Great art Thou, O Lord, and greatly to be praised; great is Thy power, and
Thy wisdom infinite. And Thee would man praise; man, but a particle of Thy
creation; man, that bears about him his mortality, the witness of his sin,
the witness that Thou resistest the proud: yet would man praise Thee; he,
but a particle of Thy creation. Thou awakest us to delight in Thy praise;
for Thou madest us for Thyself, and our heart is restless, until it repose
in Thee. Grant me, Lord, to know and understand which is first, to call on
Thee or to praise Thee? and, again, to know Thee or to call on Thee? for
who can call on Thee, not knowing Thee? for he that knoweth Thee not, may
call on Thee as other than Thou art. Or, is it rather, that we call on
Thee that we may know Thee? but how shall they call on Him in whom they
have not believed? or how shall they believe without a preacher? and they
that seek the Lord shall praise Him: for they that seek shall find Him,
and they that find shall praise Him. I will seek Thee, Lord, by calling on
Thee; and will call on Thee, believing in Thee; for to us hast Thou been
preached. My faith, Lord, shall call on Thee, which Thou hast given me,
wherewith Thou hast inspired me, through the Incarnation of Thy Son,
through the ministry of the Preacher.

And how shall I call upon my God, my God and Lord, since, when I call for
Him, I shall be calling Him to myself? and what room is there within me,
whither my God can come into me? whither can God come into me, God who
made heaven and earth? is there, indeed, O Lord my God, aught in me that
can contain Thee? do then heaven and earth, which Thou hast made, and
wherein Thou hast made me, contain Thee? or, because nothing which exists
could exist without Thee, doth therefore whatever exists contain Thee?
Since, then, I too exist, why do I seek that Thou shouldest enter into me,
who were not, wert Thou not in me? Why? because I am not gone down in
hell, and yet Thou art there also. For if I go down into hell, Thou art
there. I could not be then, O my God, could not be at all, wert Thou not
in me; or, rather, unless I were in Thee, of whom are all things, by whom
are all things, in whom are all things? Even so, Lord, even so. Whither do
I call Thee, since I am in Thee? or whence canst Thou enter into me? for
whither can I go beyond heaven and earth, that thence my God should come
into me, who hath said, I fill the heaven and the earth.

Do the heaven and earth then contain Thee, since Thou fillest them? or
dost Thou fill them and yet overflow, since they do not contain Thee? And
whither, when the heaven and the earth are filled, pourest Thou forth the
remainder of Thyself? or hast Thou no need that aught contain Thee, who
containest all things, since what Thou fillest Thou fillest by containing
it? for the vessels which Thou fillest uphold Thee not, since, though they
were broken, Thou wert not poured out. And when Thou art poured out on us,
Thou art not cast down, but Thou upliftest us; Thou art not dissipated,
but Thou gatherest us. But Thou who fillest all things, fillest Thou them
with Thy whole self? or, since all things cannot contain Thee wholly, do
they contain part of Thee? and all at once the same part? or each its own
part, the greater more, the smaller less? And is, then one part of Thee
greater, another less? or, art Thou wholly every where, while nothing
contains Thee wholly?

What art Thou then, my God? what, but the Lord God? For who is Lord but
the Lord? or who is God save our God? Most highest, most good, most
potent, most omnipotent; most merciful, yet most just; most hidden, yet
most present; most beautiful, yet most strong, stable, yet
incomprehensible; unchangeable, yet all-changing; never new, never old;
all-renewing, and bringing age upon the proud, and they know it not; ever
working, ever at rest; still gathering, yet nothing lacking; supporting,
filling, and overspreading; creating, nourishing, and maturing; seeking,
yet having all things. Thou lovest, without passion; art jealous, without
anxiety; repentest, yet grievest not; art angry, yet serene; changest Thy
works, Thy purpose unchanged; receivest again what Thou findest, yet didst
never lose; never in need, yet rejoicing in gains; never covetous, yet
exacting usury. Thou receivest over and above, that Thou mayest owe; and
who hath aught that is not Thine? Thou payest debts, owing nothing;
remittest debts, losing nothing. And what had I now said, my God, my life,
my holy joy? or what saith any man when he speaks of Thee? Yet woe to him
that speaketh not, since mute are even the most eloquent.

Oh! that I might repose on Thee! Oh! that Thou wouldest enter into my
heart, and inebriate it, that I may forget my ills, and embrace Thee, my
sole good! What art Thou to me? In Thy pity, teach me to utter it. Or what
am I to Thee that Thou demandest my love, and, if I give it not, art wroth
with me, and threatenest me with grievous woes? Is it then a slight woe to
love Thee not? Oh! for Thy mercies’ sake, tell me, O Lord my God, what
Thou art unto me. Say unto my soul, I am thy salvation. So speak, that I
may hear. Behold, Lord, my heart is before Thee; open Thou the ears
thereof, and say unto my soul, I am thy salvation. After this voice let me
haste, and take hold on Thee. Hide not Thy face from me. Let me die—lest
I die—only let me see Thy face.

Narrow is the mansion of my soul; enlarge Thou it, that Thou mayest enter
in. It is ruinous; repair Thou it. It has that within which must offend
Thine eyes; I confess and know it. But who shall cleanse it? or to whom
should I cry, save Thee? Lord, cleanse me from my secret faults, and spare
Thy servant from the power of the enemy. I believe, and therefore do I
speak. Lord, Thou knowest. Have I not confessed against myself my
transgressions unto Thee, and Thou, my God, hast forgiven the iniquity of
my heart? I contend not in judgment with Thee, who art the truth; I fear
to deceive myself; lest mine iniquity lie unto itself. Therefore I contend
not in judgment with Thee; for if Thou, Lord, shouldest mark iniquities, O
Lord, who shall abide it?

Yet suffer me to speak unto Thy mercy, me, dust and ashes. Yet suffer me
to speak, since I speak to Thy mercy, and not to scornful man. Thou too,
perhaps, despisest me, yet wilt Thou return and have compassion upon me.
For what would I say, O Lord my God, but that I know not whence I came
into this dying life (shall I call it?) or living death. Then immediately
did the comforts of Thy compassion take me up, as I heard (for I remember
it not) from the parents of my flesh, out of whose substance Thou didst
sometime fashion me. Thus there received me the comforts of woman’s milk.
For neither my mother nor my nurses stored their own breasts for me; but
Thou didst bestow the food of my infancy through them, according to Thine
ordinance, whereby Thou distributest Thy riches through the hidden springs
of all things. Thou also gavest me to desire no more than Thou gavest; and
to my nurses willingly to give me what Thou gavest them. For they, with a
heaven-taught affection, willingly gave me what they abounded with from
Thee. For this my good from them, was good for them. Nor, indeed, from
them was it, but through them; for from Thee, O God, are all good things,
and from my God is all my health. This I since learned, Thou, through
these Thy gifts, within me and without, proclaiming Thyself unto me. For
then I knew but to suck; to repose in what pleased, and cry at what
offended my flesh; nothing more.

Afterwards I began to smile; first in sleep, then waking: for so it was
told me of myself, and I believed it; for we see the like in other
infants, though of myself I remember it not. Thus, little by little, I
became conscious where I was; and to have a wish to express my wishes to
those who could content them, and I could not; for the wishes were within
me, and they without; nor could they by any sense of theirs enter within
my spirit. So I flung about at random limbs and voice, making the few
signs I could, and such as I could, like, though in truth very little
like, what I wished. And when I was not presently obeyed (my wishes being
hurtful or unintelligible), then I was indignant with my elders for not
submitting to me, with those owing me no service, for not serving me; and
avenged myself on them by tears. Such have I learnt infants to be from
observing them; and that I was myself such, they, all unconscious, have
shown me better than my nurses who knew it.

And, lo! my infancy died long since, and I live. But Thou, Lord, who for
ever livest, and in whom nothing dies: for before the foundation of the
worlds, and before all that can be called “before,” Thou art, and art God
and Lord of all which Thou hast created: in Thee abide, fixed for ever,
the first causes of all things unabiding; and of all things changeable,
the springs abide in Thee unchangeable: and in Thee live the eternal
reasons of all things unreasoning and temporal. Say, Lord, to me, Thy
suppliant; say, all-pitying, to me, Thy pitiable one; say, did my infancy
succeed another age of mine that died before it? was it that which I spent
within my mother’s womb? for of that I have heard somewhat, and have
myself seen women with child? and what before that life again, O God my
joy, was I any where or any body? For this have I none to tell me, neither
father nor mother, nor experience of others, nor mine own memory. Dost
Thou mock me for asking this, and bid me praise Thee and acknowledge Thee,
for that I do know?

I acknowledge Thee, Lord of heaven and earth, and praise Thee for my first
rudiments of being, and my infancy, whereof I remember nothing; for Thou
hast appointed that man should from others guess much as to himself; and
believe much on the strength of weak females. Even then I had being and
life, and (at my infancy’s close) I could seek for signs whereby to make
known to others my sensations. Whence could such a being be, save from
Thee, Lord? Shall any be his own artificer? or can there elsewhere be
derived any vein, which may stream essence and life into us, save from
thee, O Lord, in whom essence and life are one? for Thou Thyself art
supremely Essence and Life. For Thou art most high, and art not changed,
neither in Thee doth to-day come to a close; yet in Thee doth it come to a
close; because all such things also are in Thee. For they had no way to
pass away, unless Thou upheldest them. And since Thy years fail not, Thy
years are one to-day. How many of ours and our fathers’ years have flowed
away through Thy “to-day,” and from it received the measure and the mould
of such being as they had; and still others shall flow away, and so
receive the mould of their degree of being. But Thou art still the same,
and all things of tomorrow, and all beyond, and all of yesterday, and all
behind it, Thou hast done to-day. What is it to me, though any comprehend
not this? Let him also rejoice and say, What thing is this? Let him
rejoice even thus! and be content rather by not discovering to discover
Thee, than by discovering not to discover Thee.

Hear, O God. Alas, for man’s sin! So saith man, and Thou pitiest him; for
Thou madest him, but sin in him Thou madest not. Who remindeth me of the
sins of my infancy? for in Thy sight none is pure from sin, not even the
infant whose life is but a day upon the earth. Who remindeth me? doth not
each little infant, in whom I see what of myself I remember not? What then
was my sin? was it that I hung upon the breast and cried? for should I now
so do for food suitable to my age, justly should I be laughed at and
reproved. What I then did was worthy reproof; but since I could not
understand reproof, custom and reason forbade me to be reproved. For those
habits, when grown, we root out and cast away. Now no man, though he
prunes, wittingly casts away what is good. Or was it then good, even for a
while, to cry for what, if given, would hurt? bitterly to resent, that
persons free, and its own elders, yea, the very authors of its birth,
served it not? that many besides, wiser than it, obeyed not the nod of its
good pleasure? to do its best to strike and hurt, because commands were
not obeyed, which had been obeyed to its hurt? The weakness then of infant
limbs, not its will, is its innocence. Myself have seen and known even a
baby envious; it could not speak, yet it turned pale and looked bitterly
on its foster-brother. Who knows not this? Mothers and nurses tell you
that they allay these things by I know not what remedies. Is that too
innocence, when the fountain of milk is flowing in rich abundance, not to
endure one to share it, though in extremest need, and whose very life as
yet depends thereon? We bear gently with all this, not as being no or
slight evils, but because they will disappear as years increase; for,
though tolerated now, the very same tempers are utterly intolerable when
found in riper years.

