius, her sometimes husband, by whose bodies Thou broughtest me\ninto this life, how I know not. May they with devout affection remember\nmy parents in this transitory light, my brethren under Thee our Father\nin our Catholic Mother, and my fellow-citizens in that eternal Jerusalem\nwhich Thy pilgrim people sigheth after from their Exodus, even unto\ntheir return thither. That so my mother's last request of me, may\nthrough my confessions, more than through my prayers, be, through the\nprayers of many, more abundantly fulfilled to her.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK X\n\n\nLet me know Thee, O Lord, who knowest me: let me know Thee, as I am\nknown. Power of my soul, enter into it, and fit it for Thee, that\nThou mayest have and hold it without spot or wrinkle. This is my hope,\ntherefore do I speak; and in this hope do I rejoice, when I rejoice\nhealthfully. Other things of this life are the less to be sorrowed for,\nthe more they are sorrowed for; and the more to be sorrowed for, the\nless men sorrow for them. For behold, Thou lovest the truth, and he that\ndoth it, cometh to the light. This would I do in my heart before Thee in\nconfession: and in my writing, before many witnesses.\n\nAnd from Thee, O Lord, unto whose eyes the abyss of man's conscience is\nnaked, what could be hidden in me though I would not confess it? For\nI should hide Thee from me, not me from Thee. But now, for that my\ngroaning is witness, that I am displeased with myself, Thou shinest out,\nand art pleasing, and beloved, and longed for; that I may be ashamed of\nmyself, and renounce myself, and choose Thee, and neither please Thee\nnor myself, but in Thee. To Thee therefore, O Lord, am I open, whatever\nI am; and with what fruit I confess unto Thee, I have said. Nor do I it\nwith words and sounds of the flesh, but with the words of my soul, and\nthe cry of the thought which Thy ear knoweth. For when I am evil, then\nto confess to Thee is nothing else than to be displeased with myself;\nbut when holy, nothing else than not to ascribe it to myself: because\nThou, O Lord, blessest the godly, but first Thou justifieth him when\nungodly. My confession then, O my God, in Thy sight, is made silently,\nand not silently. For in sound, it is silent; in affection, it cries\naloud. For neither do I utter any thing right unto men, which Thou hast\nnot before heard from me; nor dost Thou hear any such thing from me,\nwhich Thou hast not first said unto me.\n\nWhat then have I to do with men, that they should hear my\nconfessions--as if they could heal all my infirmities--a race, curious\nto know the lives of others, slothful to amend their own? Why seek they\nto hear from me what I am; who will not hear from Thee what themselves\nare? And how know they, when from myself they hear of myself, whether\nI say true; seeing no man knows what is in man, but the spirit of man\nwhich is in him? But if they hear from Thee of themselves, they cannot\nsay, \"The Lord lieth.\" For what is it to hear from Thee of themselves,\nbut to know themselves? and who knoweth and saith, \"It is false,\" unless\nhimself lieth? But because charity believeth all things (that is, among\nthose whom knitting unto itself it maketh one), I also, O Lord, will\nin such wise confess unto Thee, that men may hear, to whom I cannot\ndemonstrate whether I confess truly; yet they believe me, whose ears\ncharity openeth unto me.\n\nBut do Thou, my inmost Physician, make plain unto me what fruit I may\nreap by doing it. For the confessions of my past sins, which Thou hast\nforgiven and covered, that Thou mightest bless me in Thee, changing my\nsoul by Faith and Thy Sacrament, when read and heard, stir up the heart,\nthat it sleep not in despair and say \"I cannot,\" but awake in the love\nof Thy mercy and the sweetness of Thy grace, whereby whoso is weak, is\nstrong, when by it he became conscious of his own weakness. And the good\ndelight to hear of the past evils of such as are now freed from them,\nnot because they are evils, but because they have been and are not. With\nwhat fruit then, O Lord my God, to Whom my conscience daily confesseth,\ntrusting more in the hope of Thy mercy than in her own innocency,\nwith what fruit, I pray, do I by this book confess to men also in Thy\npresence what I now am, not what I have been? For that other fruit I\nhave seen and spoken of. But what I now am, at the very time of making\nthese confessions, divers desire to know, who have or have not known me,\nwho have heard from me or of me; but their ear is not at my heart where\nI am, whatever I am. They wish then to hear me confess what I am within;\nwhither neither their eye, nor ear, nor understanding can reach; they\nwish it, as ready to believe--but will they know? For charity, whereby\nthey are good, telleth them that in my confessions I lie not; and she in\nthem, believeth me.\n\nBut for what fruit would they hear this? Do they desire to joy with me,\nwhen they hear how near, by Thy gift, I approach unto Thee? and to pray\nfor me, when they shall hear how much I am held back by my own weight?\nTo such will I discover myself. For it is no mean fruit, O Lord my God,\nthat by many thanks should be given to Thee on our behalf, and Thou be\nby many entreated for us. Let the brotherly mind love in me what Thou\nteachest is to be loved, and lament in me what Thou teachest is to be\nlamented. Let a brotherly, not a stranger, mind, not that of the strange\nchildren, whose mouth talketh of vanity, and their right hand is a\nright hand of iniquity, but that brotherly mind which when it approveth,\nrejoiceth for me, and when it disapproveth me, is sorry for me; because\nwhether it approveth or disapproveth, it loveth me. To such will I\ndiscover myself: they will breathe freely at my good deeds, sigh for my\nill. My good deeds are Thine appointments, and Thy gifts; my evil ones\nare my offences, and Thy judgments. Let them breathe freely at the one,\nsigh at the other; and let hymns and weeping go up into Thy sight,\nout of the hearts of my brethren, Thy censers. And do Thou, O Lord,\nbe pleased with the incense of Thy holy temple, have mercy upon me\naccording to Thy great mercy for Thine own name's sake; and no ways\nforsaking what Thou hast begun, perfect my imperfections.\n\nThis is the fruit of my confessions of what I am, not of what I have\nbeen, to confess this, not before Thee only, in a secret exultation with\ntrembling, and a secret sorrow with hope; but in the ears also of the\nbelieving sons of men, sharers of my joy, and partners in my mortality,\nmy fellow-citizens, and fellow-pilgrims, who are gone before, or are to\nfollow on, companions of my way. These are Thy servants, my brethren,\nwhom Thou willest to be Thy sons; my masters, whom Thou commandest me to\nserve, if I would live with Thee, of Thee. But this Thy Word were little\ndid it only command by speaking, and not go before in performing. This\nthen I do in deed and word, this I do under Thy wings; in over great\nperil, were not my soul subdued unto Thee under Thy wings, and my\ninfirmity known unto Thee. I am a little one, but my Father ever liveth,\nand my Guardian is sufficient for me. For He is the same who begat me,\nand defends me: and Thou Thyself art all my good; Thou, Almighty,\nWho are with me, yea, before I am with Thee. To such then whom Thou\ncommandest me to serve will I discover, not what I have been, but what I\nnow am and what I yet am. But neither do I judge myself. Thus therefore\nI would be heard.\n\nFor Thou, Lord, dost judge me: because, although no man knoweth the\nthings of a man, but the spirit of a man which is in him, yet is there\nsomething of man, which neither the spirit of man that is in him, itself\nknoweth. But Thou, Lord, knowest all of him, Who hast made him. Yet I,\nthough in Thy sight I despise myself, and account myself dust and ashes;\nyet know I something of Thee, which I know not of myself. And truly,\nnow we see through a glass darkly, not face to face as yet. So long\ntherefore as I be absent from Thee, I am more present with myself than\nwith Thee; and yet know I Thee that Thou art in no ways passible; but I,\nwhat temptations I can resist, what I cannot, I know not. And there is\nhope, because Thou art faithful, Who wilt not suffer us to be tempted\nabove that we are able; but wilt with the temptation also make a way to\nescape, that we may be able to bear it. I will confess then what I\nknow of myself, I will confess also what I know not of myself. And that\nbecause what I do know of myself, I know by Thy shining upon me; and\nwhat I know not of myself, so long know I not it, until my darkness be\nmade as the noon-day in Thy countenance.\n\nNot with doubting, but with assured consciousness, do I love Thee, Lord.\nThou hast stricken my heart with Thy word, and I loved Thee. Yea also\nheaven, and earth, and all that therein is, behold, on every side they\nbid me love Thee; nor cease to say so unto all, that they may be without\nexcuse. But more deeply wilt Thou have mercy on whom Thou wilt have\nmercy, and wilt have compassion on whom Thou hast had compassion: else\nin deaf ears do the heaven and the earth speak Thy praises. But what do\nI love, when I love Thee? not beauty of bodies, nor the fair harmony\nof time, nor the brightness of the light, so gladsome to our eyes, nor\nsweet melodies of varied songs, nor the fragrant smell of flowers, and\nointments, and spices, not manna and honey, not limbs acceptable to\nembracements of flesh. None of these I love, when I love my God; and\nyet I love a kind of light, and melody, and fragrance, and meat, and\nembracement when I love my God, the light, melody, fragrance, meat,\nembracement of my inner man: where there shineth unto my soul what space\ncannot contain, and there soundeth what time beareth not away, and there\nsmelleth what breathing disperseth not, and there tasteth what eating\ndiminisheth not, and there clingeth what satiety divorceth not. This is\nit which I love when I love my God.\n\nAnd what is this? I asked the earth, and it answered me, \"I am not He\";\nand whatsoever are in it confessed the same. I asked the sea and the\ndeeps, and the living creeping things, and they answered, \"We are not\nthy God, seek above us.\" I asked the moving air; and the whole air with\nhis inhabitants answered, \"Anaximenes was deceived, I am not God.\" I\nasked the heavens, sun, moon, stars, \"Nor (say they) are we the God whom\nthou seekest.\" And I replied unto all the things which encompass the\ndoor of my flesh: \"Ye have told me of my God, that ye are not He; tell\nme something of Him.\" And they cried out with a loud voice, \"He made\nus.\" My questioning them, was my thoughts on them: and their form of\nbeauty gave the answer. And I turned myself unto myself, and said to\nmyself, \"Who art thou?\" And I answered, \"A man.\" And behold, in me there\npresent themselves to me soul, and body, one without, the other within.\nBy which of these ought I to seek my God? I had sought Him in the body\nfrom earth to heaven, so far as I could send messengers, the beams\nof mine eyes. But the better is the inner, for to it as presiding and\njudging, all the bodily messengers reported the answers of heaven and\nearth, and all things therein, who said, \"We are not God, but He made\nus.\" These things did my inner man know by the ministry of the outer: I\nthe inner knew them; I, the mind, through the senses of my body. I asked\nthe whole frame of the world about my God; and it answered me, \"I am not\nHe, but He made me.\"\n\nIs not this corporeal figure apparent to all whose senses are perfect?\nwhy then speaks it not the same to all? Animals small and great see it,\nbut they cannot ask it: because no reason is set over their senses to\njudge on what they report. But men can ask, so that the invisible things\nof God are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made;\nbut by love of them, they are made subject unto them: and subjects\ncannot judge. Nor yet do the creatures answer such as ask, unless they\ncan judge; nor yet do they change their voice (i.e., their appearance),\nif one man only sees, another seeing asks, so as to appear one way to\nthis man, another way to that, but appearing the same way to both, it is\ndumb to this, speaks to that; yea rather it speaks to all; but they only\nunderstand, who compare its voice received from without, with the truth\nwithin. For truth saith unto me, \"Neither heaven, nor earth, nor any\nother body is thy God.\" This, their very nature saith to him that seeth\nthem: \"They are a mass; a mass is less in a part thereof than in the\nwhole.\" Now to thee I speak, O my soul, thou art my better part: for\nthou quickenest the mass of my body, giving it life, which no body can\ngive to a body: but thy God is even unto thee the Life of thy life.\n\nWhat then do I love, when I love my God? who is He above the head of\nmy soul? By my very soul will I ascend to Him. I will pass beyond that\npower whereby I am united to my body, and fill its whole frame with\nlife. Nor can I by that power find my God; for so horse and mule that\nhave no understanding might find Him; seeing it is the same power,\nwhereby even their bodies live. But another power there is, not that\nonly whereby I animate, but that too whereby I imbue with sense my\nflesh, which the Lord hath framed for me: commanding the eye not to\nhear, and the ear not to see; but the eye, that through it I should\nsee, and the ear, that through it I should hear; and to the other senses\nseverally, what is to each their own peculiar seats and offices; which,\nbeing divers, I the one mind, do through them enact. I will pass beyond\nthis power of mine also; for this also have the horse, and mule, for\nthey also perceive through the body.\n\nI will pass then beyond this power of my nature also, rising by degrees\nunto Him Who made me. And I come to the fields and spacious palaces of\nmy memory, where are the treasures of innumerable images, brought into\nit from things of all sorts perceived by the senses. There is stored up,\nwhatsoever besides we think, either by enlarging or diminishing, or\nany other way varying those things which the sense hath come to; and\nwhatever else hath been committed and laid up, which forgetfulness hath\nnot yet swallowed up and buried. When I enter there, I require what I\nwill to be brought forth, and something instantly comes; others must be\nlonger sought after, which are fetched, as it were, out of some inner\nreceptacle; others rush out in troops, and while one thing is desired\nand required, they start forth, as who should say, \"Is it perchance\nI?\" These I drive away with the hand of my heart, from the face of my\nremembrance; until what I wish for be unveiled, and appear in sight, out\nof its secret place. Other things come up readily, in unbroken order, as\nthey are called for; those in front making way for the following; and\nas they make way, they are hidden from sight, ready to come when I will.\nAll which takes place when I repeat a thing by heart.\n\nThere are all things preserved distinctly and under general heads, each\nhaving entered by its own avenue: as light, and all colours and forms of\nbodies by the eyes; by the ears all sorts of sounds; all smells by the\navenue of the nostrils; all tastes by the mouth; and by the sensation of\nthe whole body, what is hard or soft; hot or cold; or rugged; heavy or\nlight; either outwardly or inwardly to the body. All these doth that\ngreat harbour of the memory receive in her numberless secret and\ninexpressible windings, to be forthcoming, and brought out at need; each\nentering in by his own gate, and there laid up. Nor yet do the things\nthemselves enter in; only the images of the things perceived are there\nin readiness, for thought to recall. Which images, how they are formed,\nwho can tell, though it doth plainly appear by which sense each hath\nbeen brought in and stored up? For even while I dwell in darkness and\nsilence, in my memory I can produce colours, if I will, and discern\nbetwixt black and white, and what others I will: nor yet do sounds break\nin and disturb the image drawn in by my eyes, which I am reviewing,\nthough they also are there, lying dormant, and laid up, as it were,\napart. For these too I call for, and forthwith they appear. And though\nmy tongue be still, and my throat mute, so can I sing as much as I will;\nnor do those images of colours, which notwithstanding be there, intrude\nthemselves and interrupt, when another store is called for, which\nflowed in by the ears. So the other things, piled in and up by the other\nsenses, I recall at my pleasure. Yea, I discern the breath of lilies\nfrom violets, though smelling nothing; and I prefer honey to sweet wine,\nsmooth before rugged, at the time neither tasting nor handling, but\nremembering only.\n\nThese things do I within, in that vast court of my memory. For there\nare present with me, heaven, earth, sea, and whatever I could think on\ntherein, besides what I have forgotten. There also meet I with myself,\nand recall myself, and when, where, and what I have done, and under what\nfeelings. There be all which I remember, either on my own experience,\nor other's credit. Out of the same store do I myself with the past\ncontinually combine fresh and fresh likenesses of things which I have\nexperienced, or, from what I have experienced, have believed: and thence\nagain infer future actions, events and hopes, and all these again I\nreflect on, as present. \"I will do this or that,\" say I to myself, in\nthat great receptacle of my mind, stored with the images of things so\nmany and so great, \"and this or that will follow.\" \"O that this or that\nmight be!\" \"God avert this or that!\" So speak I to myself: and when\nI speak, the images of all I speak of are present, out of the same\ntreasury of memory; nor would I speak of any thereof, were the images\nwanting.\n\nGreat is this force of memory, excessive great, O my God; a large and\nboundless chamber! who ever sounded the bottom thereof? yet is this a\npower of mine, and belongs unto my nature; nor do I myself comprehend\nall that I am. Therefore is the mind too strait to contain itself. And\nwhere should that be, which it containeth not of itself? Is it without\nit, and not within? how then doth it not comprehend itself? A wonderful\nadmiration surprises me, amazement seizes me upon this. And men go\nabroad to admire the heights of mountains, the mighty billows of the\nsea, the broad tides of rivers, the compass of the ocean, and the\ncircuits of the stars, and pass themselves by; nor wonder that when I\nspake of all these things, I did not see them with mine eyes, yet could\nnot have spoken of them, unless I then actually saw the mountains,\nbillows, rivers, stars which I had seen, and that ocean which I believe\nto be, inwardly in my memory, and that, with the same vast spaces\nbetween, as if I saw them abroad. Yet did not I by seeing draw them into\nmyself, when with mine eyes I beheld them; nor are they themselves with\nme, but their images only. And I know by what sense of the body each was\nimpressed upon me.\n\nYet not these alone does the unmeasurable capacity of my memory retain.\nHere also is all, learnt of the liberal sciences and as yet unforgotten;\nremoved as it were to some inner place, which is yet no place: nor\nare they the images thereof, but the things themselves. For, what is\nliterature, what the art of disputing, how many kinds of questions there\nbe, whatsoever of these I know, in such manner exists in my memory, as\nthat I have not taken in the image, and left out the thing, or that it\nshould have sounded and passed away like a voice fixed on the ear by\nthat impress, whereby it might be recalled, as if it sounded, when it\nno longer sounded; or as a smell while it passes and evaporates into air\naffects the sense of smell, whence it conveys into the memory an image\nof itself, which remembering, we renew, or as meat, which verily in\nthe belly hath now no taste, and yet in the memory still in a manner\ntasteth; or as any thing which the body by touch perceiveth, and which\nwhen removed from us, the memory still conceives. For those things\nare not transmitted into the memory, but their images only are with\nan admirable swiftness caught up, and stored as it were in wondrous\ncabinets, and thence wonderfully by the act of remembering, brought\nforth.\n\nBut now when I hear that there be three kinds of questions, \"Whether the\nthing be? what it is? of what kind it is?\" I do indeed hold the images\nof the sounds of which those words be composed, and that those sounds,\nwith a noise passed through the air, and now are not. But the things\nthemselves which are signified by those sounds, I never reached with any\nsense of my body, nor ever discerned them otherwise than in my mind; yet\nin my memory have I laid up not their images, but themselves. Which how\nthey entered into me, let them say if they can; for I have gone over all\nthe avenues of my flesh, but cannot find by which they entered. For the\neyes say, \"If those images were coloured, we reported of them.\" The ears\nsay, \"If they sound, we gave knowledge of them.\" The nostrils say, \"If\nthey smell, they passed by us.\" The taste says, \"Unless they have a\nsavour, ask me not.\" The touch says, \"If it have not size, I handled\nit not; if I handled it not, I gave no notice of it.\" Whence and how\nentered these things into my memory? I know not how. For when I learned\nthem, I gave not credit to another man's mind, but recognised them in\nmine; and approving them for true, I commended them to it, laying them\nup as it were, whence I might bring them forth when I willed. In my\nheart then they were, even before I learned them, but in my memory\nthey were not. Where then? or wherefore, when they were spoken, did I\nacknowledge them, and said, \"So is it, it is true,\" unless that they\nwere already in the memory, but so thrown back and buried as it were in\ndeeper recesses, that had not the suggestion of another drawn them forth\nI had perchance been unable to conceive of them?\n\nWherefore we find, that to learn these things whereof we imbibe not the\nimages by our senses, but perceive within by themselves, without images,\nas they are, is nothing else, but by conception, to receive, and by\nmarking to take heed that those things which the memory did before\ncontain at random and unarranged, be laid up at hand as it were in that\nsame memory where before they lay unknown, scattered and neglected, and\nso readily occur to the mind familiarised to them. And how many things\nof this kind does my memory bear which have been already found out, and\nas I said, placed as it were at hand, which we are said to have learned\nand come to know which were I for some short space of time to cease to\ncall to mind, they are again so buried, and glide back, as it were, into\nthe deeper recesses, that they must again, as if new, be thought out\nthence, for other abode they have none: but they must be drawn together\nagain, that they may be known; that is to say, they must as it were be\ncollected together from their dispersion: whence the word \"cogitation\"\nis derived. For cogo (collect) and cogito (re-collect) have the same\nrelation to each other as ago and agito, facio and factito. But the mind\nhath appropriated to itself this word (cogitation), so that, not what is\n\"collected\" any how, but what is \"recollected,\" i.e., brought together,\nin the mind, is properly said to be cogitated, or thought upon.\n\nThe memory containeth also reasons and laws innumerable of numbers and\ndimensions, none of which hath any bodily sense impressed; seeing they\nhave neither colour, nor sound, nor taste, nor smell, nor touch. I have\nheard the sound of the words whereby when discussed they are denoted:\nbut the sounds are other than the things. For the sounds are other in\nGreek than in Latin; but the things are neither Greek, nor Latin,\nnor any other language. I have seen the lines of architects, the very\nfinest, like a spider's thread; but those are still different, they\nare not the images of those lines which the eye of flesh showed me: he\nknoweth them, whosoever without any conception whatsoever of a body,\nrecognises them within himself. I have perceived also the numbers of the\nthings with which we number all the senses of my body; but those numbers\nwherewith we number are different, nor are they the images of these,\nand therefore they indeed are. Let him who seeth them not, deride me for\nsaying these things, and I will pity him, while he derides me.\n\nAll these things I remember, and how I learnt them I remember. Many\nthings also most falsely objected against them have I heard, and\nremember; which though they be false, yet is it not false that I\nremember them; and I remember also that I have discerned betwixt those\ntruths and these falsehoods objected to them. And I perceive that the\npresent discerning of these things is different from remembering that\nI oftentimes discerned them, when I often thought upon them. I both\nremember then to have often understood these things; and what I now\ndiscern and understand, I lay up in my memory, that hereafter I may\nremember that I understand it now. So then I remember also to have\nremembered; as if hereafter I shall call to remembrance, that I have now\nbeen able to remember these things, by the force of memory shall I call\nit to remembrance.\n\nThe same memory contains also the affections of my mind, not in the same\nmanner that my mind itself contains them, when it feels them; but far\notherwise, according to a power of its own. For without rejoicing I\nremember myself to have joyed; and without sorrow do I recollect my\npast sorrow. And that I once feared, I review without fear; and without\ndesire call to mind a past desire. Sometimes, on the contrary, with joy\ndo I remember my fore-past sorrow, and with sorrow, joy. Which is not\nwonderful, as to the body; for mind is one thing, body another. If\nI therefore with joy remember some past pain of body, it is not so\nwonderful. But now seeing this very memory itself is mind (for when we\ngive a thing in charge, to be kept in memory, we say, \"See that you keep\nit in mind\"; and when we forget, we say, \"It did not come to my mind,\"\nand, \"It slipped out of my mind,\" calling the memory itself the mind);\nthis being so, how is it that when with joy I remember my past sorrow,\nthe mind hath joy, the memory hath sorrow; the mind upon the joyfulness\nwhich is in it, is joyful, yet the memory upon the sadness which is in\nit, is not sad? Does the memory perchance not belong to the mind? Who\nwill say so? The memory then is, as it were, the belly of the mind, and\njoy and sadness, like sweet and bitter food; which, when committed to\nthe memory, are as it were passed into the belly, where they may be\nstowed, but cannot taste. Ridiculous it is to imagine these to be alike;\nand yet are they not utterly unlike.\n\nBut, behold, out of my memory I bring it, when I say there be four\nperturbations of the mind, desire, joy, fear, sorrow; and whatsoever I\ncan dispute thereon, by dividing each into its subordinate species, and\nby defining it, in my memory find I what to say, and thence do I bring\nit: yet am I not disturbed by any of these perturbations, when by\ncalling them to mind, I remember them; yea, and before I recalled\nand brought them back, they were there; and therefore could they, by\nrecollection, thence be brought. Perchance, then, as meat is by chewing\nthe cud brought up out of the belly, so by recollection these out of the\nmemory. Why then does not the disputer, thus recollecting, taste in the\nmouth of his musing the sweetness of joy, or the bitterness of sorrow?\nIs the comparison unlike in this, because not in all respects like? For\nwho would willingly speak thereof, if so oft as we name grief or fear,\nwe should be compelled to be sad or fearful? And yet could we not speak\nof them, did we not find in our memory, not only the sounds of the names\naccording to the images impressed by the senses of the body, but notions\nof the very things themselves which we never received by any avenue of\nthe body, but which the mind itself perceiving by the experience of its\nown passions, committed to the memory, or the memory of itself retained,\nwithout being committed unto it.\n\nBut whether by images or no, who can readily say? Thus, I name a stone,\nI name the sun, the things themselves not being present to my senses,\nbut their images to my memory. I name a bodily pain, yet it is not\npresent with me, when nothing aches: yet unless its image were present\nto my memory, I should not know what to say thereof, nor in discoursing\ndiscern pain from pleasure. I name bodily health; being sound in body,\nthe thing itself is present with me; yet, unless its image also were\npresent in my memory, I could by no means recall what the sound of\nthis name should signify. Nor would the sick, when health were named,\nrecognise what were spoken, unless the same image were by the force of\nmemory retained, although the thing itself were absent from the body. I\nname numbers whereby we number; and not their images, but themselves\nare present in my memory. I name the image of the sun, and that image is\npresent in my memory. For I recall not the image of its image, but the\nimage itself is present to me, calling it to mind. I name memory, and\nI recognise what I name. And where do I recognise it, but in the memory\nitself? Is it also present to itself by its image, and not by itself?\n\nWhat, when I name forgetfulness, and withal recognise what I name?\nwhence should I recognise it, did I not remember it? I speak not of the\nsound of the name, but of the thing which it signifies: which if I had\nforgotten, I could not recognise what that sound signifies. When then I\nremember memory, memory itself is, through itself, present with itself:\nbut when I remember forgetfulness, there are present both memory\nand forgetfulness; memory whereby I remember, forgetfulness which I\nremember. But what is forgetfulness, but the privation of memory? How\nthen is it present that I remember it, since when present I cannot\nremember? But if what we remember we hold it in memory, yet, unless we\ndid remember forgetfulness, we could never at the hearing of the name\nrecognise the thing thereby signified, then forgetfulness is retained by\nmemory. Present then it is, that we forget not, and being so, we forget.\nIt is to be understood from this that forgetfulness when we remember it,\nis not present to the memory by itself but by its image: because if\nit were present by itself, it would not cause us to remember, but to\nforget. Who now shall search out this? who shall comprehend how it is?\n\nLord, I, truly, toil therein, yea and toil in myself; I am become a\nheavy soil requiring over much sweat of the brow. For we are not now\nsearching out the regions of heaven, or measuring the distances of the\nstars, or enquiring the balancings of the earth. It is I myself who\nremember, I the mind. It is not so wonderful, if what I myself am not,\nbe far from me. But what is nearer to me than myself? And lo, the force\nof mine own memory is not understood by me; though I cannot so much as\nname myself without it. For what shall I say, when it is clear to\nme that I remember forgetfulness? Shall I say that that is not in my\nmemory, which I remember? or shall I say that forgetfulness is for this\npurpose in my memory, that I might not forget? Both were most absurd.\nWhat third way is there? How can I say that the image of forgetfulness\nis retained by my memory, not forgetfulness itself, when I remember it?\nHow could I say this either, seeing that when the image of any thing is\nimpressed on the memory, the thing itself must needs be first present,\nwhence that image may be impressed? For thus do I remember Carthage,\nthus all places where I have been, thus men's faces whom I have seen,\nand things reported by the other senses; thus the health or sickness of\nthe body. For when these things were present, my memory received from\nthem images, which being present with me, I might look on and bring\nback in my mind, when I remembered them in their absence. If then this\nforgetfulness is retained in the memory through its image, not through\nitself, then plainly itself was once present, that its image might\nbe taken. But when it was present, how did it write its image in the\nmemory, seeing that forgetfulness by its presence effaces even what it\nfinds already noted? And yet, in whatever way, although that way be\npast conceiving and explaining, yet certain am I that I remember\nforgetfulness itself also, whereby what we remember is effaced.