Thou, then, O Lord my God, who gavest life to this my infancy, furnishing
thus with senses (as we see) the frame Thou gavest, compacting its limbs,
ornamenting its proportions, and, for its general good and safety,
implanting in it all vital functions, Thou commandest me to praise Thee in
these things, to confess unto Thee, and sing unto Thy name, Thou most
Highest. For Thou art God, Almighty and Good, even hadst Thou done nought
but only this, which none could do but Thou: whose Unity is the mould of
all things; who out of Thy own fairness makest all things fair; and
orderest all things by Thy law. This age then, Lord, whereof I have no
remembrance, which I take on others’ word, and guess from other infants
that I have passed, true though the guess be, I am yet loth to count in
this life of mine which I live in this world. For no less than that which
I spent in my mother’s womb, is it hid from me in the shadows of
forgetfulness. But if I was shapen in iniquity, and in sin did my mother
conceive me, where, I beseech Thee, O my God, where, Lord, or when, was I
Thy servant guiltless? But, lo! that period I pass by; and what have I now
to do with that, of which I can recall no vestige?

Passing hence from infancy, I came to boyhood, or rather it came to me,
displacing infancy. Nor did that depart,—(for whither went it?)—and
yet it was no more. For I was no longer a speechless infant, but a
speaking boy. This I remember; and have since observed how I learned to
speak. It was not that my elders taught me words (as, soon after, other
learning) in any set method; but I, longing by cries and broken accents
and various motions of my limbs to express my thoughts, that so I might
have my will, and yet unable to express all I willed, or to whom I willed,
did myself, by the understanding which Thou, my God, gavest me, practise
the sounds in my memory. When they named any thing, and as they spoke
turned towards it, I saw and remembered that they called what they would
point out by the name they uttered. And that they meant this thing and no
other was plain from the motion of their body, the natural language, as it
were, of all nations, expressed by the countenance, glances of the eye,
gestures of the limbs, and tones of the voice, indicating the affections
of the mind, as it pursues, possesses, rejects, or shuns. And thus by
constantly hearing words, as they occurred in various sentences, I
collected gradually for what they stood; and having broken in my mouth to
these signs, I thereby gave utterance to my will. Thus I exchanged with
those about me these current signs of our wills, and so launched deeper
into the stormy intercourse of human life, yet depending on parental
authority and the beck of elders.

O God my God, what miseries and mockeries did I now experience, when
obedience to my teachers was proposed to me, as proper in a boy, in order
that in this world I might prosper, and excel in tongue-science, which
should serve to the “praise of men,” and to deceitful riches. Next I was
put to school to get learning, in which I (poor wretch) knew not what use
there was; and yet, if idle in learning, I was beaten. For this was judged
right by our forefathers; and many, passing the same course before us,
framed for us weary paths, through which we were fain to pass; multiplying
toil and grief upon the sons of Adam. But, Lord, we found that men called
upon Thee, and we learnt from them to think of Thee (according to our
powers) as of some great One, who, though hidden from our senses, couldest
hear and help us. For so I began, as a boy, to pray to Thee, my aid and
refuge; and broke the fetters of my tongue to call on Thee, praying Thee,
though small, yet with no small earnestness, that I might not be beaten at
school. And when Thou heardest me not (not thereby giving me over to
folly), my elders, yea my very parents, who yet wished me no ill, mocked
my stripes, my then great and grievous ill.

Is there, Lord, any of soul so great, and cleaving to Thee with so intense
affection (for a sort of stupidity will in a way do it); but is there any
one who, from cleaving devoutly to Thee, is endued with so great a spirit,
that he can think as lightly of the racks and hooks and other torments
(against which, throughout all lands, men call on Thee with extreme
dread), mocking at those by whom they are feared most bitterly, as our
parents mocked the torments which we suffered in boyhood from our masters?
For we feared not our torments less; nor prayed we less to Thee to escape
them. And yet we sinned, in writing or reading or studying less than was
exacted of us. For we wanted not, O Lord, memory or capacity, whereof Thy
will gave enough for our age; but our sole delight was play; and for this
we were punished by those who yet themselves were doing the like. But
elder folks’ idleness is called “business”; that of boys, being really the
same, is punished by those elders; and none commiserates either boys or
men. For will any of sound discretion approve of my being beaten as a boy,
because, by playing a ball, I made less progress in studies which I was to
learn, only that, as a man, I might play more unbeseemingly? and what else
did he who beat me? who, if worsted in some trifling discussion with his
fellow-tutor, was more embittered and jealous than I when beaten at ball
by a play-fellow?

And yet, I sinned herein, O Lord God, the Creator and Disposer of all
things in nature, of sin the Disposer only, O Lord my God, I sinned in
transgressing the commands of my parents and those of my masters. For
what they, with whatever motive, would have me learn, I might afterwards
have put to good use. For I disobeyed, not from a better choice, but
from love of play, loving the pride of victory in my contests, and to
have my ears tickled with lying fables, that they might itch the more;
the same curiosity flashing from my eyes more and more, for the shows
and games of my elders. Yet those who give these shows are in such
esteem, that almost all wish the same for their children, and yet are
very willing that they should be beaten, if those very games detain them
from the studies, whereby they would have them attain to be the givers
of them. Look with pity, Lord, on these things, and deliver us who call
upon Thee now; deliver those too who call not on Thee yet, that they may
call on Thee, and Thou mayest deliver them.

As a boy, then, I had already heard of an eternal life, promised
us through the humility of the Lord our God stooping to our pride; and
even from the womb of my mother, who greatly hoped in Thee, I was sealed
with the mark of His cross and salted with His salt. Thou sawest, Lord,
how while yet a boy, being seized on a time with sudden oppression of
the stomach, and like near to death—Thou sawest, my God (for Thou wert
my keeper), with what eagerness and what faith I sought, from the pious
care of my mother and Thy Church, the mother of us all, the baptism of
Thy Christ, my God and Lord. Whereupon the mother of my flesh, being
much troubled (since, with a heart pure in Thy faith, she even more
lovingly travailed in birth of my salvation), would in eager haste
have provided for my consecration and cleansing by the health-giving
sacraments, confessing Thee, Lord Jesus, for the remission of sins,
unless I had suddenly recovered. And so, as if I must needs be
again polluted should I live, my cleansing was deferred, because the
defilements of sin would, after that washing, bring greater and more
perilous guilt. I then already believed: and my mother, and the whole
household, except my father: yet did not he prevail over the power of my
mother’s piety in me, that as he did not yet believe, so neither
should I. For it was her earnest care that Thou my God, rather than he,
shouldest be my father; and in this Thou didst aid her to prevail over
her husband, whom she, the better, obeyed, therein also obeying Thee,
who hast so commanded.

I beseech Thee, my God, I would fain know, if so Thou willest, for
what purpose my baptism was then deferred? was it for my good that the
rein was laid loose, as it were, upon me, for me to sin? or was it not
laid loose? If not, why does it still echo in our ears on all sides,
“Let him alone, let him do as he will, for he is not yet baptised?” but
as to bodily health, no one says, “Let him be worse wounded, for he is
not yet healed.” How much better then, had I been at once healed; and
then, by my friends’ and my own, my soul’s recovered health had been
kept safe in Thy keeping who gavest it. Better truly. But how many and
great waves of temptation seemed to hang over me after my boyhood! These
my mother foresaw; and preferred to expose to them the clay whence I
might afterwards be moulded, than the very cast, when made.

In boyhood itself, however (so much less dreaded for me than youth),
I loved not study, and hated to be forced to it. Yet I was forced; and
this was well done towards me, but I did not well; for, unless forced, I
had not learnt. But no one doth well against his will, even though what
he doth, be well. Yet neither did they well who forced me, but what was
well came to me from Thee, my God. For they were regardless how I should
employ what they forced me to learn, except to satiate the insatiate
desires of a wealthy beggary, and a shameful glory. But Thou, by whom
the very hairs of our head are numbered, didst use for my good the error
of all who urged me to learn; and my own, who would not learn, Thou
didst use for my punishment—a fit penalty for one, so small a boy and
so great a sinner. So by those who did not well, Thou didst well for me;
and by my own sin Thou didst justly punish me. For Thou hast commanded,
and so it is, that every inordinate affection should be its own
punishment.

But why did I so much hate the Greek, which I studied as a boy? I do not
yet fully know. For the Latin I loved; not what my first masters, but what
the so-called grammarians taught me. For those first lessons, reading,
writing and arithmetic, I thought as great a burden and penalty as any
Greek. And yet whence was this too, but from the sin and vanity of this
life, because I was flesh, and a breath that passeth away and cometh not
again? For those first lessons were better certainly, because more
certain; by them I obtained, and still retain, the power of reading what I
find written, and myself writing what I will; whereas in the others, I was
forced to learn the wanderings of one Æneas, forgetful of my own, and to
weep for dead Dido, because she killed herself for love; the while, with
dry eyes, I endured my miserable self dying among these things, far from
Thee, O God my life.

For what more miserable than a miserable being who commiserates not
himself; weeping the death of Dido for love to Æneas, but weeping not his
own death for want of love to Thee, O God. Thou light of my heart, Thou
bread of my inmost soul, Thou Power who givest vigour to my mind, who
quickenest my thoughts, I loved Thee not. I committed fornication against
Thee, and all around me thus fornicating there echoed “Well done! well
done!” for the friendship of this world is fornication against Thee; and
“Well done! well done!” echoes on till one is ashamed not to be thus a
man. And for all this I wept not, I who wept for Dido slain, and “seeking
by the sword a stroke and wound extreme,” myself seeking the while a worse
extreme, the extremest and lowest of Thy creatures, having forsaken Thee,
earth passing into the earth. And if forbid to read all this, I was
grieved that I might not read what grieved me. Madness like this is
thought a higher and a richer learning, than that by which I learned to
read and write.

But now, my God, cry Thou aloud in my soul; and let Thy truth tell me,
“Not so, not so. Far better was that first study.” For, lo, I would
readily forget the wanderings of Æneas and all the rest, rather than how
to read and write. But over the entrance of the Grammar School is a vail
drawn! true; yet is this not so much an emblem of aught recondite, as a
cloak of error. Let not those, whom I no longer fear, cry out against me,
while I confess to Thee, my God, whatever my soul will, and acquiesce in
the condemnation of my evil ways, that I may love Thy good ways. Let not
either buyers or sellers of grammar-learning cry out against me. For if I
question them whether it be true that Æneas came on a time to Carthage,
as the poet tells, the less learned will reply that they know not, the
more learned that he never did. But should I ask with what letters the
name “Æneas” is written, every one who has learnt this will answer me
aright, as to the signs which men have conventionally settled. If, again,
I should ask which might be forgotten with least detriment to the concerns
of life, reading and writing or these poetic fictions? who does not
foresee what all must answer who have not wholly forgotten themselves? I
sinned, then, when as a boy I preferred those empty to those more
profitable studies, or rather loved the one and hated the other. “One and
one, two”; “two and two, four”; this was to me a hateful singsong: “the
wooden horse lined with armed men,” and “the burning of Troy,” and
“Creusa’s shade and sad similitude,” were the choice spectacle of my
vanity.