\n\nGreat is the power of memory, a fearful thing, O my God, a deep and\nboundless manifoldness; and this thing is the mind, and this am I\nmyself. What am I then, O my God? What nature am I? A life various and\nmanifold, and exceeding immense. Behold in the plains, and caves, and\ncaverns of my memory, innumerable and innumerably full of innumerable\nkinds of things, either through images, as all bodies; or by actual\npresence, as the arts; or by certain notions or impressions, as the\naffections of the mind, which, even when the mind doth not feel, the\nmemory retaineth, while yet whatsoever is in the memory is also in the\nmind--over all these do I run, I fly; I dive on this side and on that,\nas far as I can, and there is no end. So great is the force of memory,\nso great the force of life, even in the mortal life of man. What shall I\ndo then, O Thou my true life, my God? I will pass even beyond this power\nof mine which is called memory: yea, I will pass beyond it, that I may\napproach unto Thee, O sweet Light. What sayest Thou to me? See, I am\nmounting up through my mind towards Thee who abidest above me. Yea, I\nnow will pass beyond this power of mine which is called memory, desirous\nto arrive at Thee, whence Thou mayest be arrived at; and to cleave unto\nThee, whence one may cleave unto Thee. For even beasts and birds have\nmemory; else could they not return to their dens and nests, nor many\nother things they are used unto: nor indeed could they be used to any\nthing, but by memory. I will pass then beyond memory also, that I may\narrive at Him who hath separated me from the four-footed beasts and made\nme wiser than the fowls of the air, I will pass beyond memory also,\nand where shall I find Thee, Thou truly good and certain sweetness? And\nwhere shall I find Thee? If I find Thee without my memory, then do I not\nretain Thee in my memory. And how shall I find Thee, if I remember Thee\nnot?\n\nFor the woman that had lost her groat, and sought it with a light;\nunless she had remembered it, she had never found it. For when it was\nfound, whence should she know whether it were the same, unless she\nremembered it? I remember to have sought and found many a thing; and\nthis I thereby know, that when I was seeking any of them, and was asked,\n\"Is this it?\" \"Is that it?\" so long said I \"No,\" until that were offered\nme which I sought. Which had I not remembered (whatever it were) though\nit were offered me, yet should I not find it, because I could not\nrecognise it. And so it ever is, when we seek and find any lost thing.\nNotwithstanding, when any thing is by chance lost from the sight, not\nfrom the memory (as any visible body), yet its image is still retained\nwithin, and it is sought until it be restored to sight; and when it is\nfound, it is recognised by the image which is within: nor do we say\nthat we have found what was lost, unless we recognise it; nor can we\nrecognise it, unless we remember it. But this was lost to the eyes, but\nretained in the memory.\n\nBut what when the memory itself loses any thing, as falls out when we\nforget and seek that we may recollect? Where in the end do we search,\nbut in the memory itself? and there, if one thing be perchance offered\ninstead of another, we reject it, until what we seek meets us; and when\nit doth, we say, \"This is it\"; which we should not unless we recognised\nit, nor recognise it unless we remembered it. Certainly then we had\nforgotten it. Or, had not the whole escaped us, but by the part whereof\nwe had hold, was the lost part sought for; in that the memory felt that\nit did not carry on together all which it was wont, and maimed, as it\nwere, by the curtailment of its ancient habit, demanded the restoration\nof what it missed? For instance, if we see or think of some one known\nto us, and having forgotten his name, try to recover it; whatever else\noccurs, connects itself not therewith; because it was not wont to be\nthought upon together with him, and therefore is rejected, until that\npresent itself, whereon the knowledge reposes equably as its wonted\nobject. And whence does that present itself, but out of the memory\nitself? for even when we recognise it, on being reminded by another, it\nis thence it comes. For we do not believe it as something new, but,\nupon recollection, allow what was named to be right. But were it utterly\nblotted out of the mind, we should not remember it, even when reminded.\nFor we have not as yet utterly forgotten that, which we remember\nourselves to have forgotten. What then we have utterly forgotten, though\nlost, we cannot even seek after.\n\nHow then do I seek Thee, O Lord? For when I seek Thee, my God, I seek a\nhappy life. I will seek Thee, that my soul may live. For my body liveth\nby my soul; and my soul by Thee. How then do I seek a happy life, seeing\nI have it not, until I can say, where I ought to say it, \"It is enough\"?\nHow seek I it? By remembrance, as though I had forgotten it, remembering\nthat I had forgotten it? Or, desiring to learn it as a thing unknown,\neither never having known, or so forgotten it, as not even to remember\nthat I had forgotten it? is not a happy life what all will, and no one\naltogether wills it not? where have they known it, that they so will it?\nwhere seen it, that they so love it? Truly we have it, how, I know not.\nYea, there is another way, wherein when one hath it, then is he happy;\nand there are, who are blessed, in hope. These have it in a lower kind,\nthan they who have it in very deed; yet are they better off than such as\nare happy neither in deed nor in hope. Yet even these, had they it not\nin some sort, would not so will to be happy, which that they do will, is\nmost certain. They have known it then, I know not how, and so have it by\nsome sort of knowledge, what, I know not, and am perplexed whether it be\nin the memory, which if it be, then we have been happy once; whether all\nseverally, or in that man who first sinned, in whom also we all died,\nand from whom we are all born with misery, I now enquire not; but only,\nwhether the happy life be in the memory? For neither should we love it,\ndid we not know it. We hear the name, and we all confess that we desire\nthe thing; for we are not delighted with the mere sound. For when\na Greek hears it in Latin, he is not delighted, not knowing what is\nspoken; but we Latins are delighted, as would he too, if he heard it in\nGreek; because the thing itself is neither Greek nor Latin, which Greeks\nand Latins, and men of all other tongues, long for so earnestly. Known\ntherefore it is to all, for they with one voice be asked, \"would they\nbe happy?\" they would answer without doubt, \"they would.\" And this could\nnot be, unless the thing itself whereof it is the name were retained in\ntheir memory.\n\nBut is it so, as one remembers Carthage who hath seen it? No. For a\nhappy life is not seen with the eye, because it is not a body. As we\nremember numbers then? No. For these, he that hath in his knowledge,\nseeks not further to attain unto; but a happy life we have in our\nknowledge, and therefore love it, and yet still desire to attain it,\nthat we may be happy. As we remember eloquence then? No. For although\nupon hearing this name also, some call to mind the thing, who still are\nnot yet eloquent, and many who desire to be so, whence it appears that\nit is in their knowledge; yet these have by their bodily senses observed\nothers to be eloquent, and been delighted, and desire to be the like\n(though indeed they would not be delighted but for some inward knowledge\nthereof, nor wish to be the like, unless they were thus delighted);\nwhereas a happy life, we do by no bodily sense experience in others. As\nthen we remember joy? Perchance; for my joy I remember, even when sad,\nas a happy life, when unhappy; nor did I ever with bodily sense see,\nhear, smell, taste, or touch my joy; but I experienced it in my mind,\nwhen I rejoiced; and the knowledge of it clave to my memory, so that I\ncan recall it with disgust sometimes, at others with longing, according\nto the nature of the things, wherein I remember myself to have joyed.\nFor even from foul things have I been immersed in a sort of joy; which\nnow recalling, I detest and execrate; otherwhiles in good and honest\nthings, which I recall with longing, although perchance no longer\npresent; and therefore with sadness I recall former joy.\n\nWhere then and when did I experience my happy life, that I should\nremember, and love, and long for it? Nor is it I alone, or some few\nbesides, but we all would fain be happy; which, unless by some certain\nknowledge we knew, we should not with so certain a will desire. But how\nis this, that if two men be asked whether they would go to the wars,\none, perchance, would answer that he would, the other, that he would\nnot; but if they were asked whether they would be happy, both would\ninstantly without any doubting say they would; and for no other reason\nwould the one go to the wars, and the other not, but to be happy. Is it\nperchance that as one looks for his joy in this thing, another in that,\nall agree in their desire of being happy, as they would (if they were\nasked) that they wished to have joy, and this joy they call a happy\nlife? Although then one obtains this joy by one means, another by\nanother, all have one end, which they strive to attain, namely, joy.\nWhich being a thing which all must say they have experienced, it is\ntherefore found in the memory, and recognised whenever the name of a\nhappy life is mentioned.\n\nFar be it, Lord, far be it from the heart of Thy servant who here\nconfesseth unto Thee, far be it, that, be the joy what it may, I should\ntherefore think myself happy. For there is a joy which is not given to\nthe ungodly, but to those who love Thee for Thine own sake, whose joy\nThou Thyself art. And this is the happy life, to rejoice to Thee, of\nThee, for Thee; this is it, and there is no other. For they who think\nthere is another, pursue some other and not the true joy. Yet is not\ntheir will turned away from some semblance of joy.\n\nIt is not certain then that all wish to be happy, inasmuch as they who\nwish not to joy in Thee, which is the only happy life, do not truly\ndesire the happy life. Or do all men desire this, but because the flesh\nlusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh, that they\ncannot do what they would, they fall upon that which they can, and are\ncontent therewith; because, what they are not able to do, they do not\nwill so strongly as would suffice to make them able? For I ask any\none, had he rather joy in truth, or in falsehood? They will as little\nhesitate to say \"in the truth,\" as to say \"that they desire to be\nhappy,\" for a happy life is joy in the truth: for this is a joying in\nThee, Who art the Truth, O God my light, health of my countenance, my\nGod. This is the happy life which all desire; this life which alone is\nhappy, all desire; to joy in the truth all desire. I have met with many\nthat would deceive; who would be deceived, no one. Where then did they\nknow this happy life, save where they know the truth also? For they love\nit also, since they would not be deceived. And when they love a happy\nlife, which is no other than joying in the truth, then also do they love\nthe truth; which yet they would not love, were there not some notice of\nit in their memory. Why then joy they not in it? why are they not happy?\nbecause they are more strongly taken up with other things which have\nmore power to make them miserable, than that which they so faintly\nremember to make them happy. For there is yet a little light in men; let\nthem walk, let them walk, that the darkness overtake them not.\n\nBut why doth \"truth generate hatred,\" and the man of Thine, preaching\nthe truth, become an enemy to them? whereas a happy life is loved, which\nis nothing else but joying in the truth; unless that truth is in that\nkind loved, that they who love anything else would gladly have that\nwhich they love to be the truth: and because they would not be deceived,\nwould not be convinced that they are so? Therefore do they hate the\ntruth for that thing's sake which they loved instead of the truth. They\nlove truth when she enlightens, they hate her when she reproves. For\nsince they would not be deceived, and would deceive, they love her when\nshe discovers herself unto them, and hate her when she discovers them.\nWhence she shall so repay them, that they who would not be made manifest\nby her, she both against their will makes manifest, and herself becometh\nnot manifest unto them. Thus, thus, yea thus doth the mind of man, thus\nblind and sick, foul and ill-favoured, wish to be hidden, but that aught\nshould be hidden from it, it wills not. But the contrary is requited it,\nthat itself should not be hidden from the Truth; but the Truth is hid\nfrom it. Yet even thus miserable, it had rather joy in truths than in\nfalsehoods. Happy then will it be, when, no distraction interposing, it\nshall joy in that only Truth, by Whom all things are true.\n\nSee what a space I have gone over in my memory seeking Thee, O Lord; and\nI have not found Thee, without it. Nor have I found any thing concerning\nThee, but what I have kept in memory, ever since I learnt Thee. For\nsince I learnt Thee, I have not forgotten Thee. For where I found Truth,\nthere found I my God, the Truth itself; which since I learnt, I have\nnot forgotten. Since then I learnt Thee, Thou residest in my memory; and\nthere do I find Thee, when I call Thee to remembrance, and delight in\nThee. These be my holy delights, which Thou hast given me in Thy mercy,\nhaving regard to my poverty.\n\nBut where in my memory residest Thou, O Lord, where residest Thou\nthere? what manner of lodging hast Thou framed for Thee? what manner of\nsanctuary hast Thou builded for Thee? Thou hast given this honour to my\nmemory, to reside in it; but in what quarter of it Thou residest, that\nam I considering. For in thinking on Thee, I passed beyond such parts of\nit as the beasts also have, for I found Thee not there among the images\nof corporeal things: and I came to those parts to which I committed the\naffections of my mind, nor found Thee there. And I entered into the\nvery seat of my mind (which it hath in my memory, inasmuch as the mind\nremembers itself also), neither wert Thou there: for as Thou art not\na corporeal image, nor the affection of a living being (as when we\nrejoice, condole, desire, fear, remember, forget, or the like); so\nneither art Thou the mind itself; because Thou art the Lord God of the\nmind; and all these are changed, but Thou remainest unchangeable over\nall, and yet hast vouchsafed to dwell in my memory, since I learnt Thee.\nAnd why seek I now in what place thereof Thou dwellest, as if there\nwere places therein? Sure I am, that in it Thou dwellest, since I have\nremembered Thee ever since I learnt Thee, and there I find Thee, when I\ncall Thee to remembrance.\n\nWhere then did I find Thee, that I might learn Thee? For in my memory\nThou wert not, before I learned Thee. Where then did I find Thee, that\nI might learn Thee, but in Thee above me? Place there is none; we go\nbackward and forward, and there is no place. Every where, O Truth, dost\nThou give audience to all who ask counsel of Thee, and at once answerest\nall, though on manifold matters they ask Thy counsel. Clearly dost Thou\nanswer, though all do not clearly hear. All consult Thee on what they\nwill, though they hear not always what they will. He is Thy best servant\nwho looks not so much to hear that from Thee which himself willeth, as\nrather to will that, which from Thee he heareth.\n\nToo late loved I Thee, O Thou Beauty of ancient days, yet ever new! too\nlate I loved Thee! And behold, Thou wert within, and I abroad, and there\nI searched for Thee; deformed I, plunging amid those fair forms which\nThou hadst made. Thou wert with me, but I was not with Thee. Things held\nme far from Thee, which, unless they were in Thee, were not at all.\nThou calledst, and shoutedst, and burstest my deafness. Thou flashedst,\nshonest, and scatteredst my blindness. Thou breathedst odours, and I\ndrew in breath and panted for Thee. I tasted, and hunger and thirst.\nThou touchedst me, and I burned for Thy peace.\n\nWhen I shall with my whole self cleave to Thee, I shall no where have\nsorrow or labour; and my life shall wholly live, as wholly full of Thee.\nBut now since whom Thou fillest, Thou liftest up, because I am not full\nof Thee I am a burden to myself. Lamentable joys strive with joyous\nsorrows: and on which side is the victory, I know not. Woe is me! Lord,\nhave pity on me. My evil sorrows strive with my good joys; and on which\nside is the victory, I know not. Woe is me! Lord, have pity on me. Woe\nis me! lo! I hide not my wounds; Thou art the Physician, I the sick;\nThou merciful, I miserable. Is not the life of man upon earth all trial?\nWho wishes for troubles and difficulties? Thou commandest them to be\nendured, not to be loved. No man loves what he endures, though he love\nto endure. For though he rejoices that he endures, he had rather there\nwere nothing for him to endure. In adversity I long for prosperity, in\nprosperity I fear adversity. What middle place is there betwixt these\ntwo, where the life of man is not all trial? Woe to the prosperities of\nthe world, once and again, through fear of adversity, and corruption of\njoy! Woe to the adversities of the world, once and again, and the third\ntime, from the longing for prosperity, and because adversity itself is\na hard thing, and lest it shatter endurance. Is not the life of man upon\nearth all trial: without any interval?\n\nAnd all my hope is no where but in Thy exceeding great mercy. Give what\nThou enjoinest, and enjoin what Thou wilt. Thou enjoinest us continency;\nand when I knew, saith one, that no man can be continent, unless God\ngive it, this also was a part of wisdom to know whose gift she is. By\ncontinency verily are we bound up and brought back into One, whence we\nwere dissipated into many. For too little doth he love Thee, who loves\nany thing with Thee, which he loveth not for Thee. O love, who ever\nburnest and never consumest! O charity, my God, kindle me. Thou\nenjoinest continency: give me what Thou enjoinest, and enjoin what Thou\nwilt.\n\nVerily Thou enjoinest me continency from the lust of the flesh, the lust\nof the eyes, and the ambition of the world. Thou enjoinest continency\nfrom concubinage; and for wedlock itself, Thou hast counselled something\nbetter than what Thou hast permitted. And since Thou gavest it, it was\ndone, even before I became a dispenser of Thy Sacrament. But there yet\nlive in my memory (whereof I have much spoken) the images of such things\nas my ill custom there fixed; which haunt me, strengthless when I am\nawake: but in sleep, not only so as to give pleasure, but even to obtain\nassent, and what is very like reality. Yea, so far prevails the illusion\nof the image, in my soul and in my flesh, that, when asleep, false\nvisions persuade to that which when waking, the true cannot. Am I not\nthen myself, O Lord my God? And yet there is so much difference betwixt\nmyself and myself, within that moment wherein I pass from waking to\nsleeping, or return from sleeping to waking! Where is reason then,\nwhich, awake, resisteth such suggestions? And should the things\nthemselves be urged on it, it remaineth unshaken. Is it clasped up with\nthe eyes? is it lulled asleep with the senses of the body? And whence is\nit that often even in sleep we resist, and mindful of our purpose, and\nabiding most chastely in it, yield no assent to such enticements? And\nyet so much difference there is, that when it happeneth otherwise, upon\nwaking we return to peace of conscience: and by this very difference\ndiscover that we did not, what yet we be sorry that in some way it was\ndone in us.\n\nArt Thou not mighty, God Almighty, so as to heal all the diseases of my\nsoul, and by Thy more abundant grace to quench even the impure motions\nof my sleep! Thou wilt increase, Lord, Thy gifts more and more in me,\nthat my soul may follow me to Thee, disentangled from the birdlime of\nconcupiscence; that it rebel not against itself, and even in dreams not\nonly not, through images of sense, commit those debasing corruptions,\neven to pollution of the flesh, but not even to consent unto them. For\nthat nothing of this sort should have, over the pure affections even of\na sleeper, the very least influence, not even such as a thought would\nrestrain,--to work this, not only during life, but even at my present\nage, is not hard for the Almighty, Who art able to do above all that\nwe ask or think. But what I yet am in this kind of my evil, have I\nconfessed unto my good Lord; rejoicing with trembling, in that which\nThou hast given me, and bemoaning that wherein I am still imperfect;\nhoping that Thou wilt perfect Thy mercies in me, even to perfect peace,\nwhich my outward and inward man shall have with Thee, when death shall\nbe swallowed up in victory.\n\nThere is another evil of the day, which I would were sufficient for it.\nFor by eating and drinking we repair the daily decays of our body, until\nThou destroy both belly and meat, when Thou shalt slay my emptiness\nwith a wonderful fulness, and clothe this incorruptible with an eternal\nincorruption. But now the necessity is sweet unto me, against which\nsweetness I fight, that I be not taken captive; and carry on a daily war\nby fastings; often bringing my body into subjection; and my pains are\nremoved by pleasure. For hunger and thirst are in a manner pains; they\nburn and kill like a fever, unless the medicine of nourishments come\nto our aid. Which since it is at hand through the consolations of Thy\ngifts, with which land, and water, and air serve our weakness, our\ncalamity is termed gratification.\n\nThis hast Thou taught me, that I should set myself to take food as\nphysic. But while I am passing from the discomfort of emptiness to the\ncontent of replenishing, in the very passage the snare of concupiscence\nbesets me. For that passing, is pleasure, nor is there any other way to\npass thither, whither we needs must pass. And health being the cause of\neating and drinking, there joineth itself as an attendant a dangerous\npleasure, which mostly endeavours to go before it, so that I may for her\nsake do what I say I do, or wish to do, for health's sake. Nor have\neach the same measure; for what is enough for health, is too little for\npleasure. And oft it is uncertain, whether it be the necessary care of\nthe body which is yet asking for sustenance, or whether a voluptuous\ndeceivableness of greediness is proffering its services. In this\nuncertainty the unhappy soul rejoiceth, and therein prepares an excuse\nto shield itself, glad that it appeareth not what sufficeth for the\nmoderation of health, that under the cloak of health, it may disguise\nthe matter of gratification. These temptations I daily endeavour\nto resist, and I call on Thy right hand, and to Thee do I refer my\nperplexities; because I have as yet no settled counsel herein.\n\nI hear the voice of my God commanding, Let not your hearts be\novercharged with surfeiting and drunkenness. Drunkenness is far from\nme; Thou wilt have mercy, that it come not near me. But full feeding\nsometimes creepeth upon Thy servant; Thou wilt have mercy, that it may\nbe far from me. For no one can be continent unless Thou give it. Many\nthings Thou givest us, praying for them; and what good soever we have\nreceived before we prayed, from Thee we received it; yea to the end we\nmight afterwards know this, did we before receive it. Drunkard was I\nnever, but drunkards have I known made sober by Thee. From Thee then it\nwas, that they who never were such, should not so be, as from Thee it\nwas, that they who have been, should not ever so be; and from Thee it\nwas, that both might know from Whom it was. I heard another voice of\nThine, Go not after thy lusts, and from thy pleasure turn away. Yea by\nThy favour have I heard that which I have much loved; neither if we eat,\nshall we abound; neither if we eat not, shall we lack; which is to say,\nneither shall the one make me plenteous, nor the other miserable.\nI heard also another, for I have learned in whatsoever state I am,\ntherewith to be content; I know how to abound, and how to suffer need. I\ncan do all things through Christ that strengtheneth me. Behold a soldier\nof the heavenly camp, not the dust which we are. But remember, Lord,\nthat we are dust, and that of dust Thou hast made man; and he was lost\nand is found. Nor could he of himself do this, because he whom I so\nloved, saying this through the in-breathing of Thy inspiration, was\nof the same dust. I can do all things (saith he) through Him that\nstrengtheneth me. Strengthen me, that I can. Give what Thou enjoinest,\nand enjoin what Thou wilt. He confesses to have received, and when he\nglorieth, in the Lord he glorieth. Another have I heard begging that he\nmight receive. Take from me (saith he) the desires of the belly; whence\nit appeareth, O my holy God, that Thou givest, when that is done which\nThou commandest to be done.\n\nThou hast taught me, good Father, that to the pure, all things are pure;\nbut that it is evil unto the man that eateth with offence; and, that\nevery creature of Thine is good, and nothing to be refused, which is\nreceived with thanksgiving; and that meat commendeth us not to God; and,\nthat no man should judge us in meat or drink; and, that he which eateth,\nlet him not despise him that eateth not; and let not him that eateth\nnot, judge him that eateth. These things have I learned, thanks be\nto Thee, praise to Thee, my God, my Master, knocking at my ears,\nenlightening my heart; deliver me out of all temptation. I fear not\nuncleanness of meat, but the uncleanness of lusting. I know; that Noah\nwas permitted to eat all kind of flesh that was good for food; that\nElijah was fed with flesh; that endued with an admirable abstinence, was\nnot polluted by feeding on living creatures, locusts. I know also that\nEsau was deceived by lusting for lentiles; and that David blamed himself\nfor desiring a draught of water; and that our King was tempted, not\nconcerning flesh, but bread. And therefore the people in the wilderness\nalso deserved to be reproved, not for desiring flesh, but because, in\nthe desire of food, they murmured against the Lord.\n\nPlaced then amid these temptations, I strive daily against concupiscence\nin eating and drinking. For it is not of such nature that I can settle\non cutting it off once for all, and never touching it afterward, as\nI could of concubinage. The bridle of the throat then is to be held\nattempered between slackness and stiffness. And who is he, O Lord, who\nis not some whit transported beyond the limits of necessity? whoever he\nis, he is a great one; let him make Thy Name great. But I am not such,\nfor I am a sinful man. Yet do I too magnify Thy name; and He maketh\nintercession to Thee for my sins who hath overcome the world; numbering\nme among the weak members of His body; because Thine eyes have seen that\nof Him which is imperfect, and in Thy book shall all be written.\n\nWith the allurements of smells, I am not much concerned. When absent, I\ndo not miss them; when present, I do not refuse them; yet ever ready to\nbe without them. So I seem to myself; perchance I am deceived. For that\nalso is a mournful darkness whereby my abilities within me are hidden\nfrom me; so that my mind making enquiry into herself of her own powers,\nventures not readily to believe herself; because even what is in it\nis mostly hidden, unless experience reveal it. And no one ought to be\nsecure in that life, the whole whereof is called a trial, that he who\nhath been capable of worse to be made better, may not likewise of better\nbe made worse. Our only hope, only confidence, only assured promise is\nThy mercy.\n\nThe delights of the ear had more firmly entangled and subdued me; but\nThou didst loosen and free me. Now, in those melodies which Thy words\nbreathe soul into, when sung with a sweet and attuned voice, I do\na little repose; yet not so as to be held thereby, but that I can\ndisengage myself when I will. But with the words which are their\nlife and whereby they find admission into me, themselves seek in my\naffections a place of some estimation, and I can scarcely assign them\none suitable. For at one time I seem to myself to give them more honour\nthan is seemly, feeling our minds to be more holily and fervently raised\nunto a flame of devotion, by the holy words themselves when thus sung,\nthan when not; and that the several affections of our spirit, by a sweet\nvariety, have their own proper measures in the voice and singing, by\nsome hidden correspondence wherewith they are stirred up. But this\ncontentment of the flesh, to which the soul must not be given over to be\nenervated, doth oft beguile me, the sense not so waiting upon reason as\npatiently to follow her; but having been admitted merely for her sake,\nit strives even to run before her, and lead her. Thus in these things I\nunawares sin, but afterwards am aware of it.\n\nAt other times, shunning over-anxiously this very deception, I err in\ntoo great strictness; and sometimes to that degree, as to wish the whole\nmelody of sweet music which is used to David's Psalter, banished from\nmy ears, and the Church's too; and that mode seems to me safer, which I\nremember to have been often told me of Athanasius, Bishop of Alexandria,\nwho made the reader of the psalm utter it with so slight inflection\nof voice, that it was nearer speaking than singing. Yet again, when\nI remember the tears I shed at the Psalmody of Thy Church, in the\nbeginning of my recovered faith; and how at this time I am moved, not\nwith the singing, but with the things sung, when they are sung with a\nclear voice and modulation most suitable, I acknowledge the great use\nof this institution. Thus I fluctuate between peril of pleasure and\napproved wholesomeness; inclined the rather (though not as pronouncing\nan irrevocable opinion) to approve of the usage of singing in the\nchurch; that so by the delight of the ears the weaker minds may rise to\nthe feeling of devotion. Yet when it befalls me to be more moved with\nthe voice than the words sung, I confess to have sinned penally, and\nthen had rather not hear music. See now my state; weep with me, and weep\nfor me, ye, whoso regulate your feelings within, as that good action\nensues. For you who do not act, these things touch not you. But Thou, O\nLord my God, hearken; behold, and see, and have mercy and heal me, Thou,\nin whose presence I have become a problem to myself; and that is my\ninfirmity.\n\nThere remains the pleasure of these eyes of my flesh, on which to make\nmy confessions in the hearing of the ears of Thy temple, those brotherly\nand devout ears; and so to conclude the temptations of the lust of\nthe flesh, which yet assail me, groaning earnestly, and desiring to be\nclothed upon with my house from heaven. The eyes love fair and varied\nforms, and bright and soft colours. Let not these occupy my soul; let\nGod rather occupy it, who made these things, very good indeed, yet is\nHe my good, not they. And these affect me, waking, the whole day, nor\nis any rest given me from them, as there is from musical, sometimes in\nsilence, from all voices. For this queen of colours, the light, bathing\nall which we behold, wherever I am through the day, gliding by me in\nvaried forms, soothes me when engaged on other things, and not observing\nit. And so strongly doth it entwine itself, that if it be suddenly\nwithdrawn, it is with longing sought for, and if absent long, saddeneth\nthe mind.\n\nO Thou Light, which Tobias saw, when, these eyes closed, he taught his\nson the way of life; and himself went before with the feet of charity,\nnever swerving. Or which Isaac saw, when his fleshly eyes being heavy\nand closed by old age, it was vouchsafed him, not knowingly, to bless\nhis sons, but by blessing to know them. Or which Jacob saw, when he\nalso, blind through great age, with illumined heart, in the persons of\nhis sons shed light on the different races of the future people, in\nthem foresignified; and laid his hands, mystically crossed, upon\nhis grandchildren by Joseph, not as their father by his outward eye\ncorrected them, but as himself inwardly discerned. This is the light, it\nis one, and all are one, who see and love it. But that corporeal light\nwhereof I spake, it seasoneth the life of this world for her blind\nlovers, with an enticing and dangerous sweetness. But they who know how\nto praise Thee for it, \"O all-creating Lord,\" take it up in Thy hymns,\nand are not taken up with it in their sleep. Such would I be. These\nseductions of the eyes I resist, lest my feet wherewith I walk upon Thy\nway be ensnared; and I lift up mine invisible eyes to Thee, that Thou\nwouldest pluck my feet out of the snare. Thou dost ever and anon pluck\nthem out, for they are ensnared. Thou ceasest not to pluck them out,\nwhile I often entangle myself in the snares on all sides laid; because\nThou that keepest Israel shalt neither slumber nor sleep.\n\nWhat innumerable toys, made by divers arts and manufactures, in our\napparel, shoes, utensils and all sorts of works, in pictures also and\ndivers images, and these far exceeding all necessary and moderate use\nand all pious meaning, have men added to tempt their own eyes withal;\noutwardly following what themselves make, inwardly forsaking Him by whom\nthemselves were made, and destroying that which themselves have been\nmade! But I, my God and my Glory, do hence also sing a hymn to Thee, and\ndo consecrate praise to Him who consecrateth me, because those beautiful\npatterns which through men's souls are conveyed into their cunning\nhands, come from that Beauty, which is above our souls, which my soul\nday and night sigheth after. But the framers and followers of the\noutward beauties derive thence the rule of judging of them, but not of\nusing them. And He is there, though they perceive Him not, that so they\nmight not wander, but keep their strength for Thee, and not scatter it\nabroad upon pleasurable weariness. And I, though I speak and see this,\nentangle my steps with these outward beauties; but Thou pluckest me out,\nO Lord, Thou pluckest me out; because Thy loving-kindness is before my\neyes. For I am taken miserably, and Thou pluckest me out mercifully;\nsometimes not perceiving it, when I had but lightly lighted upon them;\notherwhiles with pain, because I had stuck fast in them.\n\nTo this is added another form of temptation more manifoldly dangerous.\nFor besides that concupiscence of the flesh which consisteth in the\ndelight of all senses and pleasures, wherein its slaves, who go far from\nThee, waste and perish, the soul hath, through the same senses of the\nbody, a certain vain and curious desire, veiled under the title of\nknowledge and learning, not of delighting in the flesh, but of making\nexperiments through the flesh. The seat whereof being in the appetite\nof knowledge, and sight being the sense chiefly used for attaining\nknowledge, it is in Divine language called The lust of the eyes. For, to\nsee, belongeth properly to the eyes; yet we use this word of the other\nsenses also, when we employ them in seeking knowledge. For we do not\nsay, hark how it flashes, or smell how it glows, or taste how it shines,\nor feel how it gleams; for all these are said to be seen. And yet we\nsay not only, see how it shineth, which the eyes alone can perceive; but\nalso, see how it soundeth, see how it smelleth, see how it tasteth,\nsee how hard it is. And so the general experience of the senses, as\nwas said, is called The lust of the eyes, because the office of seeing,\nwherein the eyes hold the prerogative, the other senses by way\nof similitude take to themselves, when they make search after any\nknowledge.\n\nBut by this may more evidently be discerned, wherein pleasure and\nwherein curiosity is the object of the senses; for pleasure seeketh\nobjects beautiful, melodious, fragrant, savoury, soft; but curiosity,\nfor trial's sake, the contrary as well, not for the sake of suffering\nannoyance, but out of the lust of making trial and knowing them. For\nwhat pleasure hath it, to see in a mangled carcase what will make you\nshudder? and yet if it be lying near, they flock thither, to be made\nsad, and to turn pale. Even in sleep they are afraid to see it. As if\nwhen awake, any one forced them to see it, or any report of its beauty\ndrew them thither! Thus also in the other senses, which it were long to\ngo through. From this disease of curiosity are all those strange sights\nexhibited in the theatre. Hence men go on to search out the hidden\npowers of nature (which is besides our end), which to know profits not,\nand wherein men desire nothing but to know. Hence also, if with that\nsame end of perverted knowledge magical arts be enquired by. Hence also\nin religion itself, is God tempted, when signs and wonders are demanded\nof Him, not desired for any good end, but merely to make trial of.\n\nIn this so vast wilderness, full of snares and dangers, behold many of\nthem I have cut off, and thrust out of my heart, as Thou hast given me,\nO God of my salvation. And yet when dare I say, since so many things of\nthis kind buzz on all sides about our daily life--when dare I say that\nnothing of this sort engages my attention, or causes in me an idle\ninterest? True, the theatres do not now carry me away, nor care I to\nknow the courses of the stars, nor did my soul ever consult ghosts\ndeparted; all sacrilegious mysteries I detest. From Thee, O Lord my God,\nto whom I owe humble and single-hearted service, by what artifices\nand suggestions doth the enemy deal with me to desire some sign! But I\nbeseech Thee by our King, and by our pure and holy country, Jerusalem,\nthat as any consenting thereto is far from me, so may it ever be further\nand further. But when I pray Thee for the salvation of any, my end and\nintention is far different. Thou givest and wilt give me to follow Thee\nwillingly, doing what Thou wilt.\n\nNotwithstanding, in how many most petty and contemptible things is our\ncuriosity daily tempted, and how often we give way, who can recount? How\noften do we begin as if we were tolerating people telling vain stories,\nlest we offend the weak; then by degrees we take interest therein! I go\nnot now to the circus to see a dog coursing a hare; but in the field,\nif passing, that coursing peradventure will distract me even from some\nweighty thought, and draw me after it: not that I turn aside the body\nof my beast, yet still incline my mind thither. And unless Thou, having\nmade me see my infirmity didst speedily admonish me either through the\nsight itself by some contemplation to rise towards Thee, or altogether\nto despise and pass it by, I dully stand fixed therein. What, when\nsitting at home, a lizard catching flies, or a spider entangling them\nrushing into her nets, oft-times takes my attention? Is the thing\ndifferent, because they are but small creatures? I go on from them to\npraise Thee the wonderful Creator and Orderer of all, but this does not\nfirst draw my attention. It is one thing to rise quickly, another not\nto fall. And of such things is my life full; and my one hope is Thy\nwonderful great mercy. For when our heart becomes the receptacle of such\nthings, and is overcharged with throngs of this abundant vanity, then\nare our prayers also thereby often interrupted and distracted, and\nwhilst in Thy presence we direct the voice of our heart to Thine ears,\nthis so great concern is broken off by the rushing in of I know not what\nidle thoughts. Shall we then account this also among things of slight\nconcernment, or shall aught bring us back to hope, save Thy complete\nmercy, since Thou hast begun to change us?\n\nAnd Thou knowest how far Thou hast already changed me, who first\nhealedst me of the lust of vindicating myself, that so Thou mightest\nforgive all the rest of my iniquities, and heal all my infirmities,\nand redeem life from corruption, and crown me with mercy and pity, and\nsatisfy my desire with good things: who didst curb my pride with Thy\nfear, and tame my neck to Thy yoke. And now I bear it and it is light\nunto me, because so hast Thou promised, and hast made it; and verily so\nit was, and I knew it not, when I feared to take it.\n\nBut, O Lord, Thou alone Lord without pride, because Thou art the only\ntrue Lord, who hast no lord; hath this third kind of temptation also\nceased from me, or can it cease through this whole life? To wish,\nnamely, to be feared and loved of men, for no other end, but that we\nmay have a joy therein which is no joy? A miserable life this and a foul\nboastfulness! Hence especially it comes that men do neither purely love\nnor fear Thee. And therefore dost Thou resist the proud, and givest\ngrace to the humble: yea, Thou thunderest down upon the ambitions of the\nworld, and the foundations of the mountains tremble. Because now certain\noffices of human society make it necessary to be loved and feared of\nmen, the adversary of our true blessedness layeth hard at us, every\nwhere spreading his snares of \"well-done, well-done\"; that greedily\ncatching at them, we may be taken unawares, and sever our joy from Thy\ntruth, and set it in the deceivingness of men; and be pleased at being\nloved and feared, not for Thy sake, but in Thy stead: and thus having\nbeen made like him, he may have them for his own, not in the bands of\ncharity, but in the bonds of punishment: who purposed to set his throne\nin the north, that dark and chilled they might serve him, pervertedly\nand crookedly imitating Thee. But we, O Lord, behold we are Thy little\nflock; possess us as Thine, stretch Thy wings over us, and let us fly\nunder them. Be Thou our glory; let us be loved for Thee, and Thy word\nfeared in us. Who would be praised of men when Thou blamest, will not be\ndefended of men when Thou judgest; nor delivered when Thou condemnest.\nBut when--not the sinner is praised in the desires of his soul, nor he\nblessed who doth ungodlily, but--a man is praised for some gift which\nThou hast given him, and he rejoices more at the praise for himself than\nthat he hath the gift for which he is praised, he also is praised, while\nThou dispraisest; better is he who praised than he who is praised. For\nthe one took pleasure in the gift of God in man; the other was better\npleased with the gift of man, than of God.\n\nBy these temptations we are assailed daily, O Lord; without ceasing are\nwe assailed. Our daily furnace is the tongue of men. And in this way\nalso Thou commandest us continence. Give what Thou enjoinest, and enjoin\nwhat Thou wilt. Thou knowest on this matter the groans of my heart, and\nthe floods of mine eyes. For I cannot learn how far I am more cleansed\nfrom this plague, and I much fear my secret sins, which Thine eyes know,\nmine do not. For in other kinds of temptations I have some sort of means\nof examining myself; in this, scarce any. For, in refraining my mind\nfrom the pleasures of the flesh and idle curiosity, I see how much I\nhave attained to, when I do without them; foregoing, or not having them.\nFor then I ask myself how much more or less troublesome it is to me not\nto have them? Then, riches, which are desired, that they may serve to\nsome one or two or all of the three concupiscences, if the soul cannot\ndiscern whether, when it hath them, it despiseth them, they may be\ncast aside, that so it may prove itself. But to be without praise,\nand therein essay our powers, must we live ill, yea so abandonedly and\natrociously, that no one should know without detesting us? What greater\nmadness can be said or thought of? But if praise useth and ought to\naccompany a good life and good works, we ought as little to forego its\ncompany, as good life itself. Yet I know not whether I can well or ill\nbe without anything, unless it be absent.\n\nWhat then do I confess unto Thee in this kind of temptation, O Lord?\nWhat, but that I am delighted with praise, but with truth itself, more\nthan with praise? For were it proposed to me, whether I would, being\nfrenzied in error on all things, be praised by all men, or being\nconsistent and most settled in the truth be blamed by all, I see which\nI should choose. Yet fain would I that the approbation of another should\nnot even increase my joy for any good in me. Yet I own, it doth increase\nit, and not so only, but dispraise doth diminish it. And when I am\ntroubled at this my misery, an excuse occurs to me, which of what value\nit is, Thou God knowest, for it leaves me uncertain. For since Thou hast\ncommanded us not continency alone, that is, from what things to refrain\nour love, but righteousness also, that is, whereon to bestow it, and\nhast willed us to love not Thee only, but our neighbour also; often,\nwhen pleased with intelligent praise, I seem to myself to be pleased\nwith the proficiency or towardliness of my neighbour, or to be grieved\nfor evil in him, when I hear him dispraise either what he understands\nnot, or is good. For sometimes I am grieved at my own praise, either\nwhen those things be praised in me, in which I mislike myself, or even\nlesser and slight goods are more esteemed than they ought. But again how\nknow I whether I am therefore thus affected, because I would not have\nhim who praiseth me differ from me about myself; not as being influenced\nby concern for him, but because those same good things which please me\nin myself, please me more when they please another also? For some how I\nam not praised when my judgment of myself is not praised; forasmuch\nas either those things are praised, which displease me; or those more,\nwhich please me less. Am I then doubtful of myself in this matter?\n\nBehold, in Thee, O Truth, I see that I ought not to be moved at my own\npraises, for my own sake, but for the good of my neighbour. And whether\nit be so with me, I know not. For herein I know less of myself than of\nThee. I beseech now, O my God, discover to me myself also, that I may\nconfess unto my brethren, who are to pray for me, wherein I find myself\nmaimed. Let me examine myself again more diligently. If in my praise I\nam moved with the good of my neighbour, why am I less moved if another\nbe unjustly dispraised than if it be myself? Why am I more stung by\nreproach cast upon myself, than at that cast upon another, with the\nsame injustice, before me? Know I not this also? or is it at last that I\ndeceive myself, and do not the truth before Thee in my heart and tongue?\nThis madness put far from me, O Lord, lest mine own mouth be to me the\nsinner's oil to make fat my head. I am poor and needy; yet best, while\nin hidden groanings I displease myself, and seek Thy mercy, until what\nis lacking in my defective state be renewed and perfected, on to that\npeace which the eye of the proud knoweth not.\n\nYet the word which cometh out of the mouth, and deeds known to men,\nbring with them a most dangerous temptation through the love of praise:\nwhich, to establish a certain excellency of our own, solicits and\ncollects men's suffrages. It tempts, even when it is reproved by myself\nin myself, on the very ground that it is reproved; and often glories\nmore vainly of the very contempt of vain-glory; and so it is no longer\ncontempt of vain-glory, whereof it glories; for it doth not contemn when\nit glorieth.\n\nWithin also, within is another evil, arising out of a like temptation;\nwhereby men become vain, pleasing themselves in themselves, though they\nplease not, or displease or care not to please others. But pleasing\nthemselves, they much displease Thee, not only taking pleasure in things\nnot good, as if good, but in Thy good things, as though their own; or\neven if as Thine, yet as though for their own merits; or even if as\nthough from Thy grace, yet not with brotherly rejoicing, but envying\nthat grace to others. In all these and the like perils and travails,\nThou seest the trembling of my heart; and I rather feel my wounds to be\ncured by Thee, than not inflicted by me.\n\nWhere hast Thou not walked with me, O Truth, teaching me what to beware,\nand what to desire; when I referred to Thee what I could discover\nhere below, and consulted Thee? With my outward senses, as I might, I\nsurveyed the world, and observed the life, which my body hath from me,\nand these my senses. Thence entered I the recesses of my memory, those\nmanifold and spacious chambers, wonderfully furnished with innumerable\nstores; and I considered, and stood aghast; being able to discern\nnothing of these things without Thee, and finding none of them to be\nThee. Nor was I myself, who found out these things, who went over them\nall, and laboured to distinguish and to value every thing according\nto its dignity, taking some things upon the report of my senses,\nquestioning about others which I felt to be mingled with myself,\nnumbering and distinguishing the reporters themselves, and in the large\ntreasure-house of my memory revolving some things, storing up others,\ndrawing out others. Nor yet was I myself when I did this, i.e., that my\npower whereby I did it, neither was it Thou, for Thou art the abiding\nlight, which I consulted concerning all these, whether they were,\nwhat they were, and how to be valued; and I heard Thee directing and\ncommanding me; and this I often do, this delights me, and as far as I\nmay be freed from necessary duties, unto this pleasure have I recourse.\nNor in all these which I run over consulting Thee can I find any safe\nplace for my soul, but in Thee; whither my scattered members may\nbe gathered, and nothing of me depart from Thee. And sometimes Thou\nadmittest me to an affection, very unusual, in my inmost soul; rising to\na strange sweetness, which if it were perfected in me, I know not what\nin it would not belong to the life to come. But through my miserable\nencumbrances I sink down again into these lower things, and am swept\nback by former custom, and am held, and greatly weep, but am greatly\nheld. So much doth the burden of a bad custom weigh us down. Here I can\nstay, but would not; there I would, but cannot; both ways, miserable.\n\nThus then have I considered the sicknesses of my sins in that threefold\nconcupiscence, and have called Thy right hand to my help. For with a\nwounded heart have I beheld Thy brightness, and stricken back I said,\n\"Who can attain thither? I am cast away from the sight of Thine eyes.\"\nThou art the Truth who presidest over all, but I through my covetousness\nwould not indeed forego Thee, but would with Thee possess a lie; as no\nman would in such wise speak falsely, as himself to be ignorant of the\ntruth. So then I lost Thee, because Thou vouchsafest not to be possessed\nwith a lie.\n\nWhom could I find to reconcile me to Thee? was I to have recourse to\nAngels? by what prayers? by what sacraments? Many endeavouring to return\nunto Thee, and of themselves unable, have, as I hear, tried this, and\nfallen into the desire of curious visions, and been accounted worthy\nto be deluded. For they, being high minded, sought Thee by the pride of\nlearning, swelling out rather than smiting upon their breasts, and so\nby the agreement of their heart, drew unto themselves the princes of the\nair, the fellow-conspirators of their pride, by whom, through magical\ninfluences, they were deceived, seeking a mediator, by whom they might\nbe purged, and there was none. For the devil it was, transforming\nhimself into an Angel of light. And it much enticed proud flesh, that he\nhad no body of flesh. For they were mortal, and sinners; but thou, Lord,\nto whom they proudly sought to be reconciled, art immortal, and without\nsin. But a mediator between God and man must have something like to God,\nsomething like to men; lest being in both like to man, he should be\nfar from God: or if in both like God, too unlike man: and so not be a\nmediator. That deceitful mediator then, by whom in Thy secret judgments\npride deserved to be deluded, hath one thing in common with man, that\nis sin; another he would seem to have in common with God; and not being\nclothed with the mortality of flesh, would vaunt himself to be immortal.\nBut since the wages of sin is death, this hath he in common with men,\nthat with them he should be condemned to death.\n\nBut the true Mediator, Whom in Thy secret mercy Thou hast showed to the\nhumble, and sentest, that by His example also they might learn that\nsame humility, that Mediator between God and man, the Man Christ Jesus,\nappeared betwixt mortal sinners and the immortal just One; mortal with\nmen, just with God: that because the wages of righteousness is life and\npeace, He might by a righteousness conjoined with God make void that\ndeath of sinners, now made righteous, which He willed to have in common\nwith them. Hence He was showed forth to holy men of old; that so they,\nthrough faith in His Passion to come, as we through faith of it passed,\nmight be saved. For as Man, He was a Mediator; but as the Word, not in\nthe middle between God and man, because equal to God, and God with God,\nand together one God.\n\nHow hast Thou loved us, good Father, who sparedst not Thine only Son,\nbut deliveredst Him up for us ungodly! How hast Thou loved us, for whom\nHe that thought it no robbery to be equal with Thee, was made subject\neven to the death of the cross, He alone, free among the dead, having\npower to lay down His life, and power to take it again: for us to Thee\nboth Victor and Victim, and therefore Victor, because the Victim; for\nus to Thee Priest and Sacrifice, and therefore Priest because the\nSacrifice; making us to Thee, of servants, sons by being born of Thee,\nand serving us. Well then is my hope strong in Him, that Thou wilt heal\nall my infirmities, by Him Who sitteth at Thy right hand and maketh\nintercession for us; else should I despair. For many and great are my\ninfirmities, many they are, and great; but Thy medicine is mightier. We\nmight imagine that Thy Word was far from any union with man, and despair\nof ourselves, unless He had been made flesh and dwelt among us.\n\nAffrighted with my sins and the burden of my misery, I had cast in my\nheart, and had purposed to flee to the wilderness: but Thou forbadest\nme, and strengthenedst me, saying, Therefore Christ died for all, that\nthey which live may now no longer live unto themselves, but unto Him\nthat died for them. See, Lord, I cast my care upon Thee, that I may\nlive, and consider wondrous things out of Thy law. Thou knowest my\nunskilfulness, and my infirmities; teach me, and heal me. He, Thine only\nSon, in Whom are hid all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge, hath\nredeemed me with His blood. Let not the proud speak evil of me; because\nI meditate on my ransom, and eat and drink, and communicate it; and\npoor, desired to be satisfied from Him, amongst those that eat and are\nsatisfied, and they shall praise the Lord who seek Him.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XI\n\n\nLord, since eternity is Thine, art Thou ignorant of what I say to Thee?\nor dost Thou see in time, what passeth in time? Why then do I lay in\norder before Thee so many relations? Not, of a truth, that Thou mightest\nlearn them through me, but to stir up mine own and my readers' devotions\ntowards Thee, that we may all say, Great is the Lord, and greatly to be\npraised. I have said already; and again will say, for love of Thy\nlove do I this. For we pray also, and yet Truth hath said, Your Father\nknoweth what you have need of, before you ask. It is then our affections\nwhich we lay open unto Thee, confessing our own miseries, and Thy\nmercies upon us, that Thou mayest free us wholly, since Thou hast begun,\nthat we may cease to be wretched in ourselves, and be blessed in Thee;\nseeing Thou hast called us, to become poor in spirit, and meek, and\nmourners, and hungering and athirst after righteousness, and merciful,\nand pure in heart, and peace-makers. See, I have told Thee many things,\nas I could and as I would, because Thou first wouldest that I should\nconfess unto Thee, my Lord God. For Thou art good, for Thy mercy\nendureth for ever.\n\nBut how shall I suffice with the tongue of my pen to utter all Thy\nexhortations, and all Thy terrors, and comforts, and guidances, whereby\nThou broughtest me to preach Thy Word, and dispense Thy Sacrament to Thy\npeople? And if I suffice to utter them in order, the drops of time are\nprecious with me; and long have I burned to meditate in Thy law, and\ntherein to confess to Thee my skill and unskilfulness, the day-break of\nThy enlightening, and the remnants of my darkness, until infirmity be\nswallowed up by strength. And I would not have aught besides steal away\nthose hours which I find free from the necessities of refreshing my body\nand the powers of my mind, and of the service which we owe to men, or\nwhich though we owe not, we yet pay.\n\nO Lord my God, give ear unto my prayer, and let Thy mercy hearken unto\nmy desire: because it is anxious not for myself alone, but would serve\nbrotherly charity; and Thou seest my heart, that so it is. I would\nsacrifice to Thee the service of my thought and tongue; do Thou give me,\nwhat I may offer Thee. For I am poor and needy, Thou rich to all that\ncall upon Thee; Who, inaccessible to care, carest for us. Circumcise\nfrom all rashness and all lying both my inward and outward lips: let\nThy Scriptures be my pure delights: let me not be deceived in them, nor\ndeceive out of them. Lord, hearken and pity, O Lord my God, Light of the\nblind, and Strength of the weak; yea also Light of those that see, and\nStrength of the strong; hearken unto my soul, and hear it crying out of\nthe depths. For if Thine ears be not with us in the depths also, whither\nshall we go? whither cry? The day is Thine, and the night is Thine; at\nThy beck the moments flee by. Grant thereof a space for our meditations\nin the hidden things of Thy law, and close it not against us who knock.\nFor not in vain wouldest Thou have the darksome secrets of so many pages\nwritten; nor are those forests without their harts which retire therein\nand range and walk; feed, lie down, and ruminate. Perfect me, O\nLord, and reveal them unto me. Behold, Thy voice is my joy; Thy voice\nexceedeth the abundance of pleasures. Give what I love: for I do love;\nand this hast Thou given: forsake not Thy own gifts, nor despise Thy\ngreen herb that thirsteth. Let me confess unto Thee whatsoever I shall\nfind in Thy books, and hear the voice of praise, and drink in Thee,\nand meditate on the wonderful things out of Thy law; even from the\nbeginning, wherein Thou madest the heaven and the earth, unto the\neverlasting reigning of Thy holy city with Thee.\n\nLord, have mercy on me, and hear my desire. For it is not, I deem, of\nthe earth, not of gold and silver, and precious stones, or gorgeous\napparel, or honours and offices, or the pleasures of the flesh, or\nnecessaries for the body and for this life of our pilgrimage: all which\nshall be added unto those that seek Thy kingdom and Thy righteousness.\nBehold, O Lord my God, wherein is my desire. The wicked have told me of\ndelights, but not such as Thy law, O Lord. Behold, wherein is my desire.\nBehold, Father, behold, and see and approve; and be it pleasing in the\nsight of Thy mercy, that I may find grace before Thee, that the inward\nparts of Thy words be opened to me knocking. I beseech by our Lord Jesus\nChrist Thy Son, the Man of Thy right hand, the Son of man, whom Thou\nhast established for Thyself, as Thy Mediator and ours, through Whom\nThou soughtest us, not seeking Thee, but soughtest us, that we might\nseek Thee,--Thy Word, through Whom Thou madest all things, and among\nthem, me also;--Thy Only-Begotten, through Whom Thou calledst to\nadoption the believing people, and therein me also;--I beseech Thee by\nHim, who sitteth at Thy right hand, and intercedeth with Thee for us,\nin Whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge. These do\nI seek in Thy books. Of Him did Moses write; this saith Himself; this\nsaith the Truth.\n\nI would hear and understand, how \"In the Beginning Thou madest the\nheaven and earth.\" Moses wrote this, wrote and departed, passed hence\nfrom Thee to Thee; nor is he now before me. For if he were, I would hold\nhim and ask him, and beseech him by Thee to open these things unto me,\nand would lay the ears of my body to the sounds bursting out of his\nmouth. And should he speak Hebrew, in vain will it strike on my senses,\nnor would aught of it touch my mind; but if Latin, I should know what\nhe said. But whence should I know, whether he spake truth? Yea, and if\nI knew this also, should I know it from him? Truly within me, within, in\nthe chamber of my thoughts, Truth, neither Hebrew, nor Greek, nor Latin,\nnor barbarian, without organs of voice or tongue, or sound of syllables,\nwould say, \"It is truth,\" and I forthwith should say confidently to that\nman of Thine, \"thou sayest truly.\" Whereas then I cannot enquire of him,\nThee, Thee I beseech, O Truth, full of Whom he spake truth, Thee, my\nGod, I beseech, forgive my sins; and Thou, who gavest him Thy servant to\nspeak these things, give to me also to understand them.\n\nBehold, the heavens and the earth are; they proclaim that they were\ncreated; for they change and vary. Whereas whatsoever hath not been\nmade, and yet is, hath nothing in it, which before it had not; and\nthis it is, to change and vary. They proclaim also, that they made not\nthemselves; \"therefore we are, because we have been made; we were not\ntherefore, before we were, so as to make ourselves.\" Now the evidence\nof the thing, is the voice of the speakers. Thou therefore, Lord, madest\nthem; who art beautiful, for they are beautiful; who art good, for they\nare good; who art, for they are; yet are they not beautiful nor good,\nnor are they, as Thou their Creator art; compared with Whom, they are\nneither beautiful, nor good, nor are. This we know, thanks be to Thee.\nAnd our knowledge, compared with Thy knowledge, is ignorance.\n\nBut how didst Thou make the heaven and the earth? and what the engine of\nThy so mighty fabric? For it was not as a human artificer, forming one\nbody from another, according to the discretion of his mind, which can\nin some way invest with such a form, as it seeth in itself by its inward\neye. And whence should he be able to do this, unless Thou hadst made\nthat mind? and he invests with a form what already existeth, and hath\na being, as clay, or stone, or wood, or gold, or the like. And whence\nshould they be, hadst not Thou appointed them? Thou madest the artificer\nhis body, Thou the mind commanding the limbs, Thou the matter whereof he\nmakes any thing; Thou the apprehension whereby to take in his art, and\nsee within what he doth without; Thou the sense of his body, whereby,\nas by an interpreter, he may from mind to matter, convey that which he\ndoth, and report to his mind what is done; that it within may consult\nthe truth, which presideth over itself, whether it be well done or no.\nAll these praise Thee, the Creator of all. But how dost Thou make them?\nhow, O God, didst Thou make heaven and earth? Verily, neither in the\nheaven, nor in the earth, didst Thou make heaven and earth; nor in the\nair, or waters, seeing these also belong to the heaven and the earth;\nnor in the whole world didst Thou make the whole world; because there\nwas no place where to make it, before it was made, that it might be. Nor\ndidst Thou hold any thing in Thy hand, whereof to make heaven and earth.\nFor whence shouldest Thou have this, which Thou hadst not made, thereof\nto make any thing? For what is, but because Thou art? Therefore Thou\nspokest, and they were made, and in Thy Word Thou madest them.\n\nBut how didst Thou speak? In the way that the voice came out of the\ncloud, saying, This is my beloved Son? For that voice passed by and\npassed away, began and ended; the syllables sounded and passed away,\nthe second after the first, the third after the second, and so forth in\norder, until the last after the rest, and silence after the last. Whence\nit is abundantly clear and plain that the motion of a creature expressed\nit, itself temporal, serving Thy eternal will. And these Thy words,\ncreated for a time, the outward ear reported to the intelligent soul,\nwhose inward ear lay listening to Thy Eternal Word. But she compared\nthese words sounding in time, with that Thy Eternal Word in silence, and\nsaid \"It is different, far different. These words are far beneath me,\nnor are they, because they flee and pass away; but the Word of my Lord\nabideth above me for ever.\" If then in sounding and passing words Thou\nsaidst that heaven and earth should be made, and so madest heaven and\nearth, there was a corporeal creature before heaven and earth, by whose\nmotions in time that voice might take his course in time. But there was\nnought corporeal before heaven and earth; or if there were, surely Thou\nhadst, without such a passing voice, created that, whereof to make this\npassing voice, by which to say, Let the heaven and the earth be made.\nFor whatsoever that were, whereof such a voice were made, unless by\nThee it were made, it could not be at all. By what Word then didst Thou\nspeak, that a body might be made, whereby these words again might be\nmade?\n\nThou callest us then to understand the Word, God, with Thee God, Which\nis spoken eternally, and by It are all things spoken eternally. For what\nwas spoken was not spoken successively, one thing concluded that the\nnext might be spoken, but all things together and eternally. Else have\nwe time and change; and not a true eternity nor true immortality. This I\nknow, O my God, and give thanks. I know, I confess to Thee, O Lord, and\nwith me there knows and blesses Thee, whoso is not unthankful to assure\nTruth. We know, Lord, we know; since inasmuch as anything is not which\nwas, and is, which was not, so far forth it dieth and ariseth. Nothing\nthen of Thy Word doth give place or replace, because It is truly\nimmortal and eternal. And therefore unto the Word coeternal with Thee\nThou dost at once and eternally say all that Thou dost say; and whatever\nThou sayest shall be made is made; nor dost Thou make, otherwise than by\nsaying; and yet are not all things made together, or everlasting, which\nThou makest by saying.