Why then did I hate the Greek classics, which have the like tales? For
Homer also curiously wove the like fictions, and is most sweetly-vain, yet
was he bitter to my boyish taste. And so I suppose would Virgil be to
Grecian children, when forced to learn him as I was Homer. Difficulty, in
truth, the difficulty of a foreign tongue, dashed, as it were, with gall
all the sweetness of Grecian fable. For not one word of it did I
understand, and to make me understand I was urged vehemently with cruel
threats and punishments. Time was also (as an infant) I knew no Latin; but
this I learned without fear or suffering, by mere observation, amid the
caresses of my nursery and jests of friends, smiling and sportively
encouraging me. This I learned without any pressure of punishment to urge
me on, for my heart urged me to give birth to its conceptions, which I
could only do by learning words not of those who taught, but of those who
talked with me; in whose ears also I gave birth to the thoughts, whatever
I conceived. No doubt, then, that a free curiosity has more force in our
learning these things, than a frightful enforcement. Only this enforcement
restrains the rovings of that freedom, through Thy laws, O my God, Thy
laws, from the master’s cane to the martyr’s trials, being able to temper
for us a wholesome bitter, recalling us to Thyself from that deadly
pleasure which lures us from Thee.

Hear, Lord, my prayer; let not my soul faint under Thy discipline, nor let
me faint in confessing unto Thee all Thy mercies, whereby Thou hast drawn
me out of all my most evil ways, that Thou mightest become a delight to me
above all the allurements which I once pursued; that I may most entirely
love Thee, and clasp Thy hand with all my affections, and Thou mayest yet
rescue me from every temptation, even unto the end. For lo, O Lord, my
King and my God, for Thy service be whatever useful thing my childhood
learned; for Thy service, that I speak, write, read, reckon. For Thou
didst grant me Thy discipline, while I was learning vanities; and my sin
of delighting in those vanities Thou hast forgiven. In them, indeed, I
learnt many a useful word, but these may as well be learned in things not
vain; and that is the safe path for the steps of youth.

But woe is thee, thou torrent of human custom! Who shall stand against
thee? how long shalt thou not be dried up? how long roll the sons of Eve
into that huge and hideous ocean, which even they scarcely overpass who
climb the cross? Did not I read in thee of Jove the thunderer and the
adulterer? both, doubtless, he could not be; but so the feigned thunder
might countenance and pander to real adultery. And now which of our gowned
masters lends a sober ear to one who from their own school cries out,
“These were Homer’s fictions, transferring things human to the gods; would
he had brought down things divine to us!” Yet more truly had he said,
“These are indeed his fictions; but attributing a divine nature to wicked
men, that crimes might be no longer crimes, and whoso commits them might
seem to imitate not abandoned men, but the celestial gods.”

And yet, thou hellish torrent, into thee are cast the sons of men with
rich rewards, for compassing such learning; and a great solemnity is made
of it, when this is going on in the forum, within sight of laws appointing
a salary beside the scholar’s payments; and thou lashest thy rocks and
roarest, “Hence words are learnt; hence eloquence; most necessary to gain
your ends, or maintain opinions.” As if we should have never known such
words as “golden shower,” “lap,” “beguile,” “temples of the heavens,” or
others in that passage, unless Terence had brought a lewd youth upon the
stage, setting up Jupiter as his example of seduction.

“Viewing a picture, where the tale was drawn,
Of Jove’s descending in a golden shower
To Danae’s lap a woman to beguile.”

And then mark how he excites himself to lust as by celestial authority:

“And what God? Great Jove,
Who shakes heaven’s highest temples with his thunder,
And I, poor mortal man, not do the same!
I did it, and with all my heart I did it.”

Not one whit more easily are the words learnt for all this vileness; but
by their means the vileness is committed with less shame. Not that I blame
the words, being, as it were, choice and precious vessels; but that wine
of error which is drunk to us in them by intoxicated teachers; and if we,
too, drink not, we are beaten, and have no sober judge to whom we may
appeal. Yet, O my God (in whose presence I now without hurt may remember
this), all this unhappily I learnt willingly with great delight, and for
this was pronounced a hopeful boy.

Bear with me, my God, while I say somewhat of my wit, Thy gift, and on
what dotages I wasted it. For a task was set me, troublesome enough to my
soul, upon terms of praise or shame, and fear of stripes, to speak the
words of Juno, as she raged and mourned that she could not

“This Trojan prince from Latinum turn.”

Which words I had heard that Juno never uttered; but we were forced to go
astray in the footsteps of these poetic fictions, and to say in prose much
what he expressed in verse. And his speaking was most applauded, in whom
the passions of rage and grief were most preeminent, and clothed in the
most fitting language, maintaining the dignity of the character. What is
it to me, O my true life, my God, that my declamation was applauded above
so many of my own age and class? is not all this smoke and wind? and was
there nothing else whereon to exercise my wit and tongue? Thy praises,
Lord, Thy praises might have stayed the yet tender shoot of my heart by
the prop of Thy Scriptures; so had it not trailed away amid these empty
trifles, a defiled prey for the fowls of the air. For in more ways than
one do men sacrifice to the rebellious angels.

But what marvel that I was thus carried away to vanities, and went out
from Thy presence, O my God, when men were set before me as models, who,
if in relating some action of theirs, in itself not ill, they committed
some barbarism or solecism, being censured, were abashed; but when in rich
and adorned and well-ordered discourse they related their own disordered
life, being bepraised, they gloried? These things Thou seest, Lord, and
holdest Thy peace; long-suffering, and plenteous in mercy and truth. Wilt
Thou hold Thy peace for ever? and even now Thou drawest out of this
horrible gulf the soul that seeketh Thee, that thirsteth for Thy
pleasures, whose heart saith unto Thee, I have sought Thy face; Thy face,
Lord, will I seek. For darkened affections is removal from Thee. For it is
not by our feet, or change of place, that men leave Thee, or return unto
Thee. Or did that Thy younger son look out for horses or chariots, or
ships, fly with visible wings, or journey by the motion of his limbs, that
he might in a far country waste in riotous living all Thou gavest at his
departure? a loving Father, when Thou gavest, and more loving unto him,
when he returned empty. So then in lustful, that is, in darkened
affections, is the true distance from Thy face.

Behold, O Lord God, yea, behold patiently as Thou art wont how carefully
the sons of men observe the covenanted rules of letters and syllables
received from those who spake before them, neglecting the eternal covenant
of everlasting salvation received from Thee. Insomuch, that a teacher or
learner of the hereditary laws of pronunciation will more offend men by
speaking without the aspirate, of a “uman being,” in despite of the laws
of grammar, than if he, a “human being,” hate a “human being” in despite
of Thine. As if any enemy could be more hurtful than the hatred with which
he is incensed against him; or could wound more deeply him whom he
persecutes, than he wounds his own soul by his enmity. Assuredly no
science of letters can be so innate as the record of conscience, “that he
is doing to another what from another he would be loth to suffer.” How
deep are Thy ways, O God, Thou only great, that sittest silent on high and
by an unwearied law dispensing penal blindness to lawless desires. In
quest of the fame of eloquence, a man standing before a human judge,
surrounded by a human throng, declaiming against his enemy with fiercest
hatred, will take heed most watchfully, lest, by an error of the tongue,
he murder the word “human being”; but takes no heed, lest, through the
fury of his spirit, he murder the real human being.

This was the world at whose gate unhappy I lay in my boyhood; this the
stage where I had feared more to commit a barbarism, than having committed
one, to envy those who had not. These things I speak and confess to Thee,
my God; for which I had praise from them, whom I then thought it all
virtue to please. For I saw not the abyss of vileness, wherein I was cast
away from Thine eyes. Before them what more foul than I was already,
displeasing even such as myself? with innumerable lies deceiving my tutor,
my masters, my parents, from love of play, eagerness to see vain shows and
restlessness to imitate them! Thefts also I committed, from my parents’
cellar and table, enslaved by greediness, or that I might have to give to
boys, who sold me their play, which all the while they liked no less than
I. In this play, too, I often sought unfair conquests, conquered myself
meanwhile by vain desire of preeminence. And what could I so ill endure,
or, when I detected it, upbraided I so fiercely, as that I was doing to
others? and for which if, detected, I was upbraided, I chose rather to
quarrel than to yield. And is this the innocence of boyhood? Not so, Lord,
not so; I cry Thy mercy, my God. For these very sins, as riper years
succeed, these very sins are transferred from tutors and masters, from
nuts and balls and sparrows, to magistrates and kings, to gold and manors
and slaves, just as severer punishments displace the cane. It was the low
stature then of childhood which Thou our King didst commend as an emblem
of lowliness, when Thou saidst, Of such is the kingdom of heaven.

Yet, Lord, to Thee, the Creator and Governor of the universe, most
excellent and most good, thanks were due to Thee our God, even hadst Thou
destined for me boyhood only. For even then I was, I lived, and felt; and
had an implanted providence over my well-being—a trace of that
mysterious Unity whence I was derived; I guarded by the inward sense the
entireness of my senses, and in these minute pursuits, and in my thoughts
on things minute, I learnt to delight in truth, I hated to be deceived,
had a vigorous memory, was gifted with speech, was soothed by friendship,
avoided pain, baseness, ignorance. In so small a creature, what was not
wonderful, not admirable? But all are gifts of my God: it was not I who
gave them me; and good these are, and these together are myself. Good,
then, is He that made me, and He is my good; and before Him will I exult
for every good which of a boy I had. For it was my sin, that not in Him,
but in His creatures—myself and others—I sought for pleasures,
sublimities, truths, and so fell headlong into sorrows, confusions,
errors. Thanks be to Thee, my joy and my glory and my confidence, my God,
thanks be to Thee for Thy gifts; but do Thou preserve them to me. For so
wilt Thou preserve me, and those things shall be enlarged and perfected
which Thou hast given me, and I myself shall be with Thee, since even to
be Thou hast given me.

BOOK II

I will now call to mind my past foulness, and the carnal corruptions of my
soul; not because I love them, but that I may love Thee, O my God. For
love of Thy love I do it; reviewing my most wicked ways in the very
bitterness of my remembrance, that Thou mayest grow sweet unto me (Thou
sweetness never failing, Thou blissful and assured sweetness); and
gathering me again out of that my dissipation, wherein I was torn
piecemeal, while turned from Thee, the One Good, I lost myself among a
multiplicity of things. For I even burnt in my youth heretofore, to be
satiated in things below; and I dared to grow wild again, with these
various and shadowy loves: my beauty consumed away, and I stank in Thine
eyes; pleasing myself, and desirous to please in the eyes of men.

And what was it that I delighted in, but to love, and be loved? but I kept
not the measure of love, of mind to mind, friendship’s bright boundary:
but out of the muddy concupiscence of the flesh, and the bubblings of
youth, mists fumed up which beclouded and overcast my heart, that I could
not discern the clear brightness of love from the fog of lustfulness. Both
did confusedly boil in me, and hurried my unstayed youth over the
precipice of unholy desires, and sunk me in a gulf of flagitiousnesses.
Thy wrath had gathered over me, and I knew it not. I was grown deaf by the
clanking of the chain of my mortality, the punishment of the pride of my
soul, and I strayed further from Thee, and Thou lettest me alone, and I
was tossed about, and wasted, and dissipated, and I boiled over in my
fornications, and Thou heldest Thy peace, O Thou my tardy joy! Thou then
heldest Thy peace, and I wandered further and further from Thee, into more
and more fruitless seed-plots of sorrows, with a proud dejectedness, and a
restless weariness.