\n\nWhy, I beseech Thee, O Lord my God? I see it in a way; but how to\nexpress it, I know not, unless it be, that whatsoever begins to be, and\nleaves off to be, begins then, and leaves off then, when in Thy eternal\nReason it is known, that it ought to begin or leave off; in which Reason\nnothing beginneth or leaveth off. This is Thy Word, which is also \"the\nBeginning, because also It speaketh unto us.\" Thus in the Gospel He\nspeaketh through the flesh; and this sounded outwardly in the ears of\nmen; that it might be believed and sought inwardly, and found in\nthe eternal Verity; where the good and only Master teacheth all His\ndisciples. There, Lord, hear I Thy voice speaking unto me; because He\nspeaketh us, who teacheth us; but He that teacheth us not, though\nHe speaketh, to us He speaketh not. Who now teacheth us, but the\nunchangeable Truth? for even when we are admonished through a changeable\ncreature; we are but led to the unchangeable Truth; where we learn\ntruly, while we stand and hear Him, and rejoice greatly because of the\nBridegroom's voice, restoring us to Him, from Whom we are. And therefore\nthe Beginning, because unless It abided, there should not, when we\nwent astray, be whither to return. But when we return from error, it is\nthrough knowing; and that we may know, He teacheth us, because He is the\nBeginning, and speaking unto us.\n\nIn this Beginning, O God, hast Thou made heaven and earth, in Thy\nWord, in Thy Son, in Thy Power, in Thy Wisdom, in Thy Truth; wondrously\nspeaking, and wondrously making. Who shall comprehend? Who declare\nit? What is that which gleams through me, and strikes my heart without\nhurting it; and I shudder and kindle? I shudder, inasmuch as I am unlike\nit; I kindle, inasmuch as I am like it. It is Wisdom, Wisdom's self\nwhich gleameth through me; severing my cloudiness which yet again\nmantles over me, fainting from it, through the darkness which for my\npunishment gathers upon me. For my strength is brought down in need,\nso that I cannot support my blessings, till Thou, Lord, Who hast been\ngracious to all mine iniquities, shalt heal all my infirmities. For\nThou shalt also redeem my life from corruption, and crown me with loving\nkindness and tender mercies, and shalt satisfy my desire with good\nthings, because my youth shall be renewed like an eagle's. For in hope\nwe are saved, wherefore we through patience wait for Thy promises. Let\nhim that is able, hear Thee inwardly discoursing out of Thy oracle: I\nwill boldly cry out, How wonderful are Thy works, O Lord, in Wisdom\nhast Thou made them all; and this Wisdom is the Beginning, and in that\nBeginning didst Thou make heaven and earth.\n\nLo, are they not full of their old leaven, who say to us, \"What was\nGod doing before He made heaven and earth? For if (say they) He were\nunemployed and wrought not, why does He not also henceforth, and for\never, as He did heretofore? For did any new motion arise in God, and a\nnew will to make a creature, which He had never before made, how then\nwould that be a true eternity, where there ariseth a will, which was\nnot? For the will of God is not a creature, but before the creature;\nseeing nothing could be created, unless the will of the Creator had\npreceded. The will of God then belongeth to His very Substance. And\nif aught have arisen in God's Substance, which before was not, that\nSubstance cannot be truly called eternal. But if the will of God has\nbeen from eternity that the creature should be, why was not the creature\nalso from eternity?\"\n\nWho speak thus, do not yet understand Thee, O Wisdom of God, Light of\nsouls, understand not yet how the things be made, which by Thee, and\nin Thee are made: yet they strive to comprehend things eternal, whilst\ntheir heart fluttereth between the motions of things past and to come,\nand is still unstable. Who shall hold it, and fix it, that it be settled\nawhile, and awhile catch the glory of that ever-fixed Eternity, and\ncompare it with the times which are never fixed, and see that it cannot\nbe compared; and that a long time cannot become long, but out of many\nmotions passing by, which cannot be prolonged altogether; but that in\nthe Eternal nothing passeth, but the whole is present; whereas no time\nis all at once present: and that all time past, is driven on by time to\ncome, and all to come followeth upon the past; and all past and to come,\nis created, and flows out of that which is ever present? Who shall hold\nthe heart of man, that it may stand still, and see how eternity ever\nstill-standing, neither past nor to come, uttereth the times past and to\ncome? Can my hand do this, or the hand of my mouth by speech bring about\na thing so great?\n\nSee, I answer him that asketh, \"What did God before He made heaven and\nearth?\" I answer not as one is said to have done merrily (eluding the\npressure of the question), \"He was preparing hell (saith he) for pryers\ninto mysteries.\" It is one thing to answer enquiries, another to make\nsport of enquirers. So I answer not; for rather had I answer, \"I know\nnot,\" what I know not, than so as to raise a laugh at him who asketh\ndeep things and gain praise for one who answereth false things. But I\nsay that Thou, our God, art the Creator of every creature: and if by\nthe name \"heaven and earth,\" every creature be understood; I boldly say,\n\"that before God made heaven and earth, He did not make any thing.\" For\nif He made, what did He make but a creature? And would I knew whatsoever\nI desire to know to my profit, as I know, that no creature was made,\nbefore there was made any creature.\n\nBut if any excursive brain rove over the images of forepassed times, and\nwonder that Thou the God Almighty and All-creating and All-supporting,\nMaker of heaven and earth, didst for innumerable ages forbear from so\ngreat a work, before Thou wouldest make it; let him awake and consider,\nthat he wonders at false conceits. For whence could innumerable ages\npass by, which Thou madest not, Thou the Author and Creator of all\nages? or what times should there be, which were not made by Thee? or\nhow should they pass by, if they never were? Seeing then Thou art the\nCreator of all times, if any time was before Thou madest heaven and\nearth, why say they that Thou didst forego working? For that very time\ndidst Thou make, nor could times pass by, before Thou madest those\ntimes. But if before heaven and earth there was no time, why is it\ndemanded, what Thou then didst? For there was no \"then,\" when there was\nno time.\n\nNor dost Thou by time, precede time: else shouldest Thou not precede\nall times. But Thou precedest all things past, by the sublimity of\nan ever-present eternity; and surpassest all future because they are\nfuture, and when they come, they shall be past; but Thou art the Same,\nand Thy years fail not. Thy years neither come nor go; whereas ours both\ncome and go, that they all may come. Thy years stand together, because\nthey do stand; nor are departing thrust out by coming years, for they\npass not away; but ours shall all be, when they shall no more be. Thy\nyears are one day; and Thy day is not daily, but To-day, seeing Thy\nTo-day gives not place unto tomorrow, for neither doth it replace\nyesterday. Thy To-day, is Eternity; therefore didst Thou beget The\nCoeternal, to whom Thou saidst, This day have I begotten Thee. Thou hast\nmade all things; and before all times Thou art: neither in any time was\ntime not.\n\nAt no time then hadst Thou not made any thing, because time itself Thou\nmadest. And no times are coeternal with Thee, because Thou abidest;\nbut if they abode, they should not be times. For what is time? Who can\nreadily and briefly explain this? Who can even in thought comprehend it,\nso as to utter a word about it? But what in discourse do we mention more\nfamiliarly and knowingly, than time? And, we understand, when we speak\nof it; we understand also, when we hear it spoken of by another. What\nthen is time? If no one asks me, I know: if I wish to explain it to one\nthat asketh, I know not: yet I say boldly that I know, that if nothing\npassed away, time past were not; and if nothing were coming, a time to\ncome were not; and if nothing were, time present were not. Those two\ntimes then, past and to come, how are they, seeing the past now is\nnot, and that to come is not yet? But the present, should it always be\npresent, and never pass into time past, verily it should not be time,\nbut eternity. If time present (if it is to be time) only cometh into\nexistence, because it passeth into time past, how can we say that either\nthis is, whose cause of being is, that it shall not be; so, namely, that\nwe cannot truly say that time is, but because it is tending not to be?\n\nAnd yet we say, \"a long time\" and \"a short time\"; still, only of time\npast or to come. A long time past (for example) we call an hundred years\nsince; and a long time to come, an hundred years hence. But a short\ntime past, we call (suppose) often days since; and a short time to come,\noften days hence. But in what sense is that long or short, which is not?\nFor the past, is not now; and the future, is not yet. Let us not then\nsay, \"it is long\"; but of the past, \"it hath been long\"; and of the\nfuture, \"it will be long.\" O my Lord, my Light, shall not here also Thy\nTruth mock at man? For that past time which was long, was it long when\nit was now past, or when it was yet present? For then might it be long,\nwhen there was, what could be long; but when past, it was no longer;\nwherefore neither could that be long, which was not at all. Let us not\nthen say, \"time past hath been long\": for we shall not find, what hath\nbeen long, seeing that since it was past, it is no more, but let us say,\n\"that present time was long\"; because, when it was present, it was long.\nFor it had not yet passed away, so as not to be; and therefore there\nwas, what could be long; but after it was past, that ceased also to be\nlong, which ceased to be.\n\nLet us see then, thou soul of man, whether present time can be long:\nfor to thee it is given to feel and to measure length of time. What wilt\nthou answer me? Are an hundred years, when present, a long time? See\nfirst, whether an hundred years can be present. For if the first of\nthese years be now current, it is present, but the other ninety and\nnine are to come, and therefore are not yet, but if the second year be\ncurrent, one is now past, another present, the rest to come. And so if\nwe assume any middle year of this hundred to be present, all before it,\nare past; all after it, to come; wherefore an hundred years cannot be\npresent. But see at least whether that one which is now current, itself\nis present; for if the current month be its first, the rest are to come;\nif the second, the first is already past, and the rest are not yet.\nTherefore, neither is the year now current present; and if not present\nas a whole, then is not the year present. For twelve months are a year;\nof which whatever by the current month is present; the rest past, or to\ncome. Although neither is that current month present; but one day only;\nthe rest being to come, if it be the first; past, if the last; if any of\nthe middle, then amid past and to come.\n\nSee how the present time, which alone we found could be called long, is\nabridged to the length scarce of one day. But let us examine that also;\nbecause neither is one day present as a whole. For it is made up of four\nand twenty hours of night and day: of which, the first hath the rest to\ncome; the last hath them past; and any of the middle hath those before\nit past, those behind it to come. Yea, that one hour passeth away in\nflying particles. Whatsoever of it hath flown away, is past; whatsoever\nremaineth, is to come. If an instant of time be conceived, which cannot\nbe divided into the smallest particles of moments, that alone is it,\nwhich may be called present. Which yet flies with such speed from future\nto past, as not to be lengthened out with the least stay. For if it be,\nit is divided into past and future. The present hath no space. Where\nthen is the time, which we may call long? Is it to come? Of it we do not\nsay, \"it is long\"; because it is not yet, so as to be long; but we say,\n\"it will be long.\" When therefore will it be? For if even then, when it\nis yet to come, it shall not be long (because what can be long, as yet\nis not), and so it shall then be long, when from future which as yet is\nnot, it shall begin now to be, and have become present, that so there\nshould exist what may be long; then does time present cry out in the\nwords above, that it cannot be long.\n\nAnd yet, Lord, we perceive intervals of times, and compare them, and\nsay, some are shorter, and others longer. We measure also, how much\nlonger or shorter this time is than that; and we answer, \"This is\ndouble, or treble; and that, but once, or only just so much as that.\"\nBut we measure times as they are passing, by perceiving them; but past,\nwhich now are not, or the future, which are not yet, who can measure?\nunless a man shall presume to say, that can be measured, which is not.\nWhen then time is passing, it may be perceived and measured; but when it\nis past, it cannot, because it is not.\n\nI ask, Father, I affirm not: O my God, rule and guide me. \"Who will tell\nme that there are not three times (as we learned when boys, and taught\nboys), past, present, and future; but present only, because those two\nare not? Or are they also; and when from future it becometh present,\ndoth it come out of some secret place; and so, when retiring, from\npresent it becometh past? For where did they, who foretold things to\ncome, see them, if as yet they be not? For that which is not, cannot be\nseen. And they who relate things past, could not relate them, if in mind\nthey did not discern them, and if they were not, they could no way be\ndiscerned. Things then past and to come, are.\"\n\nPermit me, Lord, to seek further. O my hope, let not my purpose be\nconfounded. For if times past and to come be, I would know where they\nbe. Which yet if I cannot, yet I know, wherever they be, they are not\nthere as future, or past, but present. For if there also they be future,\nthey are not yet there; if there also they be past, they are no longer\nthere. Wheresoever then is whatsoever is, it is only as present.\nAlthough when past facts are related, there are drawn out of the memory,\nnot the things themselves which are past, but words which, conceived by\nthe images of the things, they, in passing, have through the senses left\nas traces in the mind. Thus my childhood, which now is not, is in time\npast, which now is not: but now when I recall its image, and tell of it,\nI behold it in the present, because it is still in my memory. Whether\nthere be a like cause of foretelling things to come also; that of\nthings which as yet are not, the images may be perceived before, already\nexisting, I confess, O my God, I know not. This indeed I know, that we\ngenerally think before on our future actions, and that that forethinking\nis present, but the action whereof we forethink is not yet, because it\nis to come. Which, when we have set upon, and have begun to do what\nwe were forethinking, then shall that action be; because then it is no\nlonger future, but present.\n\nWhich way soever then this secret fore-perceiving of things to come be;\nthat only can be seen, which is. But what now is, is not future,\nbut present. When then things to come are said to be seen, it is not\nthemselves which as yet are not (that is, which are to be), but their\ncauses perchance or signs are seen, which already are. Therefore they\nare not future but present to those who now see that, from which\nthe future, being foreconceived in the mind, is foretold. Which\nfore-conceptions again now are; and those who foretell those things, do\nbehold the conceptions present before them. Let now the numerous variety\nof things furnish me some example. I behold the day-break, I foreshow,\nthat the sun, is about to rise. What I behold, is present; what I\nforesignify, to come; not the sun, which already is; but the sun-rising,\nwhich is not yet. And yet did I not in my mind imagine the sun-rising\nitself (as now while I speak of it), I could not foretell it. But\nneither is that day-break which I discern in the sky, the sun-rising,\nalthough it goes before it; nor that imagination of my mind; which two\nare seen now present, that the other which is to be may be foretold.\nFuture things then are not yet: and if they be not yet, they are not:\nand if they are not, they cannot be seen; yet foretold they may be from\nthings present, which are already, and are seen.\n\nThou then, Ruler of Thy creation, by what way dost Thou teach souls\nthings to come? For Thou didst teach Thy Prophets. By what way dost\nThou, to whom nothing is to come, teach things to come; or rather of the\nfuture, dost teach things present? For, what is not, neither can it be\ntaught. Too far is this way of my ken: it is too mighty for me, I cannot\nattain unto it; but from Thee I can, when Thou shalt vouchsafe it, O\nsweet light of my hidden eyes.\n\nWhat now is clear and plain is, that neither things to come nor past\nare. Nor is it properly said, \"there be three times, past, present,\nand to come\": yet perchance it might be properly said, \"there be three\ntimes; a present of things past, a present of things present, and a\npresent of things future.\" For these three do exist in some sort, in the\nsoul, but otherwhere do I not see them; present of things past, memory;\npresent of things present, sight; present of things future, expectation.\nIf thus we be permitted to speak, I see three times, and I confess there\nare three. Let it be said too, \"there be three times, past, present, and\nto come\": in our incorrect way. See, I object not, nor gainsay, nor find\nfault, if what is so said be but understood, that neither what is to be,\nnow is, nor what is past. For but few things are there, which we\nspeak properly, most things improperly; still the things intended are\nunderstood.\n\nI said then even now, we measure times as they pass, in order to be able\nto say, this time is twice so much as that one; or, this is just so\nmuch as that; and so of any other parts of time, which be measurable.\nWherefore, as I said, we measure times as they pass. And if any should\nask me, \"How knowest thou?\" I might answer, \"I know, that we do measure,\nnor can we measure things that are not; and things past and to come, are\nnot.\" But time present how do we measure, seeing it hath no space? It\nis measured while passing, but when it shall have passed, it is not\nmeasured; for there will be nothing to be measured. But whence, by what\nway, and whither passes it while it is a measuring? whence, but from the\nfuture? Which way, but through the present? whither, but into the past?\nFrom that therefore, which is not yet, through that, which hath no\nspace, into that, which now is not. Yet what do we measure, if not time\nin some space? For we do not say, single, and double, and triple, and\nequal, or any other like way that we speak of time, except of spaces\nof times. In what space then do we measure time passing? In the future,\nwhence it passeth through? But what is not yet, we measure not. Or in\nthe present, by which it passes? but no space, we do not measure: or in\nthe past, to which it passes? But neither do we measure that, which now\nis not.\n\nMy soul is on fire to know this most intricate enigma. Shut it not up, O\nLord my God, good Father; through Christ I beseech Thee, do not shut up\nthese usual, yet hidden things, from my desire, that it be hindered from\npiercing into them; but let them dawn through Thy enlightening mercy, O\nLord. Whom shall I enquire of concerning these things? and to whom shall\nI more fruitfully confess my ignorance, than to Thee, to Whom these\nmy studies, so vehemently kindled toward Thy Scriptures, are not\ntroublesome? Give what I love; for I do love, and this hast Thou\ngiven me. Give, Father, Who truly knowest to give good gifts unto Thy\nchildren. Give, because I have taken upon me to know, and trouble is\nbefore me until Thou openest it. By Christ I beseech Thee, in His Name,\nHoly of holies, let no man disturb me. For I believed, and therefore do\nI speak. This is my hope, for this do I live, that I may contemplate the\ndelights of the Lord. Behold, Thou hast made my days old, and they pass\naway, and how, I know not. And we talk of time, and time, and times, and\ntimes, \"How long time is it since he said this\"; \"how long time since he\ndid this\"; and \"how long time since I saw that\"; and \"this syllable hath\ndouble time to that single short syllable.\" These words we speak, and\nthese we hear, and are understood, and understand. Most manifest and\nordinary they are, and the self-same things again are but too deeply\nhidden, and the discovery of them were new.\n\nI heard once from a learned man, that the motions of the sun, moon,\nand stars, constituted time, and I assented not. For why should not\nthe motions of all bodies rather be times? Or, if the lights of heaven\nshould cease, and a potter's wheel run round, should there be no time\nby which we might measure those whirlings, and say, that either it\nmoved with equal pauses, or if it turned sometimes slower, otherwhiles\nquicker, that some rounds were longer, other shorter? Or, while we were\nsaying this, should we not also be speaking in time? Or, should there\nin our words be some syllables short, others long, but because those\nsounded in a shorter time, these in a longer? God, grant to men to see\nin a small thing notices common to things great and small. The stars and\nlights of heaven, are also for signs, and for seasons, and for years,\nand for days; they are; yet neither should I say, that the going round\nof that wooden wheel was a day, nor yet he, that it was therefore no\ntime.\n\nI desire to know the force and nature of time, by which we measure the\nmotions of bodies, and say (for example) this motion is twice as long as\nthat. For I ask, Seeing \"day\" denotes not the stay only of the sun upon\nthe earth (according to which day is one thing, night another); but also\nits whole circuit from east to east again; according to which we say,\n\"there passed so many days,\" the night being included when we say, \"so\nmany days,\" and the nights not reckoned apart;--seeing then a day is\ncompleted by the motion of the sun and by his circuit from east to east\nagain, I ask, does the motion alone make the day, or the stay in which\nthat motion is completed, or both? For if the first be the day; then\nshould we have a day, although the sun should finish that course in so\nsmall a space of time, as one hour comes to. If the second, then should\nnot that make a day, if between one sun-rise and another there were\nbut so short a stay, as one hour comes to; but the sun must go four and\ntwenty times about, to complete one day. If both, then neither could\nthat be called a day; if the sun should run his whole round in the\nspace of one hour; nor that, if, while the sun stood still, so much\ntime should overpass, as the sun usually makes his whole course in, from\nmorning to morning. I will not therefore now ask, what that is which is\ncalled day; but, what time is, whereby we, measuring the circuit of the\nsun, should say that it was finished in half the time it was wont, if\nso be it was finished in so small a space as twelve hours; and comparing\nboth times, should call this a single time, that a double time; even\nsupposing the sun to run his round from east to east, sometimes in that\nsingle, sometimes in that double time. Let no man then tell me, that the\nmotions of the heavenly bodies constitute times, because, when at\nthe prayer of one, the sun had stood still, till he could achieve his\nvictorious battle, the sun stood still, but time went on. For in its own\nallotted space of time was that battle waged and ended. I perceive\ntime then to be a certain extension. But do I perceive it, or seem to\nperceive it? Thou, Light and Truth, wilt show me.\n\nDost Thou bid me assent, if any define time to be \"motion of a body?\"\nThou dost not bid me. For that no body is moved, but in time, I hear;\nthis Thou sayest; but that the motion of a body is time, I hear not;\nThou sayest it not. For when a body is moved, I by time measure, how\nlong it moveth, from the time it began to move until it left off? And if\nI did not see whence it began; and it continue to move so that I see not\nwhen it ends, I cannot measure, save perchance from the time I began,\nuntil I cease to see. And if I look long, I can only pronounce it to be\na long time, but not how long; because when we say \"how long,\" we do\nit by comparison; as, \"this is as long as that,\" or \"twice so long as\nthat,\" or the like. But when we can mark the distances of the places,\nwhence and whither goeth the body moved, or his parts, if it moved as in\na lathe, then can we say precisely, in how much time the motion of\nthat body or his part, from this place unto that, was finished. Seeing\ntherefore the motion of a body is one thing, that by which we measure\nhow long it is, another; who sees not, which of the two is rather to\nbe called time? For and if a body be sometimes moved, sometimes stands\nstill, then we measure, not his motion only, but his standing still too\nby time; and we say, \"it stood still, as much as it moved\"; or \"it stood\nstill twice or thrice so long as it moved\"; or any other space which our\nmeasuring hath either ascertained, or guessed; more or less, as we use\nto say. Time then is not the motion of a body.\n\nAnd I confess to Thee, O Lord, that I yet know not what time is, and\nagain I confess unto Thee, O Lord, that I know that I speak this in\ntime, and that having long spoken of time, that very \"long\" is not long,\nbut by the pause of time. How then know I this, seeing I know not what\ntime is? or is it perchance that I know not how to express what I know?\nWoe is me, that do not even know, what I know not. Behold, O my God,\nbefore Thee I lie not; but as I speak, so is my heart. Thou shalt light\nmy candle; Thou, O Lord my God, wilt enlighten my darkness.\n\nDoes not my soul most truly confess unto Thee, that I do measure times?\nDo I then measure, O my God, and know not what I measure? I measure the\nmotion of a body in time; and the time itself do I not measure? Or could\nI indeed measure the motion of a body how long it were, and in how long\nspace it could come from this place to that, without measuring the time\nin which it is moved? This same time then, how do I measure? do we by a\nshorter time measure a longer, as by the space of a cubit, the space\nof a rood? for so indeed we seem by the space of a short syllable, to\nmeasure the space of a long syllable, and to say that this is double\nthe other. Thus measure we the spaces of stanzas, by the spaces of the\nverses, and the spaces of the verses, by the spaces of the feet, and the\nspaces of the feet, by the spaces of the syllables, and the spaces of\nlong, by the space of short syllables; not measuring by pages (for then\nwe measure spaces, not times); but when we utter the words and they pass\nby, and we say \"it is a long stanza, because composed of so many verses;\nlong verses, because consisting of so many feet; long feet, because\nprolonged by so many syllables; a long syllable because double to a\nshort one.\" But neither do we this way obtain any certain measure of\ntime; because it may be, that a shorter verse, pronounced more fully,\nmay take up more time than a longer, pronounced hurriedly. And so for a\nverse, a foot, a syllable. Whence it seemed to me, that time is nothing\nelse than protraction; but of what, I know not; and I marvel, if it\nbe not of the mind itself? For what, I beseech Thee, O my God, do I\nmeasure, when I say, either indefinitely \"this is a longer time than\nthat,\" or definitely \"this is double that\"? That I measure time, I know;\nand yet I measure not time to come, for it is not yet; nor present,\nbecause it is not protracted by any space; nor past, because it now is\nnot. What then do I measure? Times passing, not past? for so I said.\n\nCourage, my mind, and press on mightily. God is our helper, He made us,\nand not we ourselves. Press on where truth begins to dawn. Suppose, now,\nthe voice of a body begins to sound, and does sound, and sounds on, and\nlist, it ceases; it is silence now, and that voice is past, and is\nno more a voice. Before it sounded, it was to come, and could not be\nmeasured, because as yet it was not, and now it cannot, because it is\nno longer. Then therefore while it sounded, it might; because there then\nwas what might be measured. But yet even then it was not at a stay; for\nit was passing on, and passing away. Could it be measured the rather,\nfor that? For while passing, it was being extended into some space of\ntime, so that it might be measured, since the present hath no space. If\ntherefore then it might, then, lo, suppose another voice hath begun\nto sound, and still soundeth in one continued tenor without any\ninterruption; let us measure it while it sounds; seeing when it hath\nleft sounding, it will then be past, and nothing left to be measured;\nlet us measure it verily, and tell how much it is. But it sounds still,\nnor can it be measured but from the instant it began in, unto the end\nit left in. For the very space between is the thing we measure, namely,\nfrom some beginning unto some end. Wherefore, a voice that is not yet\nended, cannot be measured, so that it may be said how long, or short it\nis; nor can it be called equal to another, or double to a single, or the\nlike. But when ended, it no longer is. How may it then be measured? And\nyet we measure times; but yet neither those which are not yet, nor those\nwhich no longer are, nor those which are not lengthened out by some\npause, nor those which have no bounds. We measure neither times to come,\nnor past, nor present, nor passing; and yet we do measure times.\n\n\"Deus Creator omnium,\" this verse of eight syllables alternates between\nshort and long syllables. The four short then, the first, third, fifth,\nand seventh, are but single, in respect of the four long, the second,\nfourth, sixth, and eighth. Every one of these to every one of those,\nhath a double time: I pronounce them, report on them, and find it so,\nas one's plain sense perceives. By plain sense then, I measure a long\nsyllable by a short, and I sensibly find it to have twice so much; but\nwhen one sounds after the other, if the former be short, the latter\nlong, how shall I detain the short one, and how, measuring, shall I\napply it to the long, that I may find this to have twice so much; seeing\nthe long does not begin to sound, unless the short leaves sounding? And\nthat very long one do I measure as present, seeing I measure it not\ntill it be ended? Now his ending is his passing away. What then is it I\nmeasure? where is the short syllable by which I measure? where the long\nwhich I measure? Both have sounded, have flown, passed away, are no\nmore; and yet I measure, and confidently answer (so far as is presumed\non a practised sense) that as to space of time this syllable is but\nsingle, that double. And yet I could not do this, unless they were\nalready past and ended. It is not then themselves, which now are not,\nthat I measure, but something in my memory, which there remains fixed.\n\nIt is in thee, my mind, that I measure times. Interrupt me not, that\nis, interrupt not thyself with the tumults of thy impressions. In thee\nI measure times; the impression, which things as they pass by cause in\nthee, remains even when they are gone; this it is which still present,\nI measure, not the things which pass by to make this impression. This\nI measure, when I measure times. Either then this is time, or I do not\nmeasure times. What when we measure silence, and say that this silence\nhath held as long time as did that voice? do we not stretch out our\nthought to the measure of a voice, as if it sounded, that so we may be\nable to report of the intervals of silence in a given space of time? For\nthough both voice and tongue be still, yet in thought we go over poems,\nand verses, and any other discourse, or dimensions of motions, and\nreport as to the spaces of times, how much this is in respect of that,\nno otherwise than if vocally we did pronounce them. If a man would utter\na lengthened sound, and had settled in thought how long it should be, he\nhath in silence already gone through a space of time, and committing\nit to memory, begins to utter that speech, which sounds on, until it be\nbrought unto the end proposed. Yea it hath sounded, and will sound; for\nso much of it as is finished, hath sounded already, and the rest will\nsound. And thus passeth it on, until the present intent conveys over\nthe future into the past; the past increasing by the diminution of the\nfuture, until by the consumption of the future, all is past.\n\nBut how is that future diminished or consumed, which as yet is not? or\nhow that past increased, which is now no longer, save that in the mind\nwhich enacteth this, there be three things done? For it expects, it\nconsiders, it remembers; that so that which it expecteth, through\nthat which it considereth, passeth into that which it remembereth. Who\ntherefore denieth, that things to come are not as yet? and yet, there is\nin the mind an expectation of things to come. And who denies past things\nto be now no longer? and yet is there still in the mind a memory of\nthings past. And who denieth the present time hath no space, because it\npasseth away in a moment? and yet our consideration continueth, through\nwhich that which shall be present proceedeth to become absent. It is not\nthen future time, that is long, for as yet it is not: but a long future,\nis \"a long expectation of the future,\" nor is it time past, which now is\nnot, that is long; but a long past, is \"a long memory of the past.\"\n\nI am about to repeat a Psalm that I know. Before I begin, my expectation\nis extended over the whole; but when I have begun, how much soever of\nit I shall separate off into the past, is extended along my memory; thus\nthe life of this action of mine is divided between my memory as to what\nI have repeated, and expectation as to what I am about to repeat; but\n\"consideration\" is present with me, that through it what was future, may\nbe conveyed over, so as to become past. Which the more it is done again\nand again, so much the more the expectation being shortened, is the\nmemory enlarged: till the whole expectation be at length exhausted, when\nthat whole action being ended, shall have passed into memory. And this\nwhich takes place in the whole Psalm, the same takes place in each\nseveral portion of it, and each several syllable; the same holds in that\nlonger action, whereof this Psalm may be part; the same holds in the\nwhole life of man, whereof all the actions of man are parts; the same\nholds through the whole age of the sons of men, whereof all the lives of\nmen are parts.\n\nBut because Thy loving-kindness is better than all lives, behold, my\nlife is but a distraction, and Thy right hand upheld me, in my Lord the\nSon of man, the Mediator betwixt Thee, The One, and us many, many also\nthrough our manifold distractions amid many things, that by Him I may\napprehend in Whom I have been apprehended, and may be re-collected from\nmy old conversation, to follow The One, forgetting what is behind, and\nnot distended but extended, not to things which shall be and shall\npass away, but to those things which are before, not distractedly but\nintently, I follow on for the prize of my heavenly calling, where I may\nhear the voice of Thy praise, and contemplate Thy delights, neither\nto come, nor to pass away. But now are my years spent in mourning. And\nThou, O Lord, art my comfort, my Father everlasting, but I have been\nsevered amid times, whose order I know not; and my thoughts, even\nthe inmost bowels of my soul, are rent and mangled with tumultuous\nvarieties, until I flow together into Thee, purified and molten by the\nfire of Thy love.\n\nAnd now will I stand, and become firm in Thee, in my mould, Thy truth;\nnor will I endure the questions of men, who by a penal disease thirst\nfor more than they can contain, and say, \"what did God before He made\nheaven and earth?\" Or, \"How came it into His mind to make any thing,\nhaving never before made any thing?\" Give them, O Lord, well to\nbethink themselves what they say, and to find, that \"never\" cannot be\npredicated, when \"time\" is not. This then that He is said \"never to have\nmade\"; what else is it to say, than \"in 'no time' to have made?\" Let\nthem see therefore, that time cannot be without created being, and cease\nto speak that vanity. May they also be extended towards those things\nwhich are before; and understand Thee before all times, the eternal\nCreator of all times, and that no times be coeternal with Thee, nor any\ncreature, even if there be any creature before all times.\n\nO Lord my God, what a depth is that recess of Thy mysteries, and how far\nfrom it have the consequences of my transgressions cast me! Heal mine\neyes, that I may share the joy of Thy light. Certainly, if there be mind\ngifted with such vast knowledge and foreknowledge, as to know all things\npast and to come, as I know one well-known Psalm, truly that mind is\npassing wonderful, and fearfully amazing; in that nothing past, nothing\nto come in after-ages, is any more hidden from him, than when I sung\nthat Psalm, was hidden from me what, and how much of it had passed away\nfrom the beginning, what, and how much there remained unto the end. But\nfar be it that Thou the Creator of the Universe, the Creator of souls\nand bodies, far be it, that Thou shouldest in such wise know all things\npast and to come. Far, far more wonderfully, and far more mysteriously,\ndost Thou know them. For not, as the feelings of one who singeth what he\nknoweth, or heareth some well-known song, are through expectation of the\nwords to come, and the remembering of those that are past, varied,\nand his senses divided,--not so doth any thing happen unto Thee,\nunchangeably eternal, that is, the eternal Creator of minds. Like then\nas Thou in the Beginning knewest the heaven and the earth, without any\nvariety of Thy knowledge, so madest Thou in the Beginning heaven and\nearth, without any distraction of Thy action. Whoso understandeth, let\nhim confess unto Thee; and whoso understandeth not, let him confess\nunto Thee. Oh how high art Thou, and yet the humble in heart are Thy\ndwelling-place; for Thou raisest up those that are bowed down, and they\nfall not, whose elevation Thou art.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XII\n\n\nMy heart, O Lord, touched with the words of Thy Holy Scripture, is much\nbusied, amid this poverty of my life. And therefore most times, is the\npoverty of human understanding copious in words, because enquiring hath\nmore to say than discovering, and demanding is longer than obtaining,\nand our hand that knocks, hath more work to do, than our hand that\nreceives. We hold the promise, who shall make it null? If God be for us,\nwho can be against us? Ask, and ye shall have; seek, and ye shall find;\nknock, and it shall be opened unto you. For every one that asketh,\nreceiveth; and he that seeketh, findeth; and to him that knocketh,\nshall it be opened. These be Thine own promises: and who need fear to be\ndeceived, when the Truth promiseth?\n\nThe lowliness of my tongue confesseth unto Thy Highness, that Thou\nmadest heaven and earth; this heaven which I see, and this earth that I\ntread upon, whence is this earth that I bear about me; Thou madest it.\nBut where is that heaven of heavens, O Lord, which we hear of in the\nwords of the Psalm. The heaven of heavens are the Lord's; but the earth\nhath He given to the children of men? Where is that heaven which we see\nnot, to which all this which we see is earth? For this corporeal whole,\nnot being wholly every where, hath in such wise received its portion of\nbeauty in these lower parts, whereof the lowest is this our earth; but\nto that heaven of heavens, even the heaven of our earth, is but earth:\nyea both these great bodies, may not absurdly be called earth, to that\nunknown heaven, which is the Lord's, not the sons' of men.\n\nAnd now this earth was invisible and without form, and there was I know\nnot what depth of abyss, upon which there was no light, because it had\nno shape. Therefore didst Thou command it to be written, that darkness\nwas upon the face of the deep; what else than the absence of light? For\nhad there been light, where should it have been but by being over all,\naloft, and enlightening? Where then light was not, what was the presence\nof darkness, but the absence of light? Darkness therefore was upon it,\nbecause light was not upon it; as where sound is not, there is silence.\nAnd what is it to have silence there, but to have no sound there? Hast\nnot Thou, O Lord, taught his soul, which confesseth unto Thee? Hast not\nThou taught me, Lord, that before Thou formedst and diversifiedst this\nformless matter, there was nothing, neither colour, nor figure, nor\nbody, nor spirit? and yet not altogether nothing; for there was a\ncertain formlessness, without any beauty.\n\nHow then should it be called, that it might be in some measure conveyed\nto those of duller mind, but by some ordinary word? And what, among all\nparts of the world can be found nearer to an absolute formlessness, than\nearth and deep? For, occupying the lowest stage, they are less beautiful\nthan the other higher parts are, transparent all and shining. Wherefore\nthen may I not conceive the formlessness of matter (which Thou hadst\ncreated without beauty, whereof to make this beautiful world) to be\nsuitably intimated unto men, by the name of earth invisible and without\nform.\n\nSo that when thought seeketh what the sense may conceive under this,\nand saith to itself, \"It is no intellectual form, as life, or justice;\nbecause it is the matter of bodies; nor object of sense, because being\ninvisible, and without form, there was in it no object of sight or\nsense\";--while man's thought thus saith to itself, it may endeavour\neither to know it, by being ignorant of it; or to be ignorant, by\nknowing it.\n\nBut I, Lord, if I would, by my tongue and my pen, confess unto Thee the\nwhole, whatever Thyself hath taught me of that matter,--the name whereof\nhearing before, and not understanding, when they who understood it not,\ntold me of it, so I conceived of it as having innumerable forms and\ndiverse, and therefore did not conceive it at all, my mind tossed up and\ndown foul and horrible \"forms\" out of all order, but yet \"forms\" and I\ncalled it without form not that it wanted all form, but because it had\nsuch as my mind would, if presented to it, turn from, as unwonted and\njarring, and human frailness would be troubled at. And still that which\nI conceived, was without form, not as being deprived of all form, but\nin comparison of more beautiful forms; and true reason did persuade me,\nthat I must utterly uncase it of all remnants of form whatsoever, if\nI would conceive matter absolutely without form; and I could not; for\nsooner could I imagine that not to be at all, which should be deprived\nof all form, than conceive a thing betwixt form and nothing, neither\nformed, nor nothing, a formless almost nothing. So my mind gave over to\nquestion thereupon with my spirit, it being filled with the images of\nformed bodies, and changing and varying them, as it willed; and I bent\nmyself to the bodies themselves, and looked more deeply into their\nchangeableness, by which they cease to be what they have been, and begin\nto be what they were not; and this same shifting from form to form, I\nsuspected to be through a certain formless state, not through a mere\nnothing; yet this I longed to know, not to suspect only.-If then my\nvoice and pen would confess unto Thee the whole, whatsoever knots Thou\ndidst open for me in this question, what reader would hold out to take\nin the whole? Nor shall my heart for all this cease to give Thee honour,\nand a song of praise, for those things which it is not able to express.\nFor the changeableness of changeable things, is itself capable of all\nthose forms, into which these changeable things are changed. And this\nchangeableness, what is it? Is it soul? Is it body? Is it that which\nconstituteth soul or body? Might one say, \"a nothing something\", an\n\"is, is not,\" I would say, this were it: and yet in some way was it even\nthen, as being capable of receiving these visible and compound figures.\n\nBut whence had it this degree of being, but from Thee, from Whom are all\nthings, so far forth as they are? But so much the further from Thee, as\nthe unliker Thee; for it is not farness of place. Thou therefore,\nLord, Who art not one in one place, and otherwise in another, but the\nSelf-same, and the Self-same, and the Self-same, Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord\nGod Almighty, didst in the Beginning, which is of Thee, in Thy Wisdom,\nwhich was born of Thine own Substance, create something, and that out of\nnothing. For Thou createdst heaven and earth; not out of Thyself, for so\nshould they have been equal to Thine Only Begotten Son, and thereby to\nThee also; whereas no way were it right that aught should be equal to\nThee, which was not of Thee. And aught else besides Thee was there not,\nwhereof Thou mightest create them, O God, One Trinity, and Trine Unity;\nand therefore out of nothing didst Thou create heaven and earth; a great\nthing, and a small thing; for Thou art Almighty and Good, to make all\nthings good, even the great heaven, and the petty earth. Thou wert, and\nnothing was there besides, out of which Thou createdst heaven and earth;\nthings of two sorts; one near Thee, the other near to nothing; one to\nwhich Thou alone shouldest be superior; the other, to which nothing\nshould be inferior.\n\nBut that heaven of heavens was for Thyself, O Lord; but the earth which\nThou gavest to the sons of men, to be seen and felt, was not such as we\nnow see and feel. For it was invisible, without form, and there was a\ndeep, upon which there was no light; or, darkness was above the deep,\nthat is, more than in the deep. Because this deep of waters, visible\nnow, hath even in his depths, a light proper for its nature; perceivable\nin whatever degree unto the fishes, and creeping things in the bottom\nof it. But that whole deep was almost nothing, because hitherto it\nwas altogether without form; yet there was already that which could be\nformed. For Thou, Lord, madest the world of a matter without form, which\nout of nothing, Thou madest next to nothing, thereof to make those\ngreat things, which we sons of men wonder at. For very wonderful is this\ncorporeal heaven; of which firmament between water and water, the second\nday, after the creation of light, Thou saidst, Let it be made, and it\nwas made. Which firmament Thou calledst heaven; the heaven, that is, to\nthis earth and sea, which Thou madest the third day, by giving a visible\nfigure to the formless matter, which Thou madest before all days. For\nalready hadst Thou made both an heaven, before all days; but that was\nthe heaven of this heaven; because In the beginning Thou hadst made\nheaven and earth. But this same earth which Thou madest was formless\nmatter, because it was invisible and without form, and darkness was\nupon the deep, of which invisible earth and without form, of which\nformlessness, of which almost nothing, Thou mightest make all these\nthings of which this changeable world consists, but subsists not; whose\nvery changeableness appears therein, that times can be observed and\nnumbered in it. For times are made by the alterations of things, while\nthe figures, the matter whereof is the invisible earth aforesaid, are\nvaried and turned.\n\nAnd therefore the Spirit, the Teacher of Thy servant, when It recounts\nThee to have In the Beginning created heaven and earth, speaks nothing\nof times, nothing of days. For verily that heaven of heavens which\nThou createdst in the Beginning, is some intellectual creature, which,\nalthough no ways coeternal unto Thee, the Trinity, yet partaketh of\nThy eternity, and doth through the sweetness of that most happy\ncontemplation of Thyself, strongly restrain its own changeableness; and\nwithout any fall since its first creation, cleaving close unto Thee, is\nplaced beyond all the rolling vicissitude of times. Yea, neither is this\nvery formlessness of the earth, invisible, and without form, numbered\namong the days. For where no figure nor order is, there does nothing\ncome, or go; and where this is not, there plainly are no days, nor any\nvicissitude of spaces of times.\n\nO let the Light, the Truth, the Light of my heart, not mine own\ndarkness, speak unto me. I fell off into that, and became darkened; but\neven thence, even thence I loved Thee. I went astray, and remembered\nThee. I heard Thy voice behind me, calling to me to return, and scarcely\nheard it, through the tumultuousness of the enemies of peace. And now,\nbehold, I return in distress and panting after Thy fountain. Let no man\nforbid me! of this will I drink, and so live. Let me not be mine own\nlife; from myself I lived ill, death was I to myself; and I revive in\nThee. Do Thou speak unto me, do Thou discourse unto me. I have believed\nThy Books, and their words be most full of mystery.\n\nAlready Thou hast told me with a strong voice, O Lord, in my inner ear,\nthat Thou art eternal, Who only hast immortality; since Thou canst not\nbe changed as to figure or motion, nor is Thy will altered by times:\nseeing no will which varies is immortal. This is in Thy sight clear to\nme, and let it be more and more cleared to me, I beseech Thee; and in\nthe manifestation thereof, let me with sobriety abide under Thy wings.\nThou hast told me also with a strong voice, O Lord, in my inner ear,\nthat Thou hast made all natures and substances, which are not what\nThyself is, and yet are; and that only is not from Thee, which is not,\nand the motion of the will from Thee who art, unto that which in a less\ndegree is, because such motion is transgression and sin; and that no\nman's sin doth either hurt Thee, or disturb the order of Thy government,\nfirst or last. This is in Thy sight clear unto me, and let it be\nmore and more cleared to me, I beseech Thee: and in the manifestation\nthereof, let me with sobriety abide under Thy wings.\n\nThou hast told me also with a strong voice, in my inner ear, that\nneither is that creature coeternal unto Thyself, whose happiness\nThou only art, and which with a most persevering purity, drawing its\nnourishment from Thee, doth in no place and at no time put forth its\nnatural mutability; and, Thyself being ever present with it, unto Whom\nwith its whole affection it keeps itself, having neither future to\nexpect, nor conveying into the past what it remembereth, is neither\naltered by any change, nor distracted into any times. O blessed\ncreature, if such there be, for cleaving unto Thy Blessedness; blest in\nThee, its eternal Inhabitant and its Enlightener! Nor do I find by what\nname I may the rather call the heaven of heavens which is the Lord's,\nthan Thine house, which contemplateth Thy delights without any defection\nof going forth to another; one pure mind, most harmoniously one, by that\nsettled estate of peace of holy spirits, the citizens of Thy city in\nheavenly places; far above those heavenly places that we see.\n\nBy this may the soul, whose pilgrimage is made long and far away, by\nthis may she understand, if she now thirsts for Thee, if her tears be\nnow become her bread, while they daily say unto her, Where is Thy God?\nif she now seeks of Thee one thing, and desireth it, that she may dwell\nin Thy house all the days of her life (and what is her life, but Thou?\nand what Thy days, but Thy eternity, as Thy years which fail not,\nbecause Thou art ever the same?); by this then may the soul that is\nable, understand how far Thou art, above all times, eternal; seeing\nThy house which at no time went into a far country, although it be not\ncoeternal with Thee, yet by continually and unfailingly cleaving unto\nThee, suffers no changeableness of times. This is in Thy sight clear\nunto me, and let it be more and more cleared unto me, I beseech Thee,\nand in the manifestation thereof, let me with sobriety abide under Thy\nwings.\n\nThere is, behold, I know not what formlessness in those changes of these\nlast and lowest creatures; and who shall tell me (unless such a one as\nthrough the emptiness of his own heart, wonders and tosses himself up\nand down amid his own fancies?), who but such a one would tell me, that\nif all figure be so wasted and consumed away, that there should only\nremain that formlessness, through which the thing was changed and turned\nfrom one figure to another, that that could exhibit the vicissitudes\nof times? For plainly it could not, because, without the variety of\nmotions, there are no times: and no variety, where there is no figure.\n\nThese things considered, as much as Thou givest, O my God, as much\nas Thou stirrest me up to knock, and as much as Thou openest to me\nknocking, two things I find that Thou hast made, not within the compass\nof time, neither of which is coeternal with Thee. One, which is so\nformed, that without any ceasing of contemplation, without any interval\nof change, though changeable, yet not changed, it may thoroughly enjoy\nThy eternity and unchangeableness; the other which was so formless,\nthat it had not that, which could be changed from one form into another,\nwhether of motion, or of repose, so as to become subject unto time. But\nthis Thou didst not leave thus formless, because before all days, Thou\nin the Beginning didst create Heaven and Earth; the two things that I\nspake of. But the Earth was invisible and without form, and darkness\nwas upon the deep. In which words, is the formlessness conveyed unto us\n(that such capacities may hereby be drawn on by degrees, as are not\nable to conceive an utter privation of all form, without yet coming to\nnothing), out of which another Heaven might be created, together with\na visible and well-formed earth: and the waters diversly ordered, and\nwhatsoever further is in the formation of the world, recorded to have\nbeen, not without days, created; and that, as being of such nature, that\nthe successive changes of times may take place in them, as being subject\nto appointed alterations of motions and of forms.\n\nThis then is what I conceive, O my God, when I hear Thy Scripture\nsaying, In the beginning God made Heaven and Earth: and the Earth was\ninvisible and without form, and darkness was upon the deep, and not\nmentioning what day Thou createdst them; this is what I conceive, that\nbecause of the Heaven of heavens,--that intellectual Heaven, whose\nIntelligences know all at once, not in part, not darkly, not through a\nglass, but as a whole, in manifestation, face to face; not, this thing\nnow, and that thing anon; but (as I said) know all at once, without any\nsuccession of times;--and because of the earth invisible and without\nform, without any succession of times, which succession presents \"this\nthing now, that thing anon\"; because where is no form, there is\nno distinction of things:--it is, then, on account of these two, a\nprimitive formed, and a primitive formless; the one, heaven but the\nHeaven of heaven, the other earth but the earth invisible and without\nform; because of these two do I conceive, did Thy Scripture say without\nmention of days, In the Beginning God created Heaven and Earth. For\nforthwith it subjoined what earth it spake of; and also, in that the\nFirmament is recorded to be created the second day, and called Heaven,\nit conveys to us of which Heaven He before spake, without mention of\ndays.\n\nWondrous depth of Thy words! whose surface, behold! is before us,\ninviting to little ones; yet are they a wondrous depth. O my God, a\nwondrous depth! It is awful to look therein; an awfulness of honour, and\na trembling of love. The enemies thereof I hate vehemently; oh that Thou\nwouldest slay them with Thy two-edged sword, that they might no longer\nbe enemies unto it: for so do I love to have them slain unto themselves,\nthat they may live unto Thee. But behold others not faultfinders, but\nextollers of the book of Genesis; \"The Spirit of God,\" say they, \"Who\nby His servant Moses wrote these things, would not have those words\nthus understood; He would not have it understood, as thou sayest, but\notherwise, as we say.\" Unto Whom Thyself, O Thou God all, being judge,\ndo I thus answer.\n\n\"Will you affirm that to be false, which with a strong voice Truth tells\nme in my inner ear, concerning the Eternity of the Creator, that His\nsubstance is no ways changed by time, nor His will separate from His\nsubstance? Wherefore He willeth not one thing now, another anon, but\nonce, and at once, and always, He willeth all things that He willeth;\nnot again and again, nor now this, now that; nor willeth afterwards,\nwhat before He willed not, nor willeth not, what before He willed;\nbecause such a will is and no mutable thing is eternal: but our God is\neternal. Again, what He tells me in my inner ear, the expectation of\nthings to come becomes sight, when they are come, and this same sight\nbecomes memory, when they be past. Now all thought which thus varies is\nmutable; and no mutable thing is eternal: but our God is eternal.\" These\nthings I infer, and put together, and find that my God, the eternal God,\nhath not upon any new will made any creature, nor doth His knowledge\nadmit of any thing transitory. \"What will ye say then, O ye gainsayers?\nAre these things false?\" \"No,\" they say; \"What then? Is it false, that\nevery nature already formed, or matter capable of form, is not, but from\nHim Who is supremely good, because He is supremely?\" \"Neither do we deny\nthis,\" say they. \"What then? do you deny this, that there is a certain\nsublime creature, with so chaste a love cleaving unto the true and\ntruly eternal God, that although not coeternal with Him, yet is it not\ndetached from Him, nor dissolved into the variety and vicissitude of\ntimes, but reposeth in the most true contemplation of Him only?\" Because\nThou, O God, unto him that loveth Thee so much as Thou commandest, dost\nshow Thyself, and sufficest him; and therefore doth he not decline\nfrom Thee, nor toward himself. This is the house of God, not of earthly\nmould, nor of celestial bulk corporeal but spiritual, and partaker of\nThy eternity, because without defection for ever. For Thou hast made\nit fast for ever and ever, Thou hast given it a law which it shall not\npass. Nor yet is it coeternal with Thee, O God, because not without\nbeginning; for it was made.\n\nFor although we find no time before it, for wisdom was created before\nall things; not that Wisdom which is altogether equal and coeternal unto\nThee, our God, His Father, and by Whom all things were created, and in\nWhom, as the Beginning, Thou createdst heaven and earth; but that\nwisdom which is created, that is, the intellectual nature, which by\ncontemplating the light, is light. For this, though created, is also\ncalled wisdom. But what difference there is betwixt the Light which\nenlighteneth, and which is enlightened, so much is there betwixt the\nWisdom that createth, and that created; as betwixt the Righteousness\nwhich justifieth, and the righteousness which is made by justification.\nFor we also are called Thy righteousness; for so saith a certain\nservant of Thine, That we might be made the righteousness of God in Him.\nTherefore since a certain created wisdom was created before all things,\nthe rational and intellectual mind of that chaste city of Thine, our\nmother which is above, and is free and eternal in the heavens (in\nwhat heavens, if not in those that praise Thee, the Heaven of heavens?\nBecause this is also the Heaven of heavens for the Lord);--though we\nfind no time before it (because that which hath been created before all\nthings, precedeth also the creature of time), yet is the Eternity of\nthe Creator Himself before it, from Whom, being created, it took the\nbeginning, not indeed of time (for time itself was not yet), but of its\ncreation.\n\nHence it is so of Thee, our God, as to be altogether other than Thou,\nand not the Self-same: because though we find time neither before it,\nnor even in it (it being meet ever to behold Thy face, nor is ever drawn\naway from it, wherefore it is not varied by any change), yet is there in\nit a liability to change, whence it would wax dark, and chill, but\nthat by a strong affection cleaving unto Thee, like perpetual noon, it\nshineth and gloweth from Thee. O house most lightsome and delightsome!\nI have loved thy beauty, and the place of the habitation of the glory\nof my Lord, thy builder and possessor. Let my wayfaring sigh after thee,\nand I say to Him that made thee, let Him take possession of me also in\nthee, seeing He hath made me likewise. I have gone astray like a lost\nsheep: yet upon the shoulders of my Shepherd, thy builder, hope I to be\nbrought back to thee.\n\n\"What say ye to me, O ye gainsayers that I was speaking unto, who yet\nbelieve Moses to have been the holy servant of God, and his books the\noracles of the Holy Ghost? Is not this house of God, not coeternal\nindeed with God, yet after its measure, eternal in the heavens, when you\nseek for changes of times in vain, because you will not find them? For\nthat, to which it is ever good to cleave fast to God, surpasses all\nextension, and all revolving periods of time.\" \"It is,\" say they.\n\"What then of all that which my heart loudly uttered unto my God, when\ninwardly it heard the voice of His praise, what part thereof do you\naffirm to be false? Is it that the matter was without form, in which\nbecause there was no form, there was no order? But where no order was,\nthere could be no vicissitude of times: and yet this 'almost nothing,'\ninasmuch as it was not altogether nothing, was from Him certainly, from\nWhom is whatsoever is, in what degree soever it is.\" \"This also,\" say\nthey, \"do we not deny.\"\n\nWith these I now parley a little in Thy presence, O my God, who grant\nall these things to be true, which Thy Truth whispers unto my soul. For\nthose who deny these things, let them bark and deafen themselves as much\nas they please; I will essay to persuade them to quiet, and to open in\nthem a way for Thy word. But if they refuse, and repel me; I beseech, O\nmy God, be not Thou silent to me. Speak Thou truly in my heart; for\nonly Thou so speakest: and I will let them alone blowing upon the dust\nwithout, and raising it up into their own eyes: and myself will enter\nmy chamber, and sing there a song of loves unto Thee; groaning with\ngroanings unutterable, in my wayfaring, and remembering Jerusalem, with\nheart lifted up towards it, Jerusalem my country, Jerusalem my mother,\nand Thyself that rulest over it, the Enlightener, Father, Guardian,\nHusband, the pure and strong delight, and solid joy, and all good things\nunspeakable, yea all at once, because the One Sovereign and true Good.\nNor will I be turned away, until Thou gather all that I am, from this\ndispersed and disordered estate, into the peace of that our most dear\nmother, where the first-fruits of my spirit be already (whence I am\nascertained of these things), and Thou conform and confirm it for ever,\nO my God, my Mercy. But those who do not affirm all these truths to be\nfalse, who honour Thy holy Scripture, set forth by holy Moses, placing\nit, as we, on the summit of authority to be followed, and do yet\ncontradict me in some thing, I answer thus; By Thyself judge, O our God,\nbetween my Confessions and these men's contradictions.\n\nFor they say, \"Though these things be true, yet did not Moses intend\nthose two, when, by revelation of the Spirit, he said, In the beginning\nGod created heaven and earth. He did not under the name of heaven,\nsignify that spiritual or intellectual creature which always beholds the\nface of God; nor under the name of earth, that formless matter.\" \"What\nthen?\" \"That man of God,\" say they, \"meant as we say, this declared he\nby those words.\" \"What?\" \"By the name of heaven and earth would he first\nsignify,\" say they, \"universally and compendiously, all this visible\nworld; so as afterwards by the enumeration of the several days, to\narrange in detail, and, as it were, piece by piece, all those things,\nwhich it pleased the Holy Ghost thus to enounce. For such were that\nrude and carnal people to which he spake, that he thought them fit to be\nentrusted with the knowledge of such works of God only as were visible.\"\nThey agree, however, that under the words earth invisible and without\nform, and that darksome deep (out of which it is subsequently shown,\nthat all these visible things which we all know, were made and arranged\nduring those \"days\") may, not incongruously, be understood of this\nformless first matter.\n\nWhat now if another should say that \"this same formlessness and\nconfusedness of matter, was for this reason first conveyed under the\nname of heaven and earth, because out of it was this visible world with\nall those natures which most manifestly appear in it, which is ofttimes\ncalled by the name of heaven and earth, created and perfected?