Oh! that some one had then attempered my disorder, and turned to account
the fleeting beauties of these, the extreme points of Thy creation! had
put a bound to their pleasureableness, that so the tides of my youth might
have cast themselves upon the marriage shore, if they could not be calmed,
and kept within the object of a family, as Thy law prescribes, O Lord: who
this way formest the offspring of this our death, being able with a gentle
hand to blunt the thorns which were excluded from Thy paradise? For Thy
omnipotency is not far from us, even when we be far from Thee. Else ought
I more watchfully to have heeded the voice from the clouds: Nevertheless
such shall have trouble in the flesh, but I spare you. And it is good for
a man not to touch a woman. And, he that is unmarried thinketh of the
things of the Lord, how he may please the Lord; but he that is married
careth for the things of this world, how he may please his wife.

To these words I should have listened more attentively, and being severed
for the kingdom of heaven’s sake, had more happily awaited Thy embraces;
but I, poor wretch, foamed like a troubled sea, following the rushing of
my own tide, forsaking Thee, and exceeded all Thy limits; yet I escaped
not Thy scourges. For what mortal can? For Thou wert ever with me
mercifully rigorous, and besprinkling with most bitter alloy all my
unlawful pleasures: that I might seek pleasures without alloy. But where
to find such, I could not discover, save in Thee, O Lord, who teachest by
sorrow, and woundest us, to heal; and killest us, lest we die from Thee.
Where was I, and how far was I exiled from the delights of Thy house, in
that sixteenth year of the age of my flesh, when the madness of lust (to
which human shamelessness giveth free licence, though unlicensed by Thy
laws) took the rule over me, and I resigned myself wholly to it? My
friends meanwhile took no care by marriage to save my fall; their only
care was that I should learn to speak excellently, and be a persuasive
orator.

For that year were my studies intermitted: whilst after my return from
Madaura (a neighbour city, whither I had journeyed to learn grammar and
rhetoric), the expenses for a further journey to Carthage were being
provided for me; and that rather by the resolution than the means of my
father, who was but a poor freeman of Thagaste. To whom tell I this? not
to Thee, my God; but before Thee to mine own kind, even to that small
portion of mankind as may light upon these writings of mine. And to what
purpose? that whosoever reads this, may think out of what depths we are to
cry unto Thee. For what is nearer to Thine ears than a confessing heart,
and a life of faith? Who did not extol my father, for that beyond the
ability of his means, he would furnish his son with all necessaries for a
far journey for his studies’ sake? For many far abler citizens did no such
thing for their children. But yet this same father had no concern how I
grew towards Thee, or how chaste I were; so that I were but copious in
speech, however barren I were to Thy culture, O God, who art the only true
and good Lord of Thy field, my heart.

But while in that my sixteenth year I lived with my parents, leaving all
school for a while (a season of idleness being interposed through the
narrowness of my parents’ fortunes), the briers of unclean desires grew
rank over my head, and there was no hand to root them out. When that my
father saw me at the baths, now growing towards manhood, and endued with a
restless youthfulness, he, as already hence anticipating his descendants,
gladly told it to my mother; rejoicing in that tumult of the senses
wherein the world forgetteth Thee its Creator, and becometh enamoured of
Thy creature, instead of Thyself, through the fumes of that invisible wine
of its self-will, turning aside and bowing down to the very basest things.
But in my mother’s breast Thou hadst already begun Thy temple, and the
foundation of Thy holy habitation, whereas my father was as yet but a
Catechumen, and that but recently. She then was startled with a holy fear
and trembling; and though I was not as yet baptised, feared for me those
crooked ways in which they walk who turn their back to Thee, and not their
face.

Woe is me! and dare I say that Thou heldest Thy peace, O my God, while I
wandered further from Thee? Didst Thou then indeed hold Thy peace to me?
And whose but Thine were these words which by my mother, Thy faithful one,
Thou sangest in my ears? Nothing whereof sunk into my heart, so as to do
it. For she wished, and I remember in private with great anxiety warned
me, “not to commit fornication; but especially never to defile another
man’s wife.” These seemed to me womanish advices, which I should blush to
obey. But they were Thine, and I knew it not: and I thought Thou wert
silent and that it was she who spake; by whom Thou wert not silent unto
me; and in her wast despised by me, her son, the son of Thy handmaid, Thy
servant. But I knew it not; and ran headlong with such blindness, that
amongst my equals I was ashamed of a less shamelessness, when I heard them
boast of their flagitiousness, yea, and the more boasting, the more they
were degraded: and I took pleasure, not only in the pleasure of the deed,
but in the praise. What is worthy of dispraise but vice? But I made myself
worse than I was, that I might not be dispraised; and when in any thing I
had not sinned as the abandoned ones, I would say that I had done what I
had not done, that I might not seem contemptible in proportion as I was
innocent; or of less account, the more chaste.

Behold with what companions I walked the streets of Babylon, and wallowed
in the mire thereof, as if in a bed of spices and precious ointments. And
that I might cleave the faster to its very centre, the invisible enemy
trod me down, and seduced me, for that I was easy to be seduced. Neither
did the mother of my flesh (who had now fled out of the centre of Babylon,
yet went more slowly in the skirts thereof as she advised me to chastity,
so heed what she had heard of me from her husband, as to restrain within
the bounds of conjugal affection, if it could not be pared away to the
quick) what she felt to be pestilent at present and for the future
dangerous. She heeded not this, for she feared lest a wife should prove a
clog and hindrance to my hopes. Not those hopes of the world to come,
which my mother reposed in Thee; but the hope of learning, which both my
parents were too desirous I should attain; my father, because he had next
to no thought of Thee, and of me but vain conceits; my mother, because she
accounted that those usual courses of learning would not only be no
hindrance, but even some furtherance towards attaining Thee. For thus I
conjecture, recalling, as well as I may, the disposition of my parents.
The reins, meantime, were slackened to me, beyond all temper of due
severity, to spend my time in sport, yea, even unto dissoluteness in
whatsoever I affected. And in all was a mist, intercepting from me, O my
God, the brightness of Thy truth; and mine iniquity burst out as from very
fatness.

Theft is punished by Thy law, O Lord, and the law written in the hearts of
men, which iniquity itself effaces not. For what thief will abide a thief?
not even a rich thief, one stealing through want. Yet I lusted to thieve,
and did it, compelled by no hunger, nor poverty, but through a cloyedness
of well-doing, and a pamperedness of iniquity. For I stole that, of which
I had enough, and much better. Nor cared I to enjoy what I stole, but
joyed in the theft and sin itself. A pear tree there was near our
vineyard, laden with fruit, tempting neither for colour nor taste. To
shake and rob this, some lewd young fellows of us went, late one night
(having according to our pestilent custom prolonged our sports in the
streets till then), and took huge loads, not for our eating, but to fling
to the very hogs, having only tasted them. And this, but to do what we
liked only, because it was misliked. Behold my heart, O God, behold my
heart, which Thou hadst pity upon in the bottom of the bottomless pit.
Now, behold, let my heart tell Thee what it sought there, that I should be
gratuitously evil, having no temptation to ill, but the ill itself. It was
foul, and I loved it; I loved to perish, I loved mine own fault, not that
for which I was faulty, but my fault itself. Foul soul, falling from Thy
firmament to utter destruction; not seeking aught through the shame, but
the shame itself!

For there is an attractiveness in beautiful bodies, in gold and silver,
and all things; and in bodily touch, sympathy hath much influence, and
each other sense hath his proper object answerably tempered. Worldy honour
hath also its grace, and the power of overcoming, and of mastery; whence
springs also the thirst of revenge. But yet, to obtain all these, we may
not depart from Thee, O Lord, nor decline from Thy law. The life also
which here we live hath its own enchantment, through a certain proportion
of its own, and a correspondence with all things beautiful here below.
Human friendship also is endeared with a sweet tie, by reason of the unity
formed of many souls. Upon occasion of all these, and the like, is sin
committed, while through an immoderate inclination towards these goods of
the lowest order, the better and higher are forsaken,—Thou, our Lord
God, Thy truth, and Thy law. For these lower things have their delights,
but not like my God, who made all things; for in Him doth the righteous
delight, and He is the joy of the upright in heart.

When, then, we ask why a crime was done, we believe it not, unless it
appear that there might have been some desire of obtaining some of those
which we called lower goods, or a fear of losing them. For they are
beautiful and comely; although compared with those higher and beatific
goods, they be abject and low. A man hath murdered another; why? he loved
his wife or his estate; or would rob for his own livelihood; or feared to
lose some such things by him; or, wronged, was on fire to be revenged.
Would any commit murder upon no cause, delighted simply in murdering? who
would believe it? for as for that furious and savage man, of whom it is
said that he was gratuitously evil and cruel, yet is the cause assigned;
“lest” (saith he) “through idleness hand or heart should grow inactive.”
And to what end? that, through that practice of guilt, he might, having
taken the city, attain to honours, empire, riches, and be freed from fear
of the laws, and his embarrassments from domestic needs, and consciousness
of villainies. So then, not even Catiline himself loved his own
villainies, but something else, for whose sake he did them.

What then did wretched I so love in thee, thou theft of mine, thou deed of
darkness, in that sixteenth year of my age? Lovely thou wert not, because
thou wert theft. But art thou any thing, that thus I speak to thee? Fair
were the pears we stole, because they were Thy creation, Thou fairest of
all, Creator of all, Thou good God; God, the sovereign good and my true
good. Fair were those pears, but not them did my wretched soul desire; for
I had store of better, and those I gathered, only that I might steal. For,
when gathered, I flung them away, my only feast therein being my own sin,
which I was pleased to enjoy. For if aught of those pears came within my
mouth, what sweetened it was the sin. And now, O Lord my God, I enquire
what in that theft delighted me; and behold it hath no loveliness; I mean
not such loveliness as in justice and wisdom; nor such as is in the mind
and memory, and senses, and animal life of man; nor yet as the stars are
glorious and beautiful in their orbs; or the earth, or sea, full of
embryo-life, replacing by its birth that which decayeth; nay, nor even
that false and shadowy beauty which belongeth to deceiving vices.

For so doth pride imitate exaltedness; whereas Thou alone art God exalted
over all. Ambition, what seeks it, but honours and glory? whereas Thou
alone art to be honoured above all, and glorious for evermore. The cruelty
of the great would fain be feared; but who is to be feared but God alone,
out of whose power what can be wrested or withdrawn? when, or where, or
whither, or by whom? The tendernesses of the wanton would fain be counted
love: yet is nothing more tender than Thy charity; nor is aught loved more
healthfully than that Thy truth, bright and beautiful above all. Curiosity
makes semblance of a desire of knowledge; whereas Thou supremely knowest
all. Yea, ignorance and foolishness itself is cloaked under the name of
simplicity and uninjuriousness; because nothing is found more single than
Thee: and what less injurious, since they are his own works which injure
the sinner? Yea, sloth would fain be at rest; but what stable rest besides
the Lord? Luxury affects to be called plenty and abundance; but Thou art
the fulness and never-failing plenteousness of incorruptible pleasures.
Prodigality presents a shadow of liberality: but Thou art the most
overflowing Giver of all good. Covetousness would possess many things; and
Thou possessest all things. Envy disputes for excellency: what more
excellent than Thou? Anger seeks revenge: who revenges more justly than
Thou? Fear startles at things unwonted and sudden, which endangers things
beloved, and takes forethought for their safety; but to Thee what unwonted
or sudden, or who separateth from Thee what Thou lovest? Or where but with
Thee is unshaken safety? Grief pines away for things lost, the delight of
its desires; because it would have nothing taken from it, as nothing can
from Thee.

Thus doth the soul commit fornication, when she turns from Thee, seeking
without Thee, what she findeth not pure and untainted, till she returns to
Thee. Thus all pervertedly imitate Thee, who remove far from Thee, and
lift themselves up against Thee. But even by thus imitating Thee, they
imply Thee to be the Creator of all nature; whence there is no place
whither altogether to retire from Thee. What then did I love in that
theft? and wherein did I even corruptly and pervertedly imitate my Lord?
Did I wish even by stealth to do contrary to Thy law, because by power I
could not, so that being a prisoner, I might mimic a maimed liberty by
doing with impunity things unpermitted me, a darkened likeness of Thy
Omnipotency? Behold, Thy servant, fleeing from his Lord, and obtaining a
shadow. O rottenness, O monstrousness of life, and depth of death! could I
like what I might not, only because I might not?

What shall I render unto the Lord, that, whilst my memory recalls these
things, my soul is not affrighted at them? I will love Thee, O Lord, and
thank Thee, and confess unto Thy name; because Thou hast forgiven me these
so great and heinous deeds of mine. To Thy grace I ascribe it, and to Thy
mercy, that Thou hast melted away my sins as it were ice. To Thy grace I
ascribe also whatsoever I have not done of evil; for what might I not have
done, who even loved a sin for its own sake? Yea, all I confess to have
been forgiven me; both what evils I committed by my own wilfulness, and
what by Thy guidance I committed not. What man is he, who, weighing his
own infirmity, dares to ascribe his purity and innocency to his own
strength; that so he should love Thee the less, as if he had less needed
Thy mercy, whereby Thou remittest sins to those that turn to Thee? For
whosoever, called by Thee, followed Thy voice, and avoided those things
which he reads me recalling and confessing of myself, let him not scorn
me, who being sick, was cured by that Physician, through whose aid it was
that he was not, or rather was less, sick: and for this let him love Thee
as much, yea and more; since by whom he sees me to have been recovered
from such deep consumption of sin, by Him he sees himself to have been
from the like consumption of sin preserved.

What fruit had I then (wretched man!) in those things, of the remembrance
whereof I am now ashamed? Especially, in that theft which I loved for the
theft’s sake; and it too was nothing, and therefore the more miserable I,
who loved it. Yet alone I had not done it: such was I then, I remember,
alone I had never done it. I loved then in it also the company of the
accomplices, with whom I did it? I did not then love nothing else but the
theft, yea rather I did love nothing else; for that circumstance of the
company was also nothing. What is, in truth? who can teach me, save He
that enlighteneth my heart, and discovereth its dark corners? What is it
which hath come into my mind to enquire, and discuss, and consider? For
had I then loved the pears I stole, and wished to enjoy them, I might have
done it alone, had the bare commission of the theft sufficed to attain my
pleasure; nor needed I have inflamed the itching of my desires by the
excitement of accomplices. But since my pleasure was not in those pears,
it was in the offence itself, which the company of fellow-sinners
occasioned.

What then was this feeling? For of a truth it was too foul: and woe was
me, who had it. But yet what was it? Who can understand his errors? It was
the sport, which as it were tickled our hearts, that we beguiled those who
little thought what we were doing, and much disliked it. Why then was my
delight of such sort that I did it not alone? Because none doth ordinarily
laugh alone? ordinarily no one; yet laughter sometimes masters men alone
and singly when no one whatever is with them, if anything very ludicrous
presents itself to their senses or mind. Yet I had not done this alone;
alone I had never done it. Behold my God, before Thee, the vivid
remembrance of my soul; alone, I had never committed that theft wherein
what I stole pleased me not, but that I stole; nor had it alone liked me
to do it, nor had I done it. O friendship too unfriendly! thou
incomprehensible inveigler of the soul, thou greediness to do mischief out
of mirth and wantonness, thou thirst of others’ loss, without lust of my
own gain or revenge: but when it is said, “Let’s go, let’s do it,” we are
ashamed not to be shameless.

Who can disentangle that twisted and intricate knottiness? Foul is it: I
hate to think on it, to look on it. But Thee I long for, O Righteousness
and Innocency, beautiful and comely to all pure eyes, and of a
satisfaction unsating. With Thee is rest entire, and life imperturbable.
Whoso enters into Thee, enters into the joy of his Lord: and shall not
fear, and shall do excellently in the All-Excellent. I sank away from
Thee, and I wandered, O my God, too much astray from Thee my stay, in
these days of my youth, and I became to myself a barren land.

BOOK III

To Carthage I came, where there sang all around me in my ears a cauldron
of unholy loves. I loved not yet, yet I loved to love, and out of a
deep-seated want, I hated myself for wanting not. I sought what I might
love, in love with loving, and safety I hated, and a way without snares.
For within me was a famine of that inward food, Thyself, my God; yet,
through that famine I was not hungered; but was without all longing for
incorruptible sustenance, not because filled therewith, but the more
empty, the more I loathed it. For this cause my soul was sickly and full
of sores, it miserably cast itself forth, desiring to be scraped by the
touch of objects of sense. Yet if these had not a soul, they would not be
objects of love. To love then, and to be beloved, was sweet to me; but
more, when I obtained to enjoy the person I loved, I defiled, therefore,
the spring of friendship with the filth of concupiscence, and I beclouded
its brightness with the hell of lustfulness; and thus foul and unseemly, I
would fain, through exceeding vanity, be fine and courtly. I fell headlong
then into the love wherein I longed to be ensnared. My God, my Mercy, with
how much gall didst Thou out of Thy great goodness besprinkle for me that
sweetness? For I was both beloved, and secretly arrived at the bond of
enjoying; and was with joy fettered with sorrow-bringing bonds, that I
might be scourged with the iron burning rods of jealousy, and suspicions,
and fears, and angers, and quarrels.

Stage-plays also carried me away, full of images of my miseries, and of
fuel to my fire. Why is it, that man desires to be made sad, beholding
doleful and tragical things, which yet himself would no means suffer? yet
he desires as a spectator to feel sorrow at them, and this very sorrow is
his pleasure. What is this but a miserable madness? for a man is the more
affected with these actions, the less free he is from such affections.
Howsoever, when he suffers in his own person, it uses to be styled misery:
when he compassionates others, then it is mercy. But what sort of
compassion is this for feigned and scenical passions? for the auditor is
not called on to relieve, but only to grieve: and he applauds the actor of
these fictions the more, the more he grieves. And if the calamities of
those persons (whether of old times, or mere fiction) be so acted, that
the spectator is not moved to tears, he goes away disgusted and
criticising; but if he be moved to passion, he stays intent, and weeps for
joy.

Are griefs then too loved? Verily all desire joy. Or whereas no man likes
to be miserable, is he yet pleased to be merciful? which because it cannot
be without passion, for this reason alone are passions loved? This also
springs from that vein of friendship. But whither goes that vein? whither
flows it? wherefore runs it into that torrent of pitch bubbling forth
those monstrous tides of foul lustfulness, into which it is wilfully
changed and transformed, being of its own will precipitated and corrupted
from its heavenly clearness? Shall compassion then be put away? by no
means. Be griefs then sometimes loved. But beware of uncleanness, O my
soul, under the guardianship of my God, the God of our fathers, who is to
be praised and exalted above all for ever, beware of uncleanness. For I
have not now ceased to pity; but then in the theatres I rejoiced with
lovers when they wickedly enjoyed one another, although this was imaginary
only in the play. And when they lost one another, as if very
compassionate, I sorrowed with them, yet had my delight in both. But now I
much more pity him that rejoiceth in his wickedness, than him who is
thought to suffer hardship, by missing some pernicious pleasure, and the
loss of some miserable felicity. This certainly is the truer mercy, but in
it grief delights not. For though he that grieves for the miserable, be
commended for his office of charity; yet had he, who is genuinely
compassionate, rather there were nothing for him to grieve for. For if
good will be ill willed (which can never be), then may he, who truly and
sincerely commiserates, wish there might be some miserable, that he might
commiserate. Some sorrow may then be allowed, none loved. For thus dost
Thou, O Lord God, who lovest souls far more purely than we, and hast more
incorruptibly pity on them, yet are wounded with no sorrowfulness. And who
is sufficient for these things?

But I, miserable, then loved to grieve, and sought out what to grieve at,
when in another’s and that feigned and personated misery, that acting best
pleased me, and attracted me the most vehemently, which drew tears from
me. What marvel that an unhappy sheep, straying from Thy flock, and
impatient of Thy keeping, I became infected with a foul disease? And hence
the love of griefs; not such as should sink deep into me; for I loved not
to suffer, what I loved to look on; but such as upon hearing their
fictions should lightly scratch the surface; upon which, as on envenomed
nails, followed inflamed swelling, impostumes, and a putrefied sore. My
life being such, was it life, O my God?

And Thy faithful mercy hovered over me afar. Upon how grievous iniquities
consumed I myself, pursuing a sacrilegious curiosity, that having forsaken
Thee, it might bring me to the treacherous abyss, and the beguiling
service of devils, to whom I sacrificed my evil actions, and in all these
things Thou didst scourge me! I dared even, while Thy solemnities were
celebrated within the walls of Thy Church, to desire, and to compass a
business deserving death for its fruits, for which Thou scourgedst me with
grievous punishments, though nothing to my fault, O Thou my exceeding
mercy, my God, my refuge from those terrible destroyers, among whom I
wandered with a stiff neck, withdrawing further from Thee, loving mine own
ways, and not Thine; loving a vagrant liberty.

Those studies also, which were accounted commendable, had a view to
excelling in the courts of litigation; the more bepraised, the craftier.
Such is men’s blindness, glorying even in their blindness. And now I was
chief in the rhetoric school, whereat I joyed proudly, and I swelled with
arrogancy, though (Lord, Thou knowest) far quieter and altogether removed
from the subvertings of those “Subverters” (for this ill-omened and
devilish name was the very badge of gallantry) among whom I lived, with a
shameless shame that I was not even as they. With them I lived, and was
sometimes delighted with their friendship, whose doings I ever did abhor—i.e.,
their “subvertings,” wherewith they wantonly persecuted the modesty of
strangers, which they disturbed by a gratuitous jeering, feeding thereon
their malicious birth. Nothing can be liker the very actions of devils
than these. What then could they be more truly called than “Subverters”?
themselves subverted and altogether perverted first, the deceiving spirits
secretly deriding and seducing them, wherein themselves delight to jeer at
and deceive others.

Among such as these, in that unsettled age of mine, learned I books of
eloquence, wherein I desired to be eminent, out of a damnable and
vainglorious end, a joy in human vanity. In the ordinary course of study,
I fell upon a certain book of Cicero, whose speech almost all admire, not
so his heart. This book of his contains an exhortation to philosophy, and
is called “Hortensius.” But this book altered my affections, and turned my
prayers to Thyself O Lord; and made me have other purposes and desires.
Every vain hope at once became worthless to me; and I longed with an
incredibly burning desire for an immortality of wisdom, and began now to
arise, that I might return to Thee. For not to sharpen my tongue (which
thing I seemed to be purchasing with my mother’s allowances, in that my
nineteenth year, my father being dead two years before), not to sharpen my
tongue did I employ that book; nor did it infuse into me its style, but
its matter.