\" What\nagain if another say that \"invisible and visible nature is not indeed\ninappropriately called heaven and earth; and so, that the universal\ncreation, which God made in His Wisdom, that is, in the Beginning, was\ncomprehended under those two words? Notwithstanding, since all things be\nmade not of the substance of God, but out of nothing (because they are\nnot the same that God is, and there is a mutable nature in them all,\nwhether they abide, as doth the eternal house of God, or be changed, as\nthe soul and body of man are): therefore the common matter of all things\nvisible and invisible (as yet unformed though capable of form), out of\nwhich was to be created both heaven and earth (i.e., the invisible and\nvisible creature when formed), was entitled by the same names given to\nthe earth invisible and without form and the darkness upon the deep, but\nwith this distinction, that by the earth invisible and without form is\nunderstood corporeal matter, antecedent to its being qualified by any\nform; and by the darkness upon the deep, spiritual matter, before it\nunderwent any restraint of its unlimited fluidness, or received any\nlight from Wisdom?\"\n\nIt yet remains for a man to say, if he will, that \"the already perfected\nand formed natures, visible and invisible, are not signified under the\nname of heaven and earth, when we read, In the beginning God made heaven\nand earth, but that the yet unformed commencement of things, the stuff\napt to receive form and making, was called by these names, because\ntherein were confusedly contained, not as yet distinguished by their\nqualities and forms, all those things which being now digested into\norder, are called Heaven and Earth, the one being the spiritual, the\nother the corporeal, creation.\"\n\nAll which things being heard and well considered, I will not strive\nabout words: for that is profitable to nothing, but the subversion of\nthe hearers. But the law is good to edify, if a man use it lawfully: for\nthat the end of it is charity, out of a pure heart and good conscience,\nand faith unfeigned. And well did our Master know, upon which two\ncommandments He hung all the Law and the Prophets. And what doth it\nprejudice me, O my God, Thou light of my eyes in secret, zealously\nconfessing these things, since divers things may be understood under\nthese words which yet are all true,--what, I say, doth it prejudice me,\nif I think otherwise than another thinketh the writer thought? All we\nreaders verily strive to trace out and to understand his meaning whom we\nread; and seeing we believe him to speak truly, we dare not imagine\nhim to have said any thing, which ourselves either know or think to\nbe false. While every man endeavours then to understand in the Holy\nScriptures, the same as the writer understood, what hurt is it, if a man\nunderstand what Thou, the light of all true-speaking minds, dost show\nhim to be true, although he whom he reads, understood not this, seeing\nhe also understood a Truth, though not this truth?\n\nFor true it is, O Lord, that Thou madest heaven and earth; and it is\ntrue too, that the Beginning is Thy Wisdom, in Which Thou createst all:\nand true again, that this visible world hath for its greater part\nthe heaven and the earth, which briefly comprise all made and created\nnatures. And true too, that whatsoever is mutable, gives us to\nunderstand a certain want of form, whereby it receiveth a form, or is\nchanged, or turned. It is true, that that is subject to no times, which\nso cleaveth to the unchangeable Form, as though subject to change,\nnever to be changed. It is true, that that formlessness which is almost\nnothing, cannot be subject to the alteration of times. It is true, that\nthat whereof a thing is made, may by a certain mode of speech, be called\nby the name of the thing made of it; whence that formlessness, whereof\nheaven and earth were made, might be called heaven and earth. It is\ntrue, that of things having form, there is not any nearer to having\nno form, than the earth and the deep. It is true, that not only every\ncreated and formed thing, but whatsoever is capable of being created and\nformed, Thou madest, of Whom are all things. It is true, that whatsoever\nis formed out of that which had no form, was unformed before it was\nformed.\n\nOut of these truths, of which they doubt not whose inward eye Thou hast\nenabled to see such things, and who unshakenly believe Thy servant Moses\nto have spoken in the Spirit of truth;--of all these then, he taketh\none, who saith, In the Beginning God made the heaven and the earth; that\nis, \"in His Word coeternal with Himself, God made the intelligible and\nthe sensible, or the spiritual and the corporeal creature.\" He another,\nthat saith, In the Beginning God made heaven and earth; that is, \"in\nHis Word coeternal with Himself, did God make the universal bulk of this\ncorporeal world, together with all those apparent and known creatures,\nwhich it containeth.\" He another, that saith, In the Beginning God made\nheaven and earth; that is, \"in His Word coeternal with Himself, did\nGod make the formless matter of creatures spiritual and corporeal.\" He\nanother, that saith, In the Beginning God created heaven and earth; that\nis, \"in His Word coeternal with Himself, did God create the formless\nmatter of the creature corporeal, wherein heaven and earth lay as yet\nconfused, which, being now distinguished and formed, we at this day see\nin the bulk of this world.\" He another, who saith, In the Beginning God\nmade heaven and earth; that is, \"in the very beginning of creating and\nworking, did God make that formless matter, confusedly containing in\nitself both heaven and earth; out of which, being formed, do they now\nstand out, and are apparent, with all that is in them.\"\n\nAnd with regard to the understanding of the words following, out of all\nthose truths, he chooses one to himself, who saith, But the earth was\ninvisible, and without form, and darkness was upon the deep; that is,\n\"that corporeal thing that God made, was as yet a formless matter of\ncorporeal things, without order, without light.\" Another he who says,\nThe earth was invisible and without form, and darkness was upon the\ndeep; that is, \"this all, which is called heaven and earth, was still\na formless and darksome matter, of which the corporeal heaven and the\ncorporeal earth were to be made, with all things in them, which are\nknown to our corporeal senses.\" Another he who says, The earth was\ninvisible and without form, and darkness was upon the deep; that is,\n\"this all, which is called heaven and earth, was still a formless and\na darksome matter; out of which was to be made, both that intelligible\nheaven, otherwhere called the Heaven of heavens, and the earth, that is,\nthe whole corporeal nature, under which name is comprised this corporeal\nheaven also; in a word, out of which every visible and invisible\ncreature was to be created.\" Another he who says, The earth was\ninvisible and without form, and darkness was upon the deep, \"the\nScripture did not call that formlessness by the name of heaven and\nearth; but that formlessness, saith he, already was, which he called the\nearth invisible without form, and darkness upon the deep; of which\nhe had before said, that God had made heaven and earth, namely, the\nspiritual and corporeal creature.\" Another he who says, The earth was\ninvisible and without form, and darkness was upon the deep; that is,\n\"there already was a certain formless matter, of which the Scripture\nsaid before, that God made heaven and earth; namely, the whole corporeal\nbulk of the world, divided into two great parts, upper and lower, with\nall the common and known creatures in them.\"\n\nFor should any attempt to dispute against these two last opinions, thus,\n\"If you will not allow, that this formlessness of matter seems to be\ncalled by the name of heaven and earth; Ergo, there was something which\nGod had not made, out of which to make heaven and earth; for neither\nhath Scripture told us, that God made this matter, unless we understand\nit to be signified by the name of heaven and earth, or of earth alone,\nwhen it is said, In the Beginning God made the heaven and earth; that so\nin what follows, and the earth was invisible and without form (although\nit pleased Him so to call the formless matter), we are to understand\nno other matter, but that which God made, whereof is written above, God\nmade heaven and earth.\" The maintainers of either of those two latter\nopinions will, upon hearing this, return for answer, \"we do not deny\nthis formless matter to be indeed created by God, that God of Whom are\nall things, very good; for as we affirm that to be a greater good, which\nis created and formed, so we confess that to be a lesser good which is\nmade capable of creation and form, yet still good. We say however that\nScripture hath not set down, that God made this formlessness, as also it\nhath not many others; as the Cherubim, and Seraphim, and those which\nthe Apostle distinctly speaks of, Thrones, Dominions, Principalities,\nPowers. All which that God made, is most apparent. Or if in that which\nis said, He made heaven and earth, all things be comprehended, what\nshall we say of the waters, upon which the Spirit of God moved? For if\nthey be comprised in this word earth; how then can formless matter be\nmeant in that name of earth, when we see the waters so beautiful? Or\nif it be so taken; why then is it written, that out of the same\nformlessness, the firmament was made, and called heaven; and that the\nwaters were made, is not written? For the waters remain not formless and\ninvisible, seeing we behold them flowing in so comely a manner. But if\nthey then received that beauty, when God said, Let the waters under the\nfirmament be gathered together, that so the gathering together be itself\nthe forming of them; what will be said as to those waters above the\nfirmament? Seeing neither if formless would they have been worthy of so\nhonourable a seat, nor is it written, by what word they were formed. If\nthen Genesis is silent as to God's making of any thing, which yet\nthat God did make neither sound faith nor well-grounded understanding\ndoubteth, nor again will any sober teaching dare to affirm these\nwaters to be coeternal with God, on the ground that we find them to be\nmentioned in the hook of Genesis, but when they were created, we do\nnot find; why (seeing truth teaches us) should we not understand that\nformless matter (which this Scripture calls the earth invisible and\nwithout form, and darksome deep) to have been created of God out of\nnothing, and therefore not to be coeternal to Him; notwithstanding this\nhistory hath omitted to show when it was created?\"\n\nThese things then being heard and perceived, according to the weakness\nof my capacity (which I confess unto Thee, O Lord, that knowest it), two\nsorts of disagreements I see may arise, when a thing is in words related\nby true reporters; one, concerning the truth of the things, the other,\nconcerning the meaning of the relater. For we enquire one way about\nthe making of the creature, what is true; another way, what Moses,\nthat excellent minister of Thy Faith, would have his reader and hearer\nunderstand by those words. For the first sort, away with all those\nwho imagine themselves to know as a truth, what is false; and for this\nother, away with all them too, which imagine Moses to have written\nthings that be false. But let me be united in Thee, O Lord, with those\nand delight myself in Thee, with them that feed on Thy truth, in the\nlargeness of charity, and let us approach together unto the words of\nThy book, and seek in them for Thy meaning, through the meaning of Thy\nservant, by whose pen Thou hast dispensed them.\n\nBut which of us shall, among those so many truths, which occur to\nenquirers in those words, as they are differently understood, so\ndiscover that one meaning, as to affirm, \"this Moses thought,\" and \"this\nwould he have understood in that history\"; with the same confidence\nas he would, \"this is true,\" whether Moses thought this or that? For\nbehold, O my God, I Thy servant, who have in this book vowed a sacrifice\nof confession unto Thee, and pray, that by Thy mercy I may pay my vows\nunto Thee, can I, with the same confidence wherewith I affirm, that in\nThy incommutable world Thou createdst all things visible and invisible,\naffirm also, that Moses meant no other than this, when he wrote, In the\nBeginning God made heaven and earth? No. Because I see not in his mind,\nthat he thought of this when he wrote these things, as I do see it\nin Thy truth to be certain. For he might have his thoughts upon God's\ncommencement of creating, when he said In the beginning; and by heaven\nand earth, in this place he might intend no formed and perfected nature\nwhether spiritual or corporeal, but both of them inchoate and as yet\nformless. For I perceive, that whichsoever of the two had been said, it\nmight have been truly said; but which of the two he thought of in these\nwords, I do not so perceive. Although, whether it were either of these,\nor any sense beside (that I have not here mentioned), which this so\ngreat man saw in his mind, when he uttered these words, I doubt not but\nthat he saw it truly, and expressed it aptly.\n\nLet no man harass me then, by saying, Moses thought not as you say, but\nas I say: for if he should ask me, \"How know you that Moses thought that\nwhich you infer out of his words?\" I ought to take it in good part, and\nwould answer perchance as I have above, or something more at large, if\nhe were unyielding. But when he saith, \"Moses meant not what you say,\nbut what I say,\" yet denieth not that what each of us say, may both be\ntrue, O my God, life of the poor, in Whose bosom is no contradiction,\npour down a softening dew into my heart, that I may patiently bear with\nsuch as say this to me, not because they have a divine Spirit, and have\nseen in the heart of Thy servant what they speak, but because they be\nproud; not knowing Moses' opinion, but loving their own, not because it\nis truth, but because it is theirs. Otherwise they would equally love\nanother true opinion, as I love what they say, when they say true: not\nbecause it is theirs, but because it is true; and on that very ground\nnot theirs because it is true. But if they therefore love it, because\nit is true, then is it both theirs, and mine; as being in common to all\nlovers of truth. But whereas they contend that Moses did not mean what\nI say, but what they say, this I like not, love not: for though it\nwere so, yet that their rashness belongs not to knowledge, but to\noverboldness, and not insight but vanity was its parent. And therefore,\nO Lord, are Thy judgements terrible; seeing Thy truth is neither mine,\nnor his, nor another's; but belonging to us all, whom Thou callest\npublicly to partake of it, warning us terribly, not to account\nit private to ourselves, lest we be deprived of it. For whosoever\nchallenges that as proper to himself, which Thou propoundest to all to\nenjoy, and would have that his own which belongs to all, is driven from\nwhat is in common to his own; that is, from truth, to a lie. For he that\nspeaketh a lie, speaketh it of his own.\n\nHearken, O God, Thou best judge; Truth Itself, hearken to what I shall\nsay to this gainsayer, hearken, for before Thee do I speak, and before\nmy brethren, who employ Thy law lawfully, to the end of charity:\nhearken and behold, if it please Thee, what I shall say to him. For this\nbrotherly and peaceful word do I return unto Him: \"If we both see that\nto be true that Thou sayest, and both see that to be true that I say,\nwhere, I pray Thee, do we see it? Neither I in thee, nor thou in me; but\nboth in the unchangeable Truth itself, which is above our souls.\" Seeing\nthen we strive not about the very light of the Lord God, why strive\nwe about the thoughts of our neighbour which we cannot so see, as the\nunchangeable Truth is seen: for that, if Moses himself had appeared to\nus and said, \"This I meant\"; neither so should we see it, but should\nbelieve it. Let us not then be puffed up for one against another, above\nthat which is written: let us love the Lord our God with all our heart,\nwith all our soul, and with all our mind: and our neighbour as ourself.\nWith a view to which two precepts of charity, unless we believe that\nMoses meant, whatsoever in those books he did mean, we shall make God\na liar, imagining otherwise of our fellow servant's mind, than he hath\ntaught us. Behold now, how foolish it is, in such abundance of most\ntrue meanings, as may be extracted out of those words, rashly to affirm,\nwhich of them Moses principally meant; and with pernicious contentions\nto offend charity itself, for whose sake he spake every thing, whose\nwords we go about to expound.\n\nAnd yet I, O my God, Thou lifter up of my humility, and rest of my\nlabour, Who hearest my confessions, and forgivest my sins: seeing Thou\ncommandest me to love my neighbour as myself, I cannot believe that Thou\ngavest a less gift unto Moses Thy faithful servant, than I would wish\nor desire Thee to have given me, had I been born in the time he was, and\nhadst Thou set me in that office, that by the service of my heart and\ntongue those books might be dispensed, which for so long after were to\nprofit all nations, and through the whole world from such an eminence of\nauthority, were to surmount all sayings of false and proud teachings. I\nshould have desired verily, had I then been Moses (for we all come from\nthe same lump, and what is man, saving that Thou art mindful of him?),\nI would then, had I been then what he was, and been enjoined by Thee to\nwrite the book of Genesis, have desired such a power of expression and\nsuch a style to be given me, that neither they who cannot yet understand\nhow God created, might reject the sayings, as beyond their capacity; and\nthey who had attained thereto, might find what true opinion soever they\nhad by thought arrived at, not passed over in those few words of\nthat Thy servant: and should another man by the light of truth have\ndiscovered another, neither should that fail of being discoverable in\nthose same words.\n\nFor as a fountain within a narrow compass, is more plentiful, and\nsupplies a tide for more streams over larger spaces, than any one of\nthose streams, which, after a wide interval, is derived from the same\nfountain; so the relation of that dispenser of Thine, which was to\nbenefit many who were to discourse thereon, does out of a narrow\nscantling of language, overflow into streams of clearest truth, whence\nevery man may draw out for himself such truth as he can upon these\nsubjects, one, one truth, another, another, by larger circumlocutions of\ndiscourse. For some, when they read, or hear these words, conceive that\nGod like a man or some mass endued with unbounded power, by some new\nand sudden resolution, did, exterior to itself, as it were at a certain\ndistance, create heaven and earth, two great bodies above and below,\nwherein all things were to be contained. And when they hear, God said,\nLet it be made, and it was made; they conceive of words begun and ended,\nsounding in time, and passing away; after whose departure, that came\ninto being, which was commanded so to do; and whatever of the like sort,\nmen's acquaintance with the material world would suggest. In whom, being\nyet little ones and carnal, while their weakness is by this humble\nkind of speech, carried on, as in a mother's bosom, their faith is\nwholesomely built up, whereby they hold assured, that God made all\nnatures, which in admirable variety their eye beholdeth around. Which\nwords, if any despising, as too simple, with a proud weakness, shall\nstretch himself beyond the guardian nest; he will, alas, fall miserably.\nHave pity, O Lord God, lest they who go by the way trample on the\nunfledged bird, and send Thine angel to replace it into the nest, that\nit may live, till it can fly.\n\nBut others, unto whom these words are no longer a nest, but deep shady\nfruit-bowers, see the fruits concealed therein, fly joyously around,\nand with cheerful notes seek out, and pluck them. For reading or hearing\nthese words, they see that all times past and to come, are surpassed by\nThy eternal and stable abiding; and yet that there is no creature formed\nin time, not of Thy making. Whose will, because it is the same that Thou\nart, Thou madest all things, not by any change of will, nor by a will,\nwhich before was not, and that these things were not out of Thyself, in\nThine own likeness, which is the form of all things; but out of nothing,\na formless unlikeness, which should be formed by Thy likeness (recurring\nto Thy Unity, according to their appointed capacity, so far as is given\nto each thing in his kind), and might all be made very good; whether\nthey abide around Thee, or being in gradation removed in time and place,\nmade or undergo the beautiful variations of the Universe. These things\nthey see, and rejoice, in the little degree they here may, in the light\nof Thy truth.\n\nAnother bends his mind on that which is said, In the Beginning God made\nheaven and earth; and beholdeth therein Wisdom, the Beginning because\nIt also speaketh unto us. Another likewise bends his mind on the same\nwords, and by Beginning understands the commencement of things created;\nIn the beginning He made, as if it were said, He at first made. And\namong them that understand In the Beginning to mean, \"In Thy Wisdom Thou\ncreatedst heaven and earth,\" one believes the matter out of which the\nheaven and earth were to be created, to be there called heaven and\nearth; another, natures already formed and distinguished; another, one\nformed nature, and that a spiritual, under the name Heaven, the other\nformless, a corporeal matter, under the name Earth. They again who by\nthe names heaven and earth, understand matter as yet formless, out of\nwhich heaven and earth were to be formed, neither do they understand it\nin one way; but the one, that matter out of which both the intelligible\nand the sensible creature were to be perfected; another, that only, out\nof which this sensible corporeal mass was to be made, containing in\nits vast bosom these visible and ordinary natures. Neither do they, who\nbelieve the creatures already ordered and arranged, to be in this place\ncalled heaven and earth, understand the same; but the one, both the\ninvisible and visible, the other, the visible only, in which we behold\nthis lightsome heaven, and darksome earth, with the things in them\ncontained.\n\nBut he that no otherwise understands In the Beginning He made, than if\nit were said, At first He made, can only truly understand heaven and\nearth of the matter of heaven and earth, that is, of the universal\nintelligible and corporeal creation. For if he would understand thereby\nthe universe, as already formed, it may be rightly demanded of him, \"If\nGod made this first, what made He afterwards?\" and after the universe,\nhe will find nothing; whereupon must he against his will hear another\nquestion; \"How did God make this first, if nothing after?\" But when\nhe says, God made matter first formless, then formed, there is no\nabsurdity, if he be but qualified to discern, what precedes by eternity,\nwhat by time, what by choice, and what in original. By eternity, as\nGod is before all things; by time, as the flower before the fruit; by\nchoice, as the fruit before the flower; by original, as the sound before\nthe tune. Of these four, the first and last mentioned, are with extreme\ndifficulty understood, the two middle, easily. For a rare and too lofty\na vision is it, to behold Thy Eternity, O Lord, unchangeably making\nthings changeable; and thereby before them. And who, again, is of\nso sharp-sighted understanding, as to be able without great pains to\ndiscern, how the sound is therefore before the tune; because a tune is\na formed sound; and a thing not formed, may exist; whereas that which\nexisteth not, cannot be formed. Thus is the matter before the thing\nmade; not because it maketh it, seeing itself is rather made; nor is it\nbefore by interval of time; for we do not first in time utter formless\nsounds without singing, and subsequently adapt or fashion them into\nthe form of a chant, as wood or silver, whereof a chest or vessel is\nfashioned. For such materials do by time also precede the forms of the\nthings made of them, but in singing it is not so; for when it is sung,\nits sound is heard; for there is not first a formless sound, which is\nafterwards formed into a chant. For each sound, so soon as made, passeth\naway, nor canst thou find ought to recall and by art to compose. So\nthen the chant is concentrated in its sound, which sound of his is his\nmatter. And this indeed is formed, that it may be a tune; and therefore\n(as I said) the matter of the sound is before the form of the tune; not\nbefore, through any power it hath to make it a tune; for a sound is no\nway the workmaster of the tune; but is something corporeal, subjected to\nthe soul which singeth, whereof to make a tune. Nor is it first in time;\nfor it is given forth together with the tune; nor first in choice, for\na sound is not better than a tune, a tune being not only a sound, but\na beautiful sound. But it is first in original, because a tune receives\nnot form to become a sound, but a sound receives a form to become a\ntune. By this example, let him that is able, understand how the matter\nof things was first made, and called heaven and earth, because heaven\nand earth were made out of it. Yet was it not made first in time;\nbecause the forms of things give rise to time; but that was without\nform, but now is, in time, an object of sense together with its form.\nAnd yet nothing can be related of that matter, but as though prior in\ntime, whereas in value it is last (because things formed are superior\nto things without form) and is preceded by the Eternity of the Creator:\nthat so there might be out of nothing, whereof somewhat might be\ncreated.\n\nIn this diversity of the true opinions, let Truth herself produce\nconcord. And our God have mercy upon us, that we may use the law\nlawfully, the end of the commandment, pure charity. By this if man\ndemands of me, \"which of these was the meaning of Thy servant Moses\";\nthis were not the language of my Confessions, should I not confess unto\nThee, \"I know not\"; and yet I know that those senses are true, those\ncarnal ones excepted, of which I have spoken what seemed necessary. And\neven those hopeful little ones who so think, have this benefit, that the\nwords of Thy Book affright them not, delivering high things lowlily,\nand with few words a copious meaning. And all we who, I confess, see and\nexpress the truth delivered in those words, let us love one another, and\njointly love Thee our God, the fountain of truth, if we are athirst for\nit, and not for vanities; yea, let us so honour this Thy servant, the\ndispenser of this Scripture, full of Thy Spirit, as to believe that,\nwhen by Thy revelation he wrote these things, he intended that, which\namong them chiefly excels both for light of truth, and fruitfulness of\nprofit.\n\nSo when one says, \"Moses meant as I do\"; and another, \"Nay, but as I\ndo,\" I suppose that I speak more reverently, \"Why not rather as both,\nif both be true?\" And if there be a third, or a fourth, yea if any other\nseeth any other truth in those words, why may not he be believed to\nhave seen all these, through whom the One God hath tempered the holy\nScriptures to the senses of many, who should see therein things true but\ndivers? For I certainly (and fearlessly I speak it from my heart), that\nwere I to indite any thing to have supreme authority, I should prefer\nso to write, that whatever truth any could apprehend on those matters,\nmight be conveyed in my words, rather than set down my own meaning so\nclearly as to exclude the rest, which not being false, could not offend\nme. I will not therefore, O my God, be so rash, as not to believe, that\nThou vouchsafedst as much to that great man. He without doubt, when he\nwrote those words, perceived and thought on what truth soever we have\nbeen able to find, yea and whatsoever we have not been able, nor yet\nare, but which may be found in them.\n\nLastly, O Lord, who art God and not flesh and blood, if man did see\nless, could any thing be concealed from Thy good Spirit (who shall lead\nme into the land of uprightness), which Thou Thyself by those words wert\nabout to reveal to readers in times to come, though he through whom\nthey were spoken, perhaps among many true meanings, thought on some one?\nwhich if so it be, let that which he thought on be of all the highest.\nBut to us, O Lord, do Thou, either reveal that same, or any other true\none which Thou pleasest; that so, whether Thou discoverest the same to\nus, as to that Thy servant, or some other by occasion of those words,\nyet Thou mayest feed us, not error deceive us. Behold, O Lord my God,\nhow much we have written upon a few words, how much I beseech Thee! What\nstrength of ours, yea what ages would suffice for all Thy books in this\nmanner? Permit me then in these more briefly to confess unto Thee, and\nto choose some one true, certain, and good sense that Thou shalt inspire\nme, although many should occur, where many may occur; this being the law\nmy confession, that if I should say that which Thy minister intended,\nthat is right and best; for this should I endeavour, which if I should\nnot attain, yet I should say that, which Thy Truth willed by his words\nto tell me, which revealed also unto him, what It willed.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XIII\n\n\nI call upon Thee, O my God, my mercy, Who createdst me, and forgottest\nnot me, forgetting Thee. I call Thee into my soul which, by the longing\nThyself inspirest into her, Thou preparest for Thee. Forsake me not now\ncalling upon Thee, whom Thou preventedst before I called, and urgedst me\nwith much variety of repeated calls, that I would hear Thee from afar,\nand be converted, and call upon Thee, that calledst after me; for Thou,\nLord, blottedst out all my evil deservings, so as not to repay into my\nhands, wherewith I fell from Thee; and Thou hast prevented all my well\ndeservings, so as to repay the work of Thy hands wherewith Thou madest\nme; because before I was, Thou wert; nor was I any thing, to which\nThou mightest grant to be; and yet behold, I am, out of Thy goodness,\npreventing all this which Thou hast made me, and whereof Thou hast made\nme. For neither hadst Thou need of me, nor am I any such good, as to be\nhelpful unto Thee, my Lord and God; not in serving Thee, as though Thou\nwouldest tire in working; or lest Thy power might be less, if lacking\nmy service: nor cultivating Thy service, as a land, that must remain\nuncultivated, unless I cultivated Thee: but serving and worshipping\nThee, that I might receive a well-being from Thee, from whom it comes,\nthat I have a being capable of well-being.\n\nFor of the fulness of Thy goodness, doth Thy creature subsist, that so\na good, which could no ways profit Thee, nor was of Thee (lest so it\nshould be equal to Thee), might yet be since it could be made of Thee.\nFor what did heaven and earth, which Thou madest in the Beginning,\ndeserve of Thee? Let those spiritual and corporeal natures which Thou\nmadest in Thy Wisdom, say wherein they deserved of Thee, to depend\nthereon (even in that their several inchoate and formless state, whether\nspiritual or corporeal, ready to fall away into an immoderate liberty\nand far-distant unlikeliness unto Thee;--the spiritual, though without\nform, superior to the corporeal though formed, and the corporeal though\nwithout form, better than were it altogether nothing), and so to depend\nupon Thy Word, as formless, unless by the same Word they were brought\nback to Thy Unity, indued with form and from Thee the One Sovereign\nGood were made all very good. How did they deserve of Thee, to be even\nwithout form, since they had not been even this, but from Thee?\n\nHow did corporeal matter deserve of Thee, to be even invisible and\nwithout form? seeing it were not even this, but that Thou madest it, and\ntherefore because it was not, could not deserve of Thee to be made. Or\nhow could the inchoate spiritual creature deserve of Thee, even to ebb\nand flow darksomely like the deep,--unlike Thee, unless it had been\nby the same Word turned to that, by Whom it was created, and by Him so\nenlightened, become light; though not equally, yet conformably to that\nForm which is equal unto Thee? For as in a body, to be, is not one with\nbeing beautiful, else could it not be deformed; so likewise to a created\nspirit to live, is not one with living wisely; else should it be wise\nunchangeably. But good it is for it always to hold fast to Thee; lest\nwhat light it hath obtained by turning to Thee, it lose by turning\nfrom Thee, and relapse into life resembling the darksome deep. For we\nourselves also, who as to the soul are a spiritual creature, turned away\nfrom Thee our light, were in that life sometimes darkness; and still\nlabour amidst the relics of our darkness, until in Thy Only One we\nbecome Thy righteousness, like the mountains of God. For we have been\nThy judgments, which are like the great deep.