How did I burn then, my God, how did I burn to re-mount from earthly
things to Thee, nor knew I what Thou wouldest do with me? For with Thee is
wisdom. But the love of wisdom is in Greek called “philosophy,” with which
that book inflamed me. Some there be that seduce through philosophy, under
a great, and smooth, and honourable name colouring and disguising their
own errors: and almost all who in that and former ages were such, are in
that book censured and set forth: there also is made plain that wholesome
advice of Thy Spirit, by Thy good and devout servant: Beware lest any man
spoil you through philosophy and vain deceit, after the tradition of men,
after the rudiments of the world, and not after Christ. For in Him
dwelleth all the fulness of the Godhead bodily. And since at that time
(Thou, O light of my heart, knowest) Apostolic Scripture was not known to
me, I was delighted with that exhortation, so far only, that I was thereby
strongly roused, and kindled, and inflamed to love, and seek, and obtain,
and hold, and embrace not this or that sect, but wisdom itself whatever it
were; and this alone checked me thus unkindled, that the name of Christ
was not in it. For this name, according to Thy mercy, O Lord, this name of
my Saviour Thy Son, had my tender heart, even with my mother’s milk,
devoutly drunk in and deeply treasured; and whatsoever was without that
name, though never so learned, polished, or true, took not entire hold of
me.

I resolved then to bend my mind to the holy Scriptures, that I might see
what they were. But behold, I see a thing not understood by the proud, nor
laid open to children, lowly in access, in its recesses lofty, and veiled
with mysteries; and I was not such as could enter into it, or stoop my
neck to follow its steps. For not as I now speak, did I feel when I turned
to those Scriptures; but they seemed to me unworthy to be compared to the
stateliness of Tully: for my swelling pride shrunk from their lowliness,
nor could my sharp wit pierce the interior thereof. Yet were they such as
would grow up in a little one. But I disdained to be a little one; and,
swollen with pride, took myself to be a great one.

Therefore I fell among men proudly doting, exceeding carnal and prating,
in whose mouths were the snares of the Devil, limed with the mixture of
the syllables of Thy name, and of our Lord Jesus Christ, and of the Holy
Ghost, the Paraclete, our Comforter. These names departed not out of their
mouth, but so far forth as the sound only and the noise of the tongue, for
the heart was void of truth. Yet they cried out “Truth, Truth,” and spake
much thereof to me, yet it was not in them: but they spake falsehood, not
of Thee only (who truly art Truth), but even of those elements of this
world, Thy creatures. And I indeed ought to have passed by even
philosophers who spake truth concerning them, for love of Thee, my Father,
supremely good, Beauty of all things beautiful. O Truth, Truth, how
inwardly did even then the marrow of my soul pant after Thee, when they
often and diversely, and in many and huge books, echoed of Thee to me,
though it was but an echo? And these were the dishes wherein to me,
hungering after Thee, they, instead of Thee, served up the Sun and Moon,
beautiful works of Thine, but yet Thy works, not Thyself, no nor Thy first
works. For Thy spiritual works are before these corporeal works, celestial
though they be, and shining. But I hungered and thirsted not even after
those first works of Thine, but after Thee Thyself, the Truth, in whom is
no variableness, neither shadow of turning: yet they still set before me
in those dishes, glittering fantasies, than which better were it to love
this very sun (which is real to our sight at least), than those fantasies
which by our eyes deceive our mind. Yet because I thought them to be Thee,
I fed thereon; not eagerly, for Thou didst not in them taste to me as Thou
art; for Thou wast not these emptinesses, nor was I nourished by them, but
exhausted rather. Food in sleep shows very like our food awake; yet are
not those asleep nourished by it, for they are asleep. But those were not
even any way like to Thee, as Thou hast now spoken to me; for those were
corporeal fantasies, false bodies, than which these true bodies, celestial
or terrestrial, which with our fleshly sight we behold, are far more
certain: these things the beasts and birds discern as well as we, and they
are more certain than when we fancy them. And again, we do with more
certainty fancy them, than by them conjecture other vaster and infinite
bodies which have no being. Such empty husks was I then fed on; and was
not fed. But Thou, my soul’s Love, in looking for whom I fail, that I may
become strong, art neither those bodies which we see, though in heaven;
nor those which we see not there; for Thou hast created them, nor dost
Thou account them among the chiefest of Thy works. How far then art Thou
from those fantasies of mine, fantasies of bodies which altogether are
not, than which the images of those bodies, which are, are far more
certain, and more certain still the bodies themselves, which yet Thou art
not; no, nor yet the soul, which is the life of the bodies. So then,
better and more certain is the life of the bodies than the bodies. But
Thou art the life of souls, the life of lives, having life in Thyself; and
changest not, life of my soul.

Where then wert Thou then to me, and how far from me? Far verily was I
straying from Thee, barred from the very husks of the swine, whom with
husks I fed. For how much better are the fables of poets and grammarians
than these snares? For verses, and poems, and “Medea flying,” are more
profitable truly than these men’s five elements, variously disguised,
answering to five dens of darkness, which have no being, yet slay the
believer. For verses and poems I can turn to true food, and “Medea
flying,” though I did sing, I maintained not; though I heard it sung, I
believed not: but those things I did believe. Woe, woe, by what steps was
I brought down to the depths of hell! toiling and turmoiling through want
of Truth, since I sought after Thee, my God (to Thee I confess it, who
hadst mercy on me, not as yet confessing), not according to the
understanding of the mind, wherein Thou willedst that I should excel the
beasts, but according to the sense of the flesh. But Thou wert more inward
to me than my most inward part; and higher than my highest. I lighted upon
that bold woman, simple and knoweth nothing, shadowed out in Solomon,
sitting at the door, and saying, Eat ye bread of secrecies willingly, and
drink ye stolen waters which are sweet: she seduced me, because she found
my soul dwelling abroad in the eye of my flesh, and ruminating on such
food as through it I had devoured.

For other than this, that which really is I knew not; and was, as it were
through sharpness of wit, persuaded to assent to foolish deceivers, when
they asked me, “whence is evil?” “is God bounded by a bodily shape, and
has hairs and nails?” “are they to be esteemed righteous who had many
wives at once, and did kill men, and sacrifice living creatures?” At which
I, in my ignorance, was much troubled, and departing from the truth,
seemed to myself to be making towards it; because as yet I knew not that
evil was nothing but a privation of good, until at last a thing ceases
altogether to be; which how should I see, the sight of whose eyes reached
only to bodies, and of my mind to a phantasm? And I knew not God to be a
Spirit, not one who hath parts extended in length and breadth, or whose
being was bulk; for every bulk is less in a part than in the whole: and if
it be infinite, it must be less in such part as is defined by a certain
space, than in its infinitude; and so is not wholly every where, as
Spirit, as God. And what that should be in us, by which we were like to
God, and might be rightly said to be after the image of God, I was
altogether ignorant.

Nor knew I that true inward righteousness which judgeth not according to
custom, but out of the most rightful law of God Almighty, whereby the ways
of places and times were disposed according to those times and places;
itself meantime being the same always and every where, not one thing in
one place, and another in another; according to which Abraham, and Isaac,
and Jacob, and Moses, and David, were righteous, and all those commended
by the mouth of God; but were judged unrighteous by silly men, judging out
of man’s judgment, and measuring by their own petty habits, the moral
habits of the whole human race. As if in an armory, one ignorant what were
adapted to each part should cover his head with greaves, or seek to be
shod with a helmet, and complain that they fitted not: or as if on a day
when business is publicly stopped in the afternoon, one were angered at
not being allowed to keep open shop, because he had been in the forenoon;
or when in one house he observeth some servant take a thing in his hand,
which the butler is not suffered to meddle with; or something permitted
out of doors, which is forbidden in the dining-room; and should be angry,
that in one house, and one family, the same thing is not allotted every
where, and to all. Even such are they who are fretted to hear something to
have been lawful for righteous men formerly, which now is not; or that
God, for certain temporal respects, commanded them one thing, and these
another, obeying both the same righteousness: whereas they see, in one
man, and one day, and one house, different things to be fit for different
members, and a thing formerly lawful, after a certain time not so; in one
corner permitted or commanded, but in another rightly forbidden and
punished. Is justice therefore various or mutable? No, but the times, over
which it presides, flow not evenly, because they are times. But men whose
days are few upon the earth, for that by their senses they cannot
harmonise the causes of things in former ages and other nations, which
they had not experience of, with these which they have experience of,
whereas in one and the same body, day, or family, they easily see what is
fitting for each member, and season, part, and person; to the one they
take exceptions, to the other they submit.

These things I then knew not, nor observed; they struck my sight on all
sides, and I saw them not. I indited verses, in which I might not place
every foot every where, but differently in different metres; nor even in
any one metre the self-same foot in all places. Yet the art itself, by
which I indited, had not different principles for these different cases,
but comprised all in one. Still I saw not how that righteousness, which
good and holy men obeyed, did far more excellently and sublimely contain
in one all those things which God commanded, and in no part varied;
although in varying times it prescribed not every thing at once, but
apportioned and enjoined what was fit for each. And I in my blindness,
censured the holy Fathers, not only wherein they made use of things
present as God commanded and inspired them, but also wherein they were
foretelling things to come, as God was revealing in them.

Can it at any time or place be unjust to love God with all his heart, with
all his soul, and with all his mind; and his neighbour as himself?
Therefore are those foul offences which be against nature, to be every
where and at all times detested and punished; such as were those of the
men of Sodom: which should all nations commit, they should all stand
guilty of the same crime, by the law of God, which hath not so made men
that they should so abuse one another. For even that intercourse which
should be between God and us is violated, when that same nature, of which
He is Author, is polluted by perversity of lust. But those actions which
are offences against the customs of men, are to be avoided according to
the customs severally prevailing; so that a thing agreed upon, and
confirmed, by custom or law of any city or nation, may not be violated at
the lawless pleasure of any, whether native or foreigner. For any part
which harmoniseth not with its whole, is offensive. But when God commands
a thing to be done, against the customs or compact of any people, though
it were never by them done heretofore, it is to be done; and if
intermitted, it is to be restored; and if never ordained, is now to be
ordained. For lawful if it be for a king, in the state which he reigns
over, to command that which no one before him, nor he himself heretofore,
had commanded, and to obey him cannot be against the common weal of the
state (nay, it were against it if he were not obeyed, for to obey princes
is a general compact of human society); how much more unhesitatingly ought
we to obey God, in all which He commands, the Ruler of all His creatures!
For as among the powers in man’s society, the greater authority is obeyed
in preference to the lesser, so must God above all.