\n\nThat which Thou saidst in the beginning of the creation, Let there be\nlight, and there was light; I do, not unsuitably, understand of the\nspiritual creature: because there was already a sort of life, which Thou\nmightest illuminate. But as it had no claim on Thee for a life, which\ncould be enlightened, so neither now that it was, had it any, to be\nenlightened. For neither could its formless estate be pleasing unto\nThee, unless it became light, and that not by existing simply, but by\nbeholding the illuminating light, and cleaving to it; so that, that it\nlived, and lived happily, it owes to nothing but Thy grace, being turned\nby a better change unto That which cannot be changed into worse or\nbetter; which Thou alone art, because Thou alone simply art; unto\nThee it being not one thing to live, another to live blessedly, seeing\nThyself art Thine own Blessedness.\n\nWhat then could be wanting unto Thy good, which Thou Thyself art,\nalthough these things had either never been, or remained without form;\nwhich thou madest, not out of any want, but out of the fulness of Thy\ngoodness, restraining them and converting them to form, not as though\nThy joy were fulfilled by them? For to Thee being perfect, is their\nimperfection displeasing, and hence were they perfected by Thee, and\nplease Thee; not as wert Thou imperfect, and by their perfecting wert\nalso to be perfected. For Thy good Spirit indeed was borne over the\nwaters, not borne up by them, as if He rested upon them. For those, on\nwhom Thy good Spirit is said to rest, He causes to rest in Himself. But\nThy incorruptible and unchangeable will, in itself all-sufficient for\nitself, was borne upon that life which Thou hadst created; to which,\nliving is not one with happy living, seeing it liveth also, ebbing and\nflowing in its own darkness: for which it remaineth to be converted unto\nHim, by Whom it was made, and to live more and more by the fountain\nof life, and in His light to see light, and to be perfected, and\nenlightened, and beautified.\n\nLo, now the Trinity appears unto me in a glass darkly, which is Thou my\nGod, because Thou, O Father, in Him Who is the Beginning of our wisdom,\nWhich is Thy Wisdom, born of Thyself, equal unto Thee and coeternal,\nthat is, in Thy Son, createdst heaven and earth. Much now have we said\nof the Heaven of heavens, and of the earth invisible and without form,\nand of the darksome deep, in reference to the wandering instability of\nits spiritual deformity, unless it had been converted unto Him, from\nWhom it had its then degree of life, and by His enlightening became a\nbeauteous life, and the heaven of that heaven, which was afterwards\nset between water and water. And under the name of God, I now held the\nFather, who made these things, and under the name of Beginning, the Son,\nin whom He made these things; and believing, as I did, my God as the\nTrinity, I searched further in His holy words, and lo, Thy Spirit moved\nupon the waters. Behold the Trinity, my God, Father, and Son, and Holy\nGhost, Creator of all creation.\n\nBut what was the cause, O true-speaking Light?--unto Thee lift I up my\nheart, let it not teach me vanities, dispel its darkness; and tell me, I\nbeseech Thee, by our mother charity, tell me the reason, I beseech Thee,\nwhy after the mention of heaven, and of the earth invisible and without\nform, and darkness upon the deep, Thy Scripture should then at length\nmention Thy Spirit? Was it because it was meet that the knowledge of Him\nshould be conveyed, as being \"borne above\"; and this could not be\nsaid, unless that were first mentioned, over which Thy Spirit may\nbe understood to have been borne. For neither was He borne above the\nFather, nor the Son, nor could He rightly be said to be borne above, if\nHe were borne over nothing. First then was that to be spoken of, over\nwhich He might be borne; and then He, whom it was meet not otherwise to\nbe spoken of than as being borne. But wherefore was it not meet that\nthe knowledge of Him should be conveyed otherwise, than as being borne\nabove?\n\nHence let him that is able, follow with his understanding Thy Apostle,\nwhere he thus speaks, Because Thy love is shed abroad in our hearts by\nthe Holy Ghost which is given unto us: and where concerning spiritual\ngifts, he teacheth and showeth unto us a more excellent way of charity;\nand where he bows his knee unto Thee for us, that we may know the\nsupereminent knowledge of the love of Christ. And therefore from the\nbeginning, was He borne supereminent above the waters. To whom shall I\nspeak this? how speak of the weight of evil desires, downwards to the\nsteep abyss; and how charity raises up again by Thy Spirit which was\nborne above the waters? to whom shall I speak it? how speak it? For it\nis not in space that we are merged and emerge. What can be more, and yet\nwhat less like? They be affections, they be loves; the uncleanness\nof our spirit flowing away downwards with the love of cares, and the\nholiness of Thine raising us upward by love of unanxious repose; that\nwe may lift our hearts unto Thee, where Thy Spirit is borne above the\nwaters; and come to that supereminent repose, when our soul shall have\npassed through the waters which yield no support.\n\nAngels fell away, man's soul fell away, and thereby pointed the abyss in\nthat dark depth, ready for the whole spiritual creation, hadst not Thou\nsaid from the beginning, Let there be light, and there had been light,\nand every obedient intelligence of Thy heavenly City had cleaved to\nThee, and rested in Thy Spirit, Which is borne unchangeably over every\nthing changeable. Otherwise, had even the heaven of heavens been in\nitself a darksome deep; but now it is light in the Lord. For even in\nthat miserable restlessness of the spirits, who fell away and discovered\ntheir own darkness, when bared of the clothing of Thy light, dost Thou\nsufficiently reveal how noble Thou madest the reasonable creature; to\nwhich nothing will suffice to yield a happy rest, less than Thee; and so\nnot even herself. For Thou, O our God, shalt lighten our darkness: from\nThee riseth our garment of light; and then shall our darkness be as\nthe noon day. Give Thyself unto me, O my God, restore Thyself unto me:\nbehold I love, and if it be too little, I would love more strongly. I\ncannot measure so as to know, how much love there yet lacketh to me, ere\nmy life may run into Thy embracements, nor turn away, until it be hidden\nin the hidden place of Thy Presence. This only I know, that woe is\nme except in Thee: not only without but within myself also; and all\nabundance, which is not my God, is emptiness to me.\n\nBut was not either the Father, or the Son, borne above the waters? if\nthis means, in space, like a body, then neither was the Holy Spirit;\nbut if the unchangeable supereminence of Divinity above all things\nchangeable, then were both Father, and Son, and Holy Ghost borne upon\nthe waters. Why then is this said of Thy Spirit only, why is it said\nonly of Him? As if He had been in place, Who is not in place, of Whom\nonly it is written, that He is Thy gift? In Thy Gift we rest; there we\nenjoy Thee. Our rest is our place. Love lifts us up thither, and Thy\ngood Spirit lifts up our lowliness from the gates of death. In Thy good\npleasure is our peace. The body by its own weight strives towards its\nown place. Weight makes not downward only, but to his own place. Fire\ntends upward, a stone downward. They are urged by their own weight,\nthey seek their own places. Oil poured below water, is raised above the\nwater; water poured upon oil, sinks below the oil. They are urged by\ntheir own weights to seek their own places. When out of their order,\nthey are restless; restored to order, they are at rest. My weight, is my\nlove; thereby am I borne, whithersoever I am borne. We are inflamed, by\nThy Gift we are kindled; and are carried upwards; we glow inwardly, and\ngo forwards. We ascend Thy ways that be in our heart, and sing a song of\ndegrees; we glow inwardly with Thy fire, with Thy good fire, and we go;\nbecause we go upwards to the peace of Jerusalem: for gladdened was I in\nthose who said unto me, We will go up to the house of the Lord. There\nhath Thy good pleasure placed us, that we may desire nothing else, but\nto abide there for ever.\n\nBlessed creature, which being itself other than Thou, has known no\nother condition, than that, so soon as it was made, it was, without\nany interval, by Thy Gift, Which is borne above every thing changeable,\nborne aloft by that calling whereby Thou saidst, Let there be light, and\nthere was light. Whereas in us this took place at different times, in\nthat we were darkness, and are made light: but of that is only said,\nwhat it would have been, had it not been enlightened. And, this is so\nspoken, as if it had been unsettled and darksome before; that so the\ncause whereby it was made otherwise, might appear, namely, that being\nturned to the Light unfailing it became light. Whoso can, let him\nunderstand this; let him ask of Thee. Why should he trouble me, as if I\ncould enlighten any man that cometh into this world?\n\nWhich of us comprehendeth the Almighty Trinity? and yet which speaks not\nof It, if indeed it be It? Rare is the soul, which while it speaks of\nIt, knows what it speaks of. And they contend and strive, yet, without\npeace, no man sees that vision. I would that men would consider these\nthree, that are in themselves. These three be indeed far other than the\nTrinity: I do but tell, where they may practise themselves, and there\nprove and feel how far they be. Now the three I spake of are, To Be,\nto Know, and to Will. For I Am, and Know, and Will: I Am Knowing and\nWilling: and I Know myself to Be, and to Will: and I Will to Be, and to\nKnow. In these three then, let him discern that can, how inseparable\na life there is, yea one life, mind, and one essence, yea lastly how\ninseparable a distinction there is, and yet a distinction. Surely a man\nhath it before him; let him look into himself, and see, and tell me. But\nwhen he discovers and can say any thing of these, let him not therefore\nthink that he has found that which is above these Unchangeable, which\nIs unchangeably, and Knows unchangeably, and Wills unchangeably; and\nwhether because of these three, there is in God also a Trinity, or\nwhether all three be in Each, so that the three belong to Each; or\nwhether both ways at once, wondrously, simply and yet manifoldly, Itself\na bound unto Itself within Itself, yet unbounded; whereby It is, and is\nKnown unto Itself and sufficeth to itself, unchangeably the Self-same,\nby the abundant greatness of its Unity,--who can readily conceive this?\nwho could any ways express it? who would, any way, pronounce thereon\nrashly?\n\nProceed in thy confession, say to the Lord thy God, O my faith, Holy,\nHoly, Holy, O Lord my God, in Thy Name have we been baptised, Father,\nSon, and Holy Ghost; in Thy Name do we baptise, Father, Son, and Holy\nGhost, because among us also, in His Christ did God make heaven and\nearth, namely, the spiritual and carnal people of His Church. Yea and\nour earth, before it received the form of doctrine, was invisible and\nwithout form; and we were covered with the darkness of ignorance. For\nThou chastenedst man for iniquity, and Thy judgments were like the great\ndeep unto him. But because Thy Spirit was borne above the waters, Thy\nmercy forsook not our misery, and Thou saidst, Let there be light,\nRepent ye, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand. Repent ye, let there be\nlight. And because our soul was troubled within us, we remembered Thee,\nO Lord, from the land of Jordan, and that mountain equal unto Thyself,\nbut little for our sakes: and our darkness displeased us, we turned unto\nThee and there was light. And, behold, we were sometimes darkness, but\nnow light in the Lord.\n\nBut as yet by faith and not by sight, for by hope we are saved; but hope\nthat is seen, is not hope. As yet doth deep call unto deep, but now in\nthe voice of Thy water-spouts. As yet doth he that saith, I could not\nspeak unto you as unto spiritual, but as unto carnal, even he as yet,\ndoth not think himself to have apprehended, and forgetteth those things\nwhich are behind, and reacheth forth to those which are before, and\ngroaneth being burthened, and his soul thirsteth after the Living\nGod, as the hart after the water-brooks, and saith, When shall I come?\ndesiring to be clothed upon with his house which is from heaven, and\ncalleth upon this lower deep, saying, Be not conformed to this world,\nbut be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind. And, be not children\nin understanding, but in malice, be ye children, that in understanding\nye may be perfect; and O foolish Galatians, who hath bewitched you? But\nnow no longer in his own voice; but in Thine who sentest Thy Spirit from\nabove; through Him who ascended up on high, and set open the flood-gates\nof His gifts, that the force of His streams might make glad the city of\nGod. Him doth this friend of the Bridegroom sigh after, having now the\nfirst-fruits of the Spirit laid up with Him, yet still groaning within\nhimself, waiting for the adoption, to wit, the redemption of his body;\nto Him he sighs, a member of the Bride; for Him he is jealous, as being\na friend of the Bridegroom; for Him he is jealous, not for himself;\nbecause in the voice of Thy water-spouts, not in his own voice, doth he\ncall to that other depth, over whom being jealous he feareth, lest as\nthe serpent beguiled Eve through his subtilty, so their minds should be\ncorrupted from the purity that is in our Bridegroom Thy only Son. O\nwhat a light of beauty will that be, when we shall see Him as He is,\nand those tears be passed away, which have been my meat day and night,\nwhilst they daily say unto me, Where is now Thy God?\n\nBehold, I too say, O my God, Where art Thou? see, where Thou art! in\nThee I breathe a little, when I pour out my soul by myself in the voice\nof joy and praise, the sound of him that keeps holy-day. And yet again\nit is sad, because it relapseth, and becomes a deep, or rather perceives\nitself still to be a deep. Unto it speaks my faith which Thou hast\nkindled to enlighten my feet in the night, Why art thou sad, O my soul,\nand why dost thou trouble me? Hope in the Lord; His word is a lanthorn\nunto thy feet: hope and endure, until the night, the mother of the\nwicked, until the wrath of the Lord, be overpast, whereof we also were\nonce children, who were sometimes darkness, relics whereof we bear\nabout us in our body, dead because of sin; until the day break, and the\nshadows fly away. Hope thou in the Lord; in the morning I shall stand in\nThy presence, and contemplate Thee: I shall for ever confess unto Thee.\nIn the morning I shall stand in Thy presence, and shall see the health\nof my countenance, my God, who also shall quicken our mortal bodies, by\nthe Spirit that dwelleth in us, because He hath in mercy been borne\nover our inner darksome and floating deep: from Whom we have in this\npilgrimage received an earnest, that we should now be light: whilst we\nare saved by hope, and are the children of light, and the children of\nthe day, not the children of the night, nor of the darkness, which yet\nsometimes we were. Betwixt whom and us, in this uncertainty of human\nknowledge, Thou only dividest; Thou, who provest our hearts, and callest\nthe light, day, and the darkness, night. For who discerneth us, but\nThou? And what have we, that we have not received of Thee? out of the\nsame lump vessels are made unto honour, whereof others also are made\nunto dishonour.\n\nOr who, except Thou, our God, made for us that firmament of authority\nover us in Thy Divine Scripture? as it is said, For heaven shall be\nfolded up like a scroll; and now is it stretched over us like a skin.\nFor Thy Divine Scripture is of more eminent authority, since those\nmortals by whom Thou dispensest it unto us, underwent mortality. And\nThou knowest, Lord, Thou knowest, how Thou with skins didst clothe men,\nwhen they by sin became mortal. Whence Thou hast like a skin stretched\nout the firmament of Thy book, that is, Thy harmonizing words, which\nby the ministry of mortal men Thou spreadest over us. For by their very\ndeath was that solid firmament of authority, in Thy discourses set forth\nby them, more eminently extended over all that be under it; which whilst\nthey lived here, was not so eminently extended. Thou hadst not as yet\nspread abroad the heaven like a skin; Thou hadst not as yet enlarged in\nall directions the glory of their deaths.\n\nLet us look, O Lord, upon the heavens, the work of Thy fingers; clear\nfrom our eyes that cloud, which Thou hast spread under them. There is\nThy testimony, which giveth wisdom unto the little ones: perfect, O my\nGod, Thy praise out of the mouth of babes and sucklings. For we know no\nother books, which so destroy pride, which so destroy the enemy and the\ndefender, who resisteth Thy reconciliation by defending his own sins. I\nknow not, Lord, I know not any other such pure words, which so persuade\nme to confess, and make my neck pliant to Thy yoke, and invite me to\nserve Thee for nought. Let me understand them, good Father: grant this\nto me, who am placed under them: because for those placed under them,\nhast Thou established them.\n\nOther waters there be above this firmament, I believe immortal, and\nseparated from earthly corruption. Let them praise Thy Name, let them\npraise Thee, the supercelestial people, Thine angels, who have no need\nto gaze up at this firmament, or by reading to know of Thy Word. For\nthey always behold Thy face, and there read without any syllables in\ntime, what willeth Thy eternal will; they read, they choose, they love.\nThey are ever reading; and that never passes away which they read; for\nby choosing, and by loving, they read the very unchangeableness of Thy\ncounsel. Their book is never closed, nor their scroll folded up; seeing\nThou Thyself art this to them, and art eternally; because Thou hast\nordained them above this firmament, which Thou hast firmly settled over\nthe infirmity of the lower people, where they might gaze up and learn\nThy mercy, announcing in time Thee Who madest times. For Thy mercy, O\nLord, is in the heavens, and Thy truth reacheth unto the clouds. The\nclouds pass away, but the heaven abideth. The preachers of Thy word pass\nout of this life into another; but Thy Scripture is spread abroad over\nthe people, even unto the end of the world. Yet heaven and earth also\nshall pass away, but Thy words shall not pass away. Because the scroll\nshall be rolled together: and the grass over which it was spread, shall\nwith the goodliness of it pass away; but Thy Word remaineth for ever,\nwhich now appeareth unto us under the dark image of the clouds, and\nthrough the glass of the heavens, not as it is: because we also, though\nthe well-beloved of Thy Son, yet it hath not yet appeared what we\nshall be. He looketh through the lattice of our flesh, and He spake us\ntenderly, and kindled us, and we ran after His odours. But when He shall\nappear, then shall we be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is. As He\nis, Lord, will our sight be.\n\nFor altogether, as Thou art, Thou only knowest; Who art unchangeably,\nand knowest unchangeably, and willest unchangeably. And Thy Essence\nKnoweth, and Willeth unchangeably; and Thy Knowledge Is, and Willeth\nunchangeably; and Thy Will Is, and Knoweth unchangeably. Nor seemeth it\nright in Thine eyes, that as the Unchangeable Light knoweth Itself, so\nshould it be known by the thing enlightened, and changeable. Therefore\nis my soul like a land where no water is, because as it cannot of itself\nenlighten itself, so can it not of itself satisfy itself. For so is the\nfountain of life with Thee, like as in Thy light we shall see light.\n\nWho gathered the embittered together into one society? For they have all\none end, a temporal and earthly felicity, for attaining whereof they do\nall things, though they waver up and down with an innumerable variety of\ncares. Who, Lord, but Thou, saidst, Let the waters be gathered together\ninto one place, and let the dry land appear, which thirsteth after Thee?\nFor the sea also is Thine, and Thou hast made it, and Thy hands prepared\nthe dry land. Nor is the bitterness of men's wills, but the gathering\ntogether of the waters, called sea; for Thou restrainest the wicked\ndesires of men's souls, and settest them their bounds, how far they may\nbe allowed to pass, that their waves may break one against another: and\nthus makest Thou it a sea, by the order of Thy dominion over all things.\n\nBut the souls that thirst after Thee, and that appear before Thee (being\nby other bounds divided from the society of the sea), Thou waterest by\na sweet spring, that the earth may bring forth her fruit, and Thou, Lord\nGod, so commanding, our soul may bud forth works of mercy according\nto their kind, loving our neighbour in the relief of his bodily\nnecessities, having seed in itself according to its likeness, when from\nfeeling of our infirmity, we compassionate so as to relieve the needy;\nhelping them, as we would be helped; if we were in like need; not only\nin things easy, as in herb yielding seed, but also in the protection of\nour assistance, with our best strength, like the tree yielding fruit:\nthat is, well-doing in rescuing him that suffers wrong, from the hand\nof the powerful, and giving him the shelter of protection, by the mighty\nstrength of just judgment.\n\nSo, Lord, so, I beseech Thee, let there spring up, as Thou doest, as\nThou givest cheerfulness and ability, let truth spring out of the earth,\nand righteousness look down from heaven, and let there be lights in the\nfirmament. Let us break our bread to the hungry, and bring the houseless\npoor to our house. Let us clothe the naked, and despise not those of our\nown flesh. Which fruits having sprung out of the earth, see it is good:\nand let our temporary light break forth; and ourselves, from this lower\nfruitfulness of action, arriving at the delightfulness of contemplation,\nobtaining the Word of Life above, appear like lights in the world,\ncleaving to the firmament of Thy Scripture. For there Thou instructest\nus, to divide between the things intellectual, and things of sense, as\nbetwixt the day and the night; or between souls, given either to things\nintellectual, or things of sense, so that now not Thou only in the\nsecret of Thy judgment, as before the firmament was made, dividest\nbetween the light and the darkness, but Thy spiritual children also\nset and ranked in the same firmament (now that Thy grace is laid open\nthroughout the world), may give light upon the earth, and divide betwixt\nthe day and the night, and be for signs of times, that old things\nare passed away, and, behold, all things are become new; and that our\nsalvation is nearer than when we believed: and that the night is far\nspent, and the day is at hand: and that Thou wilt crown Thy year with\nblessing, sending the labourers of Thy goodness into Thy harvest, in\nsowing whereof, others have laboured, sending also into another field,\nwhose harvest shall be in the end. Thus grantest Thou the prayers of him\nthat asketh, and blessest the years of the just; but Thou art the same,\nand in Thy years which fail not, Thou preparest a garner for our passing\nyears. For Thou by an eternal counsel dost in their proper seasons\nbestow heavenly blessings upon the earth. For to one is given by the\nSpirit the word of wisdom, as it were the lesser light: to another\nfaith; to another the gift with the light of perspicuous truth, as it\nwere for the rule of the day. To another the word of knowledge by the\nsame Spirit, as it were the lesser light: to another faith; to another\nthe gift of healing; to another the working of miracles; to another\nprophecy; to another discerning of spirits; to another divers kinds of\ntongues. And all these as it were stars. For all these worketh the one\nand self-same spirit, dividing to every man his own as He will; and\ncausing stars to appear manifestly, to profit withal. But the word of\nknowledge, wherein are contained all Sacraments, which are varied in\ntheir seasons as it were the moon, and those other notices of gifts,\nwhich are reckoned up in order, as it were stars, inasmuch as they come\nshort of that brightness of wisdom, which gladdens the forementioned\nday, are only for the rule of the night. For they are necessary to such,\nas that Thy most prudent servant could not speak unto as unto spiritual,\nbut as unto carnal; even he, who speaketh wisdom among those that are\nperfect. But the natural man, as it were a babe in Christ and fed on\nmilk, until he be strengthened for solid meat and his eye be enabled to\nbehold the Sun, let him not dwell in a night forsaken of all light, but\nbe content with the light of the moon and the stars. So dost Thou speak\nto us, our All-wise God, in Thy Book, Thy firmament; that we may discern\nall things, in an admirable contemplation; though as yet in signs and in\ntimes, and in days, and in years.\n\nBut first, wash you, be clean; put away evil from your souls, and from\nbefore mine eyes, that the dry land may appear. Learn to do good, judge\nthe fatherless, plead for the widow, that the earth may bring forth the\ngreen herb for meat, and the tree bearing fruit; and come, let us reason\ntogether, saith the Lord, that there may be lights in the firmament of\nthe heaven, and they may shine upon the earth. That rich man asked of\nthe good Master, what he should do to attain eternal life. Let the\ngood Master tell him (whom he thought no more than man; but He is good\nbecause He is God), let Him tell him, if he would enter into life, he\nmust keep the commandments: let him put away from him the bitterness\nof malice and wickedness; not kill, not commit adultery, not steal, not\nbear false witness; that the dry land may appear, and bring forth the\nhonouring of father and mother, and the love of our neighbour. All these\n(saith he) have I kept. Whence then so many thorns, if the earth be\nfruitful? Go, root up the spreading thickets of covetousness; sell that\nthou hast, and be filled with fruit, by giving to the poor, and thou\nshalt have treasure in heaven; and follow the Lord if thou wilt be\nperfect, associated with them, among whom He speaketh wisdom, Who\nknoweth what to distribute to the day, and to the night, that thou also\nmayest know it, and for thee there may be lights in the firmament of\nheaven; which will not be, unless thy heart be there: nor will that\neither be, unless there thy treasure be; as thou hast heard of the good\nMaster. But that barren earth was grieved; and the thorns choked the\nword.\n\nBut you, chosen generation, you weak things of the world, who have\nforsaken all, that ye may follow the Lord; go after Him, and confound\nthe mighty; go after Him, ye beautiful feet, and shine ye in the\nfirmament, that the heavens may declare His glory, dividing between the\nlight of the perfect, though not as the angels, and the darkness of the\nlittle ones, though not despised. Shine over the earth; and let the\nday, lightened by the sun, utter unto day, speech of wisdom; and night,\nshining with the moon, show unto night, the word of knowledge. The moon\nand stars shine for the night; yet doth not the night obscure them,\nseeing they give it light in its degree. For behold God saying, as\nit were, Let there be lights in the firmament of heaven; there came\nsuddenly a sound from heaven, as it had been the rushing of a mighty\nwind, and there appeared cloven tongues like as of fire, and it sat upon\neach of them. And there were made lights in the firmament of heaven,\nhaving the word of life. Run ye to and fro every where, ye holy fires,\nye beauteous fires; for ye are the light of the world, nor are ye put\nunder a bushel; He whom you cleave unto, is exalted, and hath exalted\nyou. Run ye to and fro, and be known unto all nations.\n\nLet the sea also conceive and bring forth your works; and let the waters\nbring forth the moving creature that hath life. For ye, separating the\nprecious from the vile, are made the mouth of God, by whom He saith, Let\nthe waters bring forth, not the living creature which the earth brings\nforth, but the moving creature having life, and the fowls that fly above\nthe earth. For Thy Sacraments, O God, by the ministry of Thy holy ones,\nhave moved amid the waves of temptations of the world, to hallow the\nGentiles in Thy Name, in Thy Baptism. And amid these things, many great\nwonders were wrought, as it were great whales: and the voices of Thy\nmessengers flying above the earth, in the open firmament of Thy Book;\nthat being set over them, as their authority under which they were to\nfly, whithersoever they went. For there is no speech nor language, where\ntheir voice is not heard: seeing their sound is gone through all the\nearth, and their words to the end of the world, because Thou, Lord,\nmultipliedst them by blessing.\n\nSpeak I untruly, or do I mingle and confound, and not distinguish\nbetween the lucid knowledge of these things in the firmament of heaven,\nand the material works in the wavy sea, and under the firmament of\nheaven? For of those things whereof the knowledge is substantial and\ndefined, without any increase by generation, as it were lights of wisdom\nand knowledge, yet even of them, the material operations are many and\ndivers; and one thing growing out of another, they are multiplied by Thy\nblessing, O God, who hast refreshed the fastidiousness of mortal senses;\nthat so one thing in the understanding of our mind, may, by the motions\nof the body, be many ways set out, and expressed. These Sacraments have\nthe waters brought forth; but in Thy word. The necessities of the people\nestranged from the eternity of Thy truth, have brought them forth,\nbut in Thy Gospel; because the waters themselves cast them forth, the\ndiseased bitterness whereof was the cause, why they were sent forth in\nThy Word.\n\nNow are all things fair that Thou hast made; but behold, Thyself art\nunutterably fairer, that madest all; from whom had not Adam fallen, the\nbrackishness of the sea had never flowed out of him, that is, the human\nrace so profoundly curious, and tempestuously swelling, and restlessly\ntumbling up and down; and then had there been no need of Thy dispensers\nto work in many waters, after a corporeal and sensible manner,\nmysterious doings and sayings. For such those moving and flying\ncreatures now seem to me to mean, whereby people being initiated and\nconsecrated by corporeal Sacraments, should not further profit, unless\ntheir soul had a spiritual life, and unless after the word of admission,\nit looked forwards to perfection.\n\nAnd hereby, in Thy Word, not the deepness of the sea, but the earth\nseparated from the bitterness of the waters, brings forth, not the\nmoving creature that hath life, but the living soul. For now hath it no\nmore need of baptism, as the heathen have, and as itself had, when it\nwas covered with the waters; (for no other entrance is there into the\nkingdom of heaven, since Thou hast appointed that this should be the\nentrance): nor does it seek after wonderfulness of miracles to work\nbelief; for it is not such, that unless it sees signs and wonders, it\nwill not believe, now that the faithful earth is separated from the\nwaters that were bitter with infidelity; and tongues are for a sign, not\nto them that believe, but to them that believe not. Neither then does\nthat earth which Thou hast founded upon the waters, need that flying\nkind, which at Thy word the waters brought forth. Send Thou Thy word\ninto it by Thy messengers: for we speak of their working, yet it is Thou\nthat workest in them that they may work out a living soul in it. The\nearth brings it forth, because the earth is the cause that they work\nthis in the soul; as the sea was the cause that they wrought upon\nthe moving creatures that have life, and the fowls that fly under the\nfirmament of heaven, of whom the earth hath no need; although it feeds\nupon that fish which was taken out of the deep, upon that table which\nThou hast prepared in the presence of them that believe. For therefore\nwas He taken out of the deep, that He might feed the dry land; and the\nfowl, though bred in the sea, is yet multiplied upon the earth. For of\nthe first preachings of the Evangelists, man's infidelity was the cause;\nyet are the faithful also exhorted and blessed by them manifoldly, from\nday to day. But the living soul takes his beginning from the earth: for\nit profits only those already among the Faithful, to contain themselves\nfrom the love of this world, that so their soul may live unto Thee,\nwhich was dead while it lived in pleasures; in death-bringing pleasures,\nLord, for Thou, Lord, art the life-giving delight of the pure heart.\n\nNow then let Thy ministers work upon the earth,--not as upon the waters\nof infidelity, by preaching and speaking by miracles, and Sacraments,\nand mystic words; wherein ignorance, the mother of admiration, might\nbe intent upon them, out of a reverence towards those secret signs. For\nsuch is the entrance unto the Faith for the sons of Adam forgetful of\nThee, while they hide themselves from Thy face, and become a darksome\ndeep. But--let Thy ministers work now as on the dry land, separated from\nthe whirlpools of the great deep: and let them be a pattern unto the\nFaithful, by living before them, and stirring them up to imitation. For\nthus do men hear, so as not to hear only, but to do also. Seek the Lord,\nand your soul shall live, that the earth may bring forth the living\nsoul. Be not conformed to the world. Contain yourselves from it: the\nsoul lives by avoiding what it dies by affecting. Contain yourselves\nfrom the ungoverned wildness of pride, the sluggish voluptuousness of\nluxury, and the false name of knowledge: that so the wild beasts may be\ntamed, the cattle broken to the yoke, the serpents, harmless. For\nthese be the motions of our mind under an allegory; that is to say, the\nhaughtiness of pride, the delight of lust, and the poison of curiosity,\nare the motions of a dead soul; for the soul dies not so as to lose all\nmotion; because it dies by forsaking the fountain of life, and so is\ntaken up by this transitory world, and is conformed unto it.\n\nBut Thy word, O God, is the fountain of life eternal; and passeth not\naway: wherefore this departure of the soul is restrained by Thy word,\nwhen it is said unto us, Be not conformed unto this world; that so the\nearth may in the fountain of life bring forth a living soul; that is,\na soul made continent in Thy Word, by Thy Evangelists, by following the\nfollowers of Thy Christ. For this is after his kind; because a man is\nwont to imitate his friend. Be ye (saith he) as I am, for I also am\nas you are. Thus in this living soul shall there be good beasts, in\nmeekness of action (for Thou hast commanded, Go on with thy business in\nmeekness, so shalt thou be beloved by all men); and good cattle, which\nneither if they eat, shall they over-abound, nor, if they eat not, have\nany lack; and good serpents, not dangerous, to do hurt, but wise to take\nheed; and only making so much search into this temporal nature, as may\nsuffice that eternity be clearly seen, being understood by the things\nthat are made. For these creatures are obedient unto reason, when being\nrestrained from deadly prevailing upon us, they live, and are good.\n\nFor behold, O Lord, our God, our Creator, when our affections have\nbeen restrained from the love of the world, by which we died through\nevil-living; and begun to be a living soul, through good living; and\nThy word which Thou spokest by Thy apostle, is made good in us, Be not\nconformed to this world: there follows that also, which Thou presently\nsubjoinedst, saying, But be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind;\nnot now after your kind, as though following your neighbour who went\nbefore you, nor as living after the example of some better man (for Thou\nsaidst not, \"Let man be made after his kind,\" but, Let us make man after\nour own image and similitude), that we might prove what Thy will is. For\nto this purpose said that dispenser of Thine (who begat children by the\nGospel), that he might not for ever have them babes, whom he must be\nfain to feed with milk, and cherish as a nurse; be ye transformed (saith\nhe) by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good\nand acceptable and perfect will of God. Wherefore Thou sayest not, \"Let\nman be made,\" but Let us make man. Nor saidst Thou, \"according to his\nkind\"; but, after our image and likeness. For man being renewed in his\nmind, and beholding and understanding Thy truth, needs not man as his\ndirector, so as to follow after his kind; but by Thy direction proveth\nwhat is that good, that acceptable, and perfect will of Thine: yea, Thou\nteachest him, now made capable, to discern the Trinity of the Unity, and\nthe Unity of the Trinity. Wherefore to that said in the plural, Let us\nmake man, is yet subjoined in the singular, And God made man: and\nto that said in the plural, After our likeness, is subjoined in the\nsingular, After the image of God. Thus is man renewed in the knowledge\nof God, after the image of Him that created him: and being made\nspiritual, he judgeth all things (all things which are to be judged),\nyet himself is judged of no man.\n\nBut that he judgeth all things, this answers to his having dominion over\nthe fish of the sea, and over the fowls of the air, and over all cattle\nand wild beasts, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing\nthat creepeth upon the earth. For this he doth by the understanding of\nhis mind, whereby he perceiveth the things of the Spirit of God; whereas\notherwise, man being placed in honour, had no understanding, and is\ncompared unto the brute beasts, and is become like unto them. In Thy\nChurch therefore, O our God, according to Thy grace which Thou hast\nbestowed upon it (for we are Thy workmanship created unto good\nworks), not those only who are spiritually set over, but they also who\nspiritually are subject to those that are set over them,--for in this\nway didst Thou make man male and female, in Thy grace spiritual, where,\naccording to the sex of body, there is neither male nor female, because\nneither Jew nor Grecian, neither bond nor free.--Spiritual persons\n(whether such as are set over, or such as obey); do judge spiritually;\nnot of that spiritual knowledge which shines in the firmament (for they\nought not to judge as to so supreme authority), nor may they judge of\nThy Book itself, even though something there shineth not clearly; for we\nsubmit our understanding unto it, and hold for certain, that even what\nis closed to our sight, is yet rightly and truly spoken. For so man,\nthough now spiritual and renewed in the knowledge of God after His image\nthat created him, ought to be a doer of the law, not a judge. Neither\ndoth he judge of that distinction of spiritual and carnal men, who\nare known unto Thine eyes, O our God, and have not as yet discovered\nthemselves unto us by works, that by their fruits we might know them:\nbut Thou, Lord, dost even now know them, and hast divided and called\nthem in secret, or ever the firmament was made. Nor doth he, though\nspiritual, judge the unquiet people of this world; for what hath he\nto do, to judge them that are without, knowing not which of them shall\nhereafter come into the sweetness of Thy grace; and which continue in\nthe perpetual bitterness of ungodliness?\n\nMan therefore, whom Thou hast made after Thine own image, received not\ndominion over the lights of heaven, nor over that hidden heaven\nitself, nor over the day and the night, which Thou calledst before the\nfoundation of the heaven, nor over the gathering together of the waters,\nwhich is the sea; but He received dominion over the fishes of the sea,\nand the fowls of the air, and over all cattle, and over all the earth,\nand over all creeping things which creep upon the earth. For He judgeth\nand approveth what He findeth right, and He disalloweth what He findeth\namiss, whether in the celebration of those Sacraments by which such\nare initiated, as Thy mercy searches out in many waters: or in that, in\nwhich that Fish is set forth, which, taken out of the deep, the devout\nearth feedeth upon: or in the expressions and signs of words, subject to\nthe authority of Thy Book,--such signs, as proceed out of the mouth,\nand sound forth, flying as it were under the firmament, by interpreting,\nexpounding, discoursing disputing, consecrating, or praying unto Thee,\nso that the people may answer, Amen. The vocal pronouncing of all which\nwords, is occasioned by the deep of this world, and the blindness of the\nflesh, which cannot see thoughts; So that there is need to speak aloud\ninto the ears; so that, although flying fowls be multiplied upon the\nearth, yet they derive their beginning from the waters. The spiritual\nman judgeth also by allowing of what is right, and disallowing what he\nfinds amiss, in the works and lives of the faithful; their alms, as it\nwere the earth bringing forth fruit, and of the living soul, living\nby the taming of the affections, in chastity, in fasting, in holy\nmeditations; and of those things, which are perceived by the senses of\nthe body. Upon all these is he now said to judge, wherein he hath also\npower of correction.\n\nBut what is this, and what kind of mystery? Behold, Thou blessest\nmankind, O Lord, that they may increase and multiply, and replenish the\nearth; dost Thou not thereby give us a hint to understand something? why\ndidst Thou not as well bless the light, which Thou calledst day; nor the\nfirmament of heaven, nor the lights, nor the stars, nor the earth, nor\nthe sea? I might say that Thou, O God, who created us after\nThine Image, I might say, that it had been Thy good pleasure to bestow\nthis blessing peculiarly upon man; hadst Thou not in like manner blessed\nthe fishes and the whales, that they should increase and multiply, and\nreplenish the waters of the sea, and that the fowls should be multiplied\nupon the earth. I might say likewise, that this blessing pertained\nproperly unto such creatures, as are bred of their own kind, had I found\nit given to the fruit-trees, and plants, and beasts of the earth. But\nnow neither unto the herbs, nor the trees, nor the beasts, nor serpents\nis it said, Increase and multiply; notwithstanding all these as well as\nthe fishes, fowls, or men, do by generation increase and continue their\nkind.\n\nWhat then shall I say, O Truth my Light? \"that it was idly said, and\nwithout meaning?\" Not so, O Father of piety, far be it from a minister\nof Thy word to say so. And if I understand not what Thou meanest by\nthat phrase, let my betters, that is, those of more understanding than\nmyself, make better use of it, according as Thou, my God, hast given to\neach man to understand. But let my confession also be pleasing in Thine\neyes, wherein I confess unto Thee, that I believe, O Lord, that Thou\nspokest not so in vain; nor will I suppress, what this lesson suggests\nto me. For it is true, nor do I see what should hinder me from thus\nunderstanding the figurative sayings of Thy Bible. For I know a thing\nto be manifoldly signified by corporeal expressions, which is understood\none way by the mind; and that understood many ways in the mind, which\nis signified one way by corporeal expression. Behold, the single love\nof God and our neighbour, by what manifold sacraments, and innumerable\nlanguages, and in each several language, in how innumerable modes of\nspeaking, it is corporeally expressed. Thus do the offspring of the\nwaters increase and multiply. Observe again, whosoever readest this;\nbehold, what Scripture delivers, and the voice pronounces one only way,\nIn the Beginning God created heaven and earth; is it not understood\nmanifoldly, not through any deceit of error, but by various kinds of\ntrue senses? Thus do man's offspring increase and multiply.\n\nIf therefore we conceive of the natures of the things themselves, not\nallegorically, but properly, then does the phrase increase and multiply,\nagree unto all things, that come of seed. But if we treat of the words\nas figuratively spoken (which I rather suppose to be the purpose of\nthe Scripture, which doth not, surely, superfluously ascribe this\nbenediction to the offspring of aquatic animals and man only); then\ndo we find \"multitude\" to belong to creatures spiritual as well as\ncorporeal, as in heaven and earth, and to righteous and unrighteous, as\nin light and darkness; and to holy authors who have been the ministers\nof the Law unto us, as in the firmament which is settled betwixt\nthe waters and the waters; and to the society of people yet in the\nbitterness of infidelity, as in the sea; and to the zeal of holy souls,\nas in the dry land; and to works of mercy belonging to this present\nlife, as in the herbs bearing seed, and in trees bearing fruit; and to\nspiritual gifts set forth for edification, as in the lights of heaven;\nand to affections formed unto temperance, as in the living soul. In all\nthese instances we meet with multitudes, abundance, and increase; but\nwhat shall in such wise increase and multiply that one thing may be\nexpressed many ways, and one expression understood many ways; we find\nnot, except in signs corporeally expressed, and in things mentally\nconceived. By signs corporeally pronounced we understand the generations\nof the waters, necessarily occasioned by the depth of the flesh;\nby things mentally conceived, human generations, on account of the\nfruitfulness of reason. And for this end do we believe Thee, Lord, to\nhave said to these kinds, Increase and multiply. For in this blessing, I\nconceive Thee to have granted us a power and a faculty, both to express\nseveral ways what we understand but one; and to understand several ways,\nwhat we read to be obscurely delivered but in one. Thus are the\nwaters of the sea replenished, which are not moved but by several\nsignifications: thus with human increase is the earth also replenished,\nwhose dryness appeareth in its longing, and reason ruleth over it.\n\nI would also say, O Lord my God, what the following Scripture minds me\nof; yea, I will say, and not fear. For I will say the truth, Thyself\ninspiring me with what Thou willedst me to deliver out of those words.\nBut by no other inspiration than Thine, do I believe myself to speak\ntruth, seeing Thou art the Truth, and every man a liar. He therefore\nthat speaketh a lie, speaketh of his own; that therefore I may speak\ntruth, I will speak of Thine. Behold, Thou hast given unto us for food\nevery herb bearing seed which is upon all the earth; and every tree,\nin which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed. And not to us alone, but\nalso to all the fowls of the air, and to the beasts of the earth, and to\nall creeping things; but unto the fishes and to the great whales, hast\nThou not given them. Now we said that by these fruits of the earth were\nsignified, and figured in an allegory, the works of mercy which are\nprovided for the necessities of this life out of the fruitful earth.\nSuch an earth was the devout Onesiphorus, unto whose house Thou gavest\nmercy, because he often refreshed Thy Paul, and was not ashamed of his\nchain. Thus did also the brethren, and such fruit did they bear, who out\nof Macedonia supplied what was lacking to him. But how grieved he for\nsome trees, which did not afford him the fruit due unto him, where he\nsaith, At my first answer no man stood by me, but all men forsook me. I\npray God that it may not be laid to their charge. For these fruits are\ndue to such as minister the spiritual doctrine unto us out of their\nunderstanding of the divine mysteries; and they are due to them, as men;\nyea and due to them also, as the living soul, which giveth itself as an\nexample, in all continency; and due unto them also, as flying creatures,\nfor their blessings which are multiplied upon the earth, because their\nsound went out into all lands.\n\nBut they are fed by these fruits, that are delighted with them; nor are\nthey delighted with them, whose God is their belly. For neither in them\nthat yield them, are the things yielded the fruit, but with what mind\nthey yield them. He therefore that served God, and not his own belly,\nI plainly see why he rejoiced; I see it, and I rejoice with him. For he\nhad received from the Philippians, what they had sent by Epaphroditus\nunto him: and yet I perceive why he rejoiced. For whereat he rejoiced\nupon that he fed; for, speaking in truth, I rejoiced (saith he) greatly\nin the Lord, that now at the last your care of me hath flourished again,\nwherein ye were also careful, but it had become wearisome unto you.\nThese Philippians then had now dried up, with a long weariness, and\nwithered as it were as to bearing this fruit of a good work; and he\nrejoiceth for them, that they flourished again, not for himself, that\nthey supplied his wants. Therefore subjoins he, not that I speak in\nrespect of want, for I have learned in whatsoever state I am, therewith\nto be content. I know both how to be abased, and I know how to abound;\nevery where and in all things I am instructed both to be full, and to be\nhungry; both to abound, and to suffer need. I can do all things through\nHim which strengtheneth me.\n\nWhereat then rejoicest thou, O great Paul? whereat rejoicest thou?\nwhereon feedest thou, O man, renewed in the knowledge of God, after the\nimage of Him that created thee, thou living soul, of so much continency,\nthou tongue like flying fowls, speaking mysteries? (for to such\ncreatures, is this food due;) what is it that feeds thee? joy. Hear\nwe what follows: notwithstanding, ye have well done, that ye did\ncommunicate with my affliction. Hereat he rejoiceth, hereon feedeth;\nbecause they had well done, not because his strait was eased, who saith\nunto Thee, Thou hast enlarged me when I was in distress; for that he\nknew to abound, and to suffer want, in Thee Who strengthenest him.\nFor ye Philippians also know (saith he), that in the beginning of the\nGospel, when I departed from Macedonia, no Church communicated with\nme as concerning giving and receiving, but ye only. For even in\nThessalonica ye sent once and again unto my necessity. Unto these good\nworks, he now rejoiceth that they are returned; and is gladdened that\nthey flourished again, as when a fruitful field resumes its green.\n\nWas it for his own necessities, because he said, Ye sent unto my\nnecessity? Rejoiceth he for that? Verily not for that. But how know we\nthis? Because himself says immediately, not because I desire a gift, but\nI desire fruit. I have learned of Thee, my God, to distinguish betwixt\na gift, and fruit. A gift, is the thing itself which he gives, that\nimparts these necessaries unto us; as money, meat, drink, clothing,\nshelter, help: but the fruit, is the good and right will of the giver.\nFor the Good Master said not only, He that receiveth a prophet, but\nadded, in the name of a prophet: nor did He only say, He that receiveth\na righteous man, but added, in the name of a righteous man. So verily\nshall the one receive the reward of a prophet, the other, the reward of\na righteous man: nor saith He only, He that shall give to drink a cup\nof cold water to one of my little ones; but added, in the name of a\ndisciple: and so concludeth, Verily I say unto you, he shall not lose\nhis reward. The gift is, to receive a prophet, to receive a righteous\nman, to give a cup of cold water to a disciple: but the fruit, to do\nthis in the name of a prophet, in the name of a righteous man, in the\nname of a disciple. With fruit was Elijah fed by the widow that knew\nshe fed a man of God, and therefore fed him: but by the raven was he fed\nwith a gift. Nor was the inner man of Elijah so fed, but the outer only;\nwhich might also for want of that food have perished.\n\nI will then speak what is true in Thy sight, O Lord, that when carnal\nmen and infidels (for the gaining and initiating whom, the initiatory\nSacraments and the mighty workings of miracles are necessary, which we\nsuppose to be signified by the name of fishes and whales) undertake\nthe bodily refreshment, or otherwise succour Thy servant with something\nuseful for this present life; whereas they be ignorant, why this is to\nbe done, and to what end; neither do they feed these, nor are these\nfed by them; because neither do the one do it out of an holy and right\nintent; nor do the other rejoice at their gifts, whose fruit they as\nyet behold not. For upon that is the mind fed, of which it is glad.\nAnd therefore do not the fishes and whales feed upon such meats, as the\nearth brings not forth until after it was separated and divided from the\nbitterness of the waves of the sea.\n\nAnd Thou, O God, sawest every thing that Thou hadst made, and, behold,\nit was very good. Yea we also see the same, and behold, all things are\nvery good. Of the several kinds of Thy works, when Thou hadst said \"let\nthem be,\" and they were, Thou sawest each that it was good. Seven times\nhave I counted it to be written, that Thou sawest that that which Thou\nmadest was good: and this is the eighth, that Thou sawest every thing\nthat Thou hadst made, and, behold, it was not only good, but also very\ngood, as being now altogether. For severally, they were only good; but\naltogether, both good, and very good. All beautiful bodies express the\nsame; by reason that a body consisting of members all beautiful, is\nfar more beautiful than the same members by themselves are, by whose\nwell-ordered blending the whole is perfected; notwithstanding that the\nmembers severally be also beautiful.\n\nAnd I looked narrowly to find, whether seven, or eight times Thou sawest\nthat Thy works were good, when they pleased Thee; but in Thy seeing I\nfound no times, whereby I might understand that Thou sawest so often,\nwhat Thou madest. And I said, \"Lord, is not this Thy Scripture true,\nsince Thou art true, and being Truth, hast set it forth? why then dost\nThou say unto me, 'that in Thy seeing there be no times'; whereas this\nThy Scripture tells me, that what Thou madest each day, Thou sawest that\nit was good: and when I counted them, I found how often.\" Unto this Thou\nanswerest me, for Thou art my God, and with a strong voice tellest Thy\nservant in his inner ear, breaking through my deafness and crying, \"O\nman, that which My Scripture saith, I say: and yet doth that speak in\ntime; but time has no relation to My Word; because My Word exists\nin equal eternity with Myself. So the things which ye see through My\nSpirit, I see; like as what ye speak by My Spirit, I speak. And so when\nye see those things in time, I see them not in time; as when ye speak in\ntime, I speak them not in time.\"\n\nAnd I heard, O Lord my God, and drank up a drop of sweetness out of Thy\ntruth, and understood, that certain men there be who mislike Thy works;\nand say, that many of them Thou madest, compelled by necessity; such\nas the fabric of the heavens, and harmony of the stars; and that Thou\nmadest them not of what was Thine, but that they were otherwhere and\nfrom other sources created, for Thee to bring together and compact and\ncombine, when out of Thy conquered enemies Thou raisedst up the walls of\nthe universe; that they, bound down by the structure, might not again\nbe able to rebel against Thee. For other things, they say Thou neither\nmadest them, nor even compactedst them, such as all flesh and all very\nminute creatures, and whatsoever hath its root in the earth; but that\na mind at enmity with Thee, and another nature not created by Thee, and\ncontrary unto Thee, did, in these lower stages of the world, beget and\nframe these things. Frenzied are they who say thus, because they see not\nThy works by Thy Spirit, nor recognise Thee in them.\n\nBut they who by Thy Spirit see these things, Thou seest in them.\nTherefore when they see that these things are good, Thou seest that they\nare good; and whatsoever things for Thy sake please, Thou pleasest in\nthem, and what through Thy Spirit please us, they please Thee in us. For\nwhat man knoweth the things of a man, save the spirit of a man, which is\nin him? even so the things of God knoweth no one, but the Spirit of God.\nNow we (saith he) have received, not the spirit of this world, but the\nSpirit which is of God, that we might know the things that are freely\ngiven to us of God. And I am admonished, \"Truly the things of God\nknoweth no one, but the Spirit of God: how then do we also know, what\nthings are given us of God?\" Answer is made me; \"because the things\nwhich we know by His Spirit, even these no one knoweth, but the Spirit\nof God. For as it is rightly said unto those that were to speak by the\nSpirit of God, it is not ye that speak: so is it rightly said to them\nthat know through the Spirit of God, 'It is not ye that know.' And no\nless then is it rightly said to those that see through the Spirit of\nGod, 'It is not ye that see'; so whatsoever through the Spirit of God\nthey see to be good, it is not they, but God that sees that it is good.\"\nIt is one thing then for a man to think that to be ill which is good,\nas the forenamed do; another, that that which is good, a man should see\nthat it is good (as Thy creatures be pleasing unto many, because they\nbe good, whom yet Thou pleasest not in them, when they prefer to enjoy\nthem, to Thee); and another, that when a man sees a thing that it is\ngood, God should in him see that it is good, so, namely, that He should\nbe loved in that which He made, Who cannot be loved, but by the Holy\nGhost which He hath given. Because the love of God is shed abroad in our\nhearts by the Holy Ghost, Which is given unto us: by Whom we see that\nwhatsoever in any degree is, is good. For from Him it is, who Himself Is\nnot in degree, but what He Is, Is.\n\nThanks to Thee, O Lord. We behold the heaven and earth, whether the\ncorporeal part, superior and inferior, or the spiritual and corporeal\ncreature; and in the adorning of these parts, whereof the universal pile\nof the world, or rather the universal creation, doth consist, we see\nlight made, and divided from the darkness. We see the firmament of\nheaven, whether that primary body of the world, between the spiritual\nupper waters and the inferior corporeal waters, or (since this also\nis called heaven) this space of air through which wander the fowls of\nheaven, betwixt those waters which are in vapours borne above them, and\nin clear nights distill down in dew; and those heavier waters which flow\nalong the earth. We behold a face of waters gathered together in the\nfields of the sea; and the dry land both void, and formed so as to be\nvisible and harmonized, yea and the matter of herbs and trees. We behold\nthe lights shining from above, the sun to suffice for the day, the moon\nand the stars to cheer the night; and that by all these, times should\nbe marked and signified. We behold on all sides a moist element,\nreplenished with fishes, beasts, and birds; because the grossness of\nthe air, which bears up the flights of birds, thickeneth itself by the\nexhalation of the waters. We behold the face of the earth decked out\nwith earthly creatures, and man, created after Thy image and likeness,\neven through that Thy very image and likeness (that is the power of\nreason and understanding), set over all irrational creatures. And as\nin his soul there is one power which has dominion by directing, another\nmade subject, that it might obey; so was there for the man, corporeally\nalso, made a woman, who in the mind of her reasonable understanding\nshould have a parity of nature, but in the sex of her body, should be in\nlike manner subject to the sex of her husband, as the appetite of doing\nis fain to conceive the skill of right-doing from the reason of\nthe mind. These things we behold, and they are severally good, and\naltogether very good.\n\nLet Thy works praise Thee, that we may love Thee; and let us love Thee,\nthat Thy works may praise Thee, which from time have beginning and\nending, rising and setting, growth and decay, form and privation. They\nhave then their succession of morning and evening, part secretly, part\napparently; for they were made of nothing, by Thee, not of Thee; not of\nany matter not Thine, or that was before, but of matter concreated (that\nis, at the same time created by Thee), because to its state without\nform, Thou without any interval of time didst give form. For seeing\nthe matter of heaven and earth is one thing, and the form another, Thou\nmadest the matter of merely nothing, but the form of the world out of\nthe matter without form: yet both together, so that the form should\nfollow the matter, without any interval of delay.\n\nWe have also examined what Thou willedst to be shadowed forth, whether\nby the creation, or the relation of things in such an order. And we have\nseen, that things singly are good, and together very good, in Thy Word,\nin Thy Only-Begotten, both heaven and earth, the Head and the body of\nthe Church, in Thy predestination before all times, without morning\nand evening. But when Thou begannest to execute in time the things\npredestinated, to the end Thou mightest reveal hidden things, and\nrectify our disorders; for our sins hung over us, and we had sunk into\nthe dark deep; and Thy good Spirit was borne over us, to help us in due\nseason; and Thou didst justify the ungodly, and dividest them from the\nwicked; and Thou madest the firmament of authority of Thy Book between\nthose placed above, who were to be docile unto Thee, and those under,\nwho were to be subject to them: and Thou gatheredst together the society\nof unbelievers into one conspiracy, that the zeal of the faithful might\nappear, and they might bring forth works of mercy, even distributing to\nthe poor their earthly riches, to obtain heavenly. And after this didst\nThou kindle certain lights in the firmament, Thy Holy ones, having the\nword of life; and shining with an eminent authority set on high through\nspiritual gifts; after that again, for the initiation of the unbelieving\nGentiles, didst Thou out of corporeal matter produce the Sacraments, and\nvisible miracles, and forms of words according to the firmament of Thy\nBook, by which the faithful should be blessed and multiplied. Next\ndidst Thou form the living soul of the faithful, through affections well\nordered by the vigour of continency: and after that, the mind subjected\nto Thee alone and needing to imitate no human authority, hast Thou\nrenewed after Thy image and likeness; and didst subject its rational\nactions to the excellency of the understanding, as the woman to the man;\nand to all Offices of Thy Ministry, necessary for the perfecting of the\nfaithful in this life, Thou willedst, that for their temporal uses, good\nthings, fruitful to themselves in time to come, be given by the same\nfaithful. All these we see, and they are very good, because Thou seest\nthem in us, Who hast given unto us Thy Spirit, by which we might see\nthem, and in them love Thee.\n\nO Lord God, give peace unto us: (for Thou hast given us all things;) the\npeace of rest, the peace of the Sabbath, which hath no evening. For\nall this most goodly array of things very good, having finished their\ncourses, is to pass away, for in them there was morning and evening.\n\nBut the seventh day hath no evening, nor hath it setting; because Thou\nhast sanctified it to an everlasting continuance; that that which Thou\ndidst after Thy works which were very good, resting the seventh day,\nalthough Thou madest them in unbroken rest, that may the voice of\nThy Book announce beforehand unto us, that we also after our works\n(therefore very good, because Thou hast given them us), shall rest in\nThee also in the Sabbath of eternal life.\n\nFor then shalt Thou rest in us, as now Thou workest in us; and so shall\nthat be Thy rest through us, as these are Thy works through us. But\nThou, Lord, ever workest, and art ever at rest. Nor dost Thou see in\ntime, nor art moved in time, nor restest in a time; and yet Thou makest\nthings seen in time, yea the times themselves, and the rest which\nresults from time.\n\nWe therefore see these things which Thou madest, because they are: but\nthey are, because Thou seest them. And we see without, that they are,\nand within, that they are good, but Thou sawest them there, when made,\nwhere Thou sawest them, yet to be made. And we were at a later time\nmoved to do well, after our hearts had conceived of Thy Spirit; but in\nthe former time we were moved to do evil, forsaking Thee; but Thou, the\nOne, the Good God, didst never cease doing good. And we also have some\ngood works, of Thy gift, but not eternal; after them we trust to rest in\nThy great hallowing. But Thou, being the Good which needeth no good, art\never at rest, because Thy rest is Thou Thyself. And what man can teach\nman to understand this? or what Angel, an Angel? or what Angel, a man?\nLet it be asked of Thee, sought in Thee, knocked for at Thee; so, so\nshall it be received, so shall it be found, so shall it be opened. Amen.\n\n                         GRATIAS TIBI DOMINE","title":"The Confessions of St. Augustine","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":111821}