So in acts of violence, where there is a wish to hurt, whether by reproach
or injury; and these either for revenge, as one enemy against another; or
for some profit belonging to another, as the robber to the traveller; or
to avoid some evil, as towards one who is feared; or through envy, as one
less fortunate to one more so, or one well thriven in any thing, to him
whose being on a par with himself he fears, or grieves at, or for the mere
pleasure at another’s pain, as spectators of gladiators, or deriders and
mockers of others. These be the heads of iniquity which spring from the
lust of the flesh, of the eye, or of rule, either singly, or two combined,
or all together; and so do men live ill against the three, and seven, that
psaltery of ten strings, Thy Ten Commandments, O God, most high, and
most sweet. But what foul offences can there be against Thee, who canst
not be defiled? or what acts of violence against Thee, who canst not be
harmed? But Thou avengest what men commit against themselves, seeing also
when they sin against Thee, they do wickedly against their own souls, and
iniquity gives itself the lie, by corrupting and perverting their nature,
which Thou hast created and ordained, or by an immoderate use of things
allowed, or in burning in things unallowed, to that use which is against
nature; or are found guilty, raging with heart and tongue against Thee,
kicking against the pricks; or when, bursting the pale of human society,
they boldly joy in self-willed combinations or divisions, according as
they have any object to gain or subject of offence. And these things are
done when Thou art forsaken, O Fountain of Life, who art the only and true
Creator and Governor of the Universe, and by a self-willed pride, any one
false thing is selected therefrom and loved. So then by a humble
devoutness we return to Thee; and Thou cleansest us from our evil habits,
and art merciful to their sins who confess, and hearest the groaning of
the prisoner, and loosest us from the chains which we made for ourselves,
if we lift not up against Thee the horns of an unreal liberty, suffering
the loss of all, through covetousness of more, by loving more our own
private good than Thee, the Good of all.

Amidst these offences of foulness and violence, and so many iniquities,
are sins of men, who are on the whole making proficiency; which by those
that judge rightly, are, after the rule of perfection, discommended, yet
the persons commended, upon hope of future fruit, as in the green blade of
growing corn. And there are some, resembling offences of foulness or
violence, which yet are no sins; because they offend neither Thee, our
Lord God, nor human society; when, namely, things fitting for a given
period are obtained for the service of life, and we know not whether out
of a lust of having; or when things are, for the sake of correction, by
constituted authority punished, and we know not whether out of a lust of
hurting. Many an action then which in men’s sight is disapproved, is by
Thy testimony approved; and many, by men praised, are (Thou being witness)
condemned: because the show of the action, and the mind of the doer, and
the unknown exigency of the period, severally vary. But when Thou on a
sudden commandest an unwonted and unthought of thing, yea, although Thou
hast sometime forbidden it, and still for the time hidest the reason of
Thy command, and it be against the ordinance of some society of men, who
doubts but it is to be done, seeing that society of men is just which
serves Thee? But blessed are they who know Thy commands! For all things
were done by Thy servants; either to show forth something needful for the
present, or to foreshow things to come.

These things I being ignorant of, scoffed at those Thy holy servants and
prophets. And what gained I by scoffing at them, but to be scoffed at by
Thee, being insensibly and step by step drawn on to those follies, as to
believe that a fig-tree wept when it was plucked, and the tree, its
mother, shed milky tears? Which fig notwithstanding (plucked by some
other’s, not his own, guilt) had some Manichaean saint eaten, and mingled
with his bowels, he should breathe out of it angels, yea, there shall
burst forth particles of divinity, at every moan or groan in his prayer,
which particles of the most high and true God had remained bound in that
fig, unless they had been set at liberty by the teeth or belly of some
“Elect” saint! And I, miserable, believed that more mercy was to be shown
to the fruits of the earth than men, for whom they were created. For if
any one an hungered, not a Manichaean, should ask for any, that morsel
would seem as it were condemned to capital punishment, which should be
given him.

And Thou sentest Thine hand from above, and drewest my soul out of that
profound darkness, my mother, Thy faithful one, weeping to Thee for me,
more than mothers weep the bodily deaths of their children. For she, by
that faith and spirit which she had from Thee, discerned the death wherein
I lay, and Thou heardest her, O Lord; Thou heardest her, and despisedst
not her tears, when streaming down, they watered the ground under her eyes
in every place where she prayed; yea Thou heardest her. For whence was
that dream whereby Thou comfortedst her; so that she allowed me to live
with her, and to eat at the same table in the house, which she had begun
to shrink from, abhorring and detesting the blasphemies of my error? For
she saw herself standing on a certain wooden rule, and a shining youth
coming towards her, cheerful and smiling upon her, herself grieving, and
overwhelmed with grief. But he having (in order to instruct, as is their
wont not to be instructed) enquired of her the causes of her grief and
daily tears, and she answering that she was bewailing my perdition, he
bade her rest contented, and told her to look and observe, “That where she
was, there was I also.” And when she looked, she saw me standing by her in
the same rule. Whence was this, but that Thine ears were towards her
heart? O Thou Good omnipotent, who so carest for every one of us, as if
Thou caredst for him only; and so for all, as if they were but one!

Whence was this also, that when she had told me this vision, and I would
fain bend it to mean, “That she rather should not despair of being one day
what I was”; she presently, without any hesitation, replies: “No; for it
was not told me that, ‘where he, there thou also’; but ‘where thou, there
he also’?” I confess to Thee, O Lord, that to the best of my remembrance
(and I have oft spoken of this), that Thy answer, through my waking
mother,—that she was not perplexed by the plausibility of my false
interpretation, and so quickly saw what was to be seen, and which I
certainly had not perceived before she spake,—even then moved me
more than the dream itself, by which a joy to the holy woman, to be
fulfilled so long after, was, for the consolation of her present anguish,
so long before foresignified. For almost nine years passed, in which I
wallowed in the mire of that deep pit, and the darkness of falsehood,
often assaying to rise, but dashed down the more grievously. All which
time that chaste, godly, and sober widow (such as Thou lovest), now more
cheered with hope, yet no whit relaxing in her weeping and mourning,
ceased not at all hours of her devotions to bewail my case unto Thee. And
her prayers entered into Thy presence; and yet Thou sufferedst me to be
yet involved and reinvolved in that darkness.

Thou gavest her meantime another answer, which I call to mind; for much I
pass by, hasting to those things which more press me to confess unto Thee,
and much I do not remember. Thou gavest her then another answer, by a
Priest of Thine, a certain Bishop brought up in Thy Church, and well
studied in Thy books. Whom when this woman had entreated to vouchsafe to
converse with me, refute my errors, unteach me ill things, and teach me
good things (for this he was wont to do, when he found persons fitted to
receive it), he refused, wisely, as I afterwards perceived. For he
answered, that I was yet unteachable, being puffed up with the novelty of
that heresy, and had already perplexed divers unskilful persons with
captious questions, as she had told him: “but let him alone a while”
(saith he), “only pray God for him, he will of himself by reading find
what that error is, and how great its impiety.” At the same time he told
her, how himself, when a little one, had by his seduced mother been
consigned over to the Manichees, and had not only read, but frequently
copied out almost all, their books, and had (without any argument or proof
from any one) seen how much that sect was to be avoided; and had avoided
it. Which when he had said, and she would not be satisfied, but urged him
more, with entreaties and many tears, that he would see me and discourse
with me; he, a little displeased at her importunity, saith, “Go thy ways
and God bless thee, for it is not possible that the son of these tears
should perish.” Which answer she took (as she often mentioned in her
conversations with me) as if it had sounded from heaven.

BOOK IV

For this space of nine years (from my nineteenth year to my
eight-and-twentieth) we lived seduced and seducing, deceived and
deceiving, in divers lusts; openly, by sciences which they call liberal;
secretly, with a false-named religion; here proud, there superstitious,
every where vain. Here, hunting after the emptiness of popular praise,
down even to theatrical applauses, and poetic prizes, and strifes for
grassy garlands, and the follies of shows, and the intemperance of
desires. There, desiring to be cleansed from these defilements, by
carrying food to those who were called “elect” and “holy,” out of which,
in the workhouse of their stomachs, they should forge for us Angels and
Gods, by whom we might be cleansed. These things did I follow, and
practise with my friends, deceived by me, and with me. Let the arrogant
mock me, and such as have not been, to their soul’s health, stricken and
cast down by Thee, O my God; but I would still confess to Thee mine own
shame in Thy praise. Suffer me, I beseech Thee, and give me grace to go
over in my present remembrance the wanderings of my forepassed time, and
to offer unto Thee the sacrifice of thanksgiving. For what am I to myself
without Thee, but a guide to mine own downfall? or what am I even at the
best, but an infant sucking the milk Thou givest, and feeding upon Thee,
the food that perisheth not? But what sort of man is any man, seeing he is
but a man? Let now the strong and the mighty laugh at us, but let us poor
and needy confess unto Thee.

In those years I taught rhetoric, and, overcome by cupidity, made sale of
a loquacity to overcome by. Yet I preferred (Lord, Thou knowest) honest
scholars (as they are accounted), and these I, without artifice, taught
artifices, not to be practised against the life of the guiltless, though
sometimes for the life of the guilty. And Thou, O God, from afar
perceivedst me stumbling in that slippery course, and amid much smoke
sending out some sparks of faithfulness, which I showed in that my
guidance of such as loved vanity, and sought after leasing, myself their
companion. In those years I had one,—not in that which is called
lawful marriage, but whom I had found out in a wayward passion, void of
understanding; yet but one, remaining faithful even to her; in whom I in
my own case experienced what difference there is betwixt the
self-restraint of the marriage-covenant, for the sake of issue, and the
bargain of a lustful love, where children are born against their parents’
will, although, once born, they constrain love.

I remember also, that when I had settled to enter the lists for a
theatrical prize, some wizard asked me what I would give him to win; but
I, detesting and abhorring such foul mysteries, answered, “Though the
garland were of imperishable gold, I would not suffer a fly to be killed
to gain me it.” For he was to kill some living creatures in his
sacrifices, and by those honours to invite the devils to favour me. But
this ill also I rejected, not out of a pure love for Thee, O God of my
heart; for I knew not how to love Thee, who knew not how to conceive aught
beyond a material brightness. And doth not a soul, sighing after such
fictions, commit fornication against Thee, trust in things unreal, and
feed the wind? Still I would not forsooth have sacrifices offered to
devils for me, to whom I was sacrificing myself by that superstition. For
what else is it to feed the wind, but to feed them, that is by going
astray to become their pleasure and derision?

Those impostors then, whom they style Mathematicians, I consulted without
scruple; because they seemed to use no sacrifice, nor to pray to any
spirit for their divinations: which art, however, Christian and true piety
consistently rejects and condemns. For, it is a good thing to confess unto
Thee, and to say, Have mercy upon me, heal my soul, for I have sinned
against Thee; and not to abuse Thy mercy for a licence to sin, but to
remember the Lord’s words, Behold, thou art made whole, sin no more, lest
a worse thing come unto thee. All which wholesome advice they labour to
destroy, saying, “The cause of thy sin is inevitably determined in
heaven”; and “This did Venus, or Saturn, or Mars”: that man, forsooth,
flesh and blood, and proud corruption, might be blameless; while the
Creator and Ordainer of heaven and the stars is to bear the blame. And who
is He but our God? the very sweetness and well-spring of righteousness,
who renderest to every man according to his works: and a broken and
contrite heart wilt Thou not despise.

There was in those days a wise man, very skilful in physic, and renowned
therein, who had with his own proconsular hand put the Agonistic garland
upon my distempered head, but not as a physician: for this disease Thou
only curest, who resistest the proud, and givest grace to the humble. But
didst Thou fail me even by that old man, or forbear to heal my soul? For
having become more acquainted with him, and hanging assiduously and
fixedly on his speech (for though in simple terms, it was vivid, lively,
and earnest), when he had gathered by my discourse that I was given to the
books of nativity-casters, he kindly and fatherly advised me to cast them
away, and not fruitlessly bestow a care and diligence, necessary for
useful things, upon these vanities; saying, that he had in his earliest
years studied that art, so as to make it the profession whereby he should
live, and that, understanding Hippocrates, he could soon have understood
such a study as this; and yet he had given it over, and taken to physic,
for no other reason but that he found it utterly false; and he, a grave
man, would not get his living by deluding people. “But thou,” saith he,
“hast rhetoric to maintain thyself by, so that thou followest this of free
choice, not of necessity: the more then oughtest thou to give me credit
herein, who laboured to acquire it so perfectly as to get my living by it
alone.” Of whom when I had demanded, how then could many true things be
foretold by it, he answered me (as he could) “that the force of chance,
diffused throughout the whole order of things, brought this about. For if
when a man by haphazard opens the pages of some poet, who sang and thought
of something wholly different, a verse oftentimes fell out, wondrously
agreeable to the present business: it were not to be wondered at, if out
of the soul of man, unconscious what takes place in it, by some higher
instinct an answer should be given, by hap, not by art, corresponding to
the business and actions of the demander.”

And thus much, either from or through him, Thou conveyedst to me, and
tracedst in my memory, what I might hereafter examine for myself. But at
that time neither he, nor my dearest Nebridius, a youth singularly good
and of a holy fear, who derided the whole body of divination, could
persuade me to cast it aside, the authority of the authors swaying me yet
more, and as yet I had found no certain proof (such as I sought) whereby
it might without all doubt appear, that what had been truly foretold by
those consulted was the result of haphazard, not of the art of the
star-gazers.

In those years when I first began to teach rhetoric in my native town, I
had made one my friend, but too dear to me, from a community of pursuits,
of mine own age, and, as myself, in the first opening flower of youth. He
had grown up of a child with me, and we had been both school-fellows and
play-fellows. But he was not yet my friend as afterwards, nor even then,
as true friendship is; for true it cannot be, unless in such as Thou
cementest together, cleaving unto Thee, by that love which is shed abroad
in our hearts by the Holy Ghost, which is given unto us. Yet was it but
too sweet, ripened by the warmth of kindred studies: for, from the true
faith (which he as a youth had not soundly and thoroughly imbibed), I had
warped him also to those superstitious and pernicious fables, for which my
mother bewailed me. With me he now erred in mind, nor could my soul be
without him. But behold Thou wert close on the steps of Thy fugitives, at
once God of vengeance, and Fountain of mercies, turning us to Thyself by
wonderful means; Thou tookest that man out of this life, when he had
scarce filled up one whole year of my friendship, sweet to me above all
sweetness of that my life.

Who can recount all Thy praises, which he hath felt in his one self? What
diddest Thou then, my God, and how unsearchable is the abyss of Thy
judgments? For long, sore sick of a fever, he lay senseless in a
death-sweat; and his recovery being despaired of, he was baptised,
unknowing; myself meanwhile little regarding, and presuming that his soul
would retain rather what it had received of me, not what was wrought on
his unconscious body. But it proved far otherwise: for he was refreshed,
and restored. Forthwith, as soon as I could speak with him (and I could,
so soon as he was able, for I never left him, and we hung but too much
upon each other), I essayed to jest with him, as though he would jest with
me at that baptism which he had received, when utterly absent in mind and
feeling, but had now understood that he had received. But he so shrunk
from me, as from an enemy; and with a wonderful and sudden freedom bade
me, as I would continue his friend, forbear such language to him. I, all
astonished and amazed, suppressed all my emotions till he should grow
well, and his health were strong enough for me to deal with him as I
would. But he was taken away from my frenzy, that with Thee he might be
preserved for my comfort; a few days after in my absence, he was attacked
again by the fever, and so departed.

At this grief my heart was utterly darkened; and whatever I beheld was
death. My native country was a torment to me, and my father’s house a
strange unhappiness; and whatever I had shared with him, wanting him,
became a distracting torture. Mine eyes sought him every where, but he was
not granted them; and I hated all places, for that they had not him; nor
could they now tell me, “he is coming,” as when he was alive and absent. I
became a great riddle to myself, and I asked my soul, why she was so sad,
and why she disquieted me sorely: but she knew not what to answer me. And
if I said, Trust in God, she very rightly obeyed me not; because that most
dear friend, whom she had lost, was, being man, both truer and better than
that phantasm she was bid to trust in. Only tears were sweet to me, for
they succeeded my friend, in the dearest of my affections.

And now, Lord, these things are passed by, and time hath assuaged my
wound. May I learn from Thee, who art Truth, and approach the ear of my
heart unto Thy mouth, that Thou mayest tell me why weeping is sweet to the
miserable? Hast Thou, although present every where, cast away our misery
far from Thee? And Thou abidest in Thyself, but we are tossed about in
divers trials. And yet unless we mourned in Thine ears, we should have no
hope left. Whence then is sweet fruit gathered from the bitterness of
life, from groaning, tears, sighs, and complaints? Doth this sweeten it,
that we hope Thou hearest? This is true of prayer, for therein is a
longing to approach unto Thee. But is it also in grief for a thing lost,
and the sorrow wherewith I was then overwhelmed? For I neither hoped he
should return to life nor did I desire this with my tears; but I wept only
and grieved. For I was miserable, and had lost my joy. Or is weeping
indeed a bitter thing, and for very loathing of the things which we before
enjoyed, does it then, when we shrink from them, please us?

But what speak I of these things? for now is no time to question, but to
confess unto Thee. Wretched I was; and wretched is every soul bound by the
friendship of perishable things; he is torn asunder when he loses them,
and then he feels the wretchedness which he had ere yet he lost them. So
was it then with me; I wept most bitterly, and found my repose in
bitterness. Thus was I wretched, and that wretched life I held dearer than
my friend. For though I would willingly have changed it, yet was I more
unwilling to part with it than with him; yea, I know not whether I would
have parted with it even for him, as is related (if not feigned) of
Pylades and Orestes, that they would gladly have died for each other or
together, not to live together being to them worse than death. But in me
there had arisen some unexplained feeling, too contrary to this, for at
once I loathed exceedingly to live and feared to die. I suppose, the more
I loved him, the more did I hate, and fear (as a most cruel enemy) death,
which had bereaved me of him: and I imagined it would speedily make an end
of all men, since it had power over him. Thus was it with me, I remember.
Behold my heart, O my God, behold and see into me; for well I remember it,
O my Hope, who cleansest me from the impurity of such affections,
directing mine eyes towards Thee, and plucking my feet out of the snare.
For I wondered that others, subject to death, did live, since he whom I
loved, as if he should never die, was dead; and I wondered yet more that
myself, who was to him a second self, could live, he being dead. Well said
one of his friend, “Thou half of my soul”; for I felt that my soul and his
soul were “one soul in two bodies”: and therefore was my life a horror to
me, because I would not live halved. And therefore perchance I feared to
die, lest he whom I had much loved should die wholly.

O madness, which knowest not how to love men, like men! O foolish man that
I then was, enduring impatiently the lot of man! I fretted then, sighed,
wept, was distracted; had neither rest nor counsel. For I bore about a
shattered and bleeding soul, impatient of being borne by me, yet where to
repose it, I found not. Not in calm groves, not in games and music, nor in
fragrant spots, nor in curious banquetings, nor in the pleasures of the
bed and the couch; nor (finally) in books or poesy, found it repose. All
things looked ghastly, yea, the very light; whatsoever was not what he
was, was revolting and hateful, except groaning and tears. For in those
alone found I a little refreshment. But when my soul was withdrawn from
them a huge load of misery weighed me down. To Thee, O Lord, it ought to
have been raised, for Thee to lighten; I knew it; but neither could nor
would; the more, since, when I thought of Thee, Thou wert not to me any
solid or substantial thing. For Thou wert not Thyself, but a mere phantom,
and my error was my God. If I offered to discharge my load thereon, that
it might rest, it glided through the void, and came rushing down again on
me; and I had remained to myself a hapless spot, where I could neither be,
nor be from thence. For whither should my heart flee from my heart?
Whither should I flee from myself? Whither not follow myself? And yet I
fled out of my country; for so should mine eyes less look for him, where
they were not wont to see him. And thus from Thagaste, I came to Carthage.

Times lose no time; nor do they roll idly by; through our senses they work
strange operations on the mind. Behold, they went and came day by day, and
by coming and going, introduced into my mind other imaginations and other
remembrances; and little by little patched me up again with my old kind of
delights, unto which that my sorrow gave way. And yet there succeeded, not
indeed other griefs, yet the causes of other griefs. For whence had that
former grief so easily reached my very inmost soul, but that I had poured
out my soul upon the dust, in loving one that must die, as if he would
never die? For what restored and refreshed me chiefly was the solaces of
other friends, with whom I did love, what instead of Thee I loved; and
this was a great fable, and protracted lie, by whose adulterous stimulus,
our soul, which lay itching in our ears, was being defiled. But that fable
would not die to me, so oft as any of my friends died. There were other
things which in them did more take my mind; to talk and jest together, to
do kind offices by turns; to read together honied books; to play the fool
or be earnest together; to dissent at times without discontent, as a man
might with his own self; and even with the seldomness of these
dissentings, to season our more frequent consentings; sometimes to teach,
and sometimes learn; long for the absent with impatience; and welcome the
coming with joy. These and the like expressions, proceeding out of the
hearts of those that loved and were loved again, by the countenance, the
tongue, the eyes, and a thousand pleasing gestures, were so much fuel to
melt our souls together, and out of many make but one.

This is it that is loved in friends; and so loved, that a man’s conscience
condemns itself, if he love not him that loves him again, or love not
again him that loves him, looking for nothing from his person but
indications of his love. Hence that mourning, if one die, and darkenings
of sorrows, that steeping of the heart in tears, all sweetness turned to
bitterness; and upon the loss of life of the dying, the death of the
living. Blessed whoso loveth Thee, and his friend in Thee, and his enemy
for Thee. For he alone loses none dear to him, to whom all are dear in Him
who cannot be lost. And who is this but our God, the God that made heaven
and earth, and filleth them, because by filling them He created them? Thee
none loseth, but who leaveth. And who leaveth Thee, whither goeth or
whither fleeth he, but from Thee well-pleased, to Thee displeased? For
where doth he not find Thy law in his own punishment? And Thy law is
truth, and truth Thou.

Turn us, O God of Hosts, show us Thy countenance, and we shall be whole.
For whithersoever the soul of man turns itself, unless toward Thee, it is
riveted upon sorrows, yea though it is riveted on things beautiful. And
yet they, out of Thee, and out of the soul, were not, unless they were
from Thee. They rise, and set; and by rising, they begin as it were to be;
they grow, that they may be perfected; and perfected, they wax old and
wither; and all grow not old, but all wither. So then when they rise and
tend to be, the more quickly they grow that they may be, so much the more
they haste not to be. This is the law of them. Thus much has Thou allotted
them, because they are portions of things, which exist not all at once,
but by passing away and succeeding, they together complete that universe,
whereof they are portions. And even thus is our speech completed by signs
giving forth a sound: but this again is not perfected unless one word pass
away when it hath sounded its part, that another may succeed. Out of all
these things let my soul praise Thee, O God, Creator of all; yet let not
my soul be riveted unto these things with the glue of love, through the
senses of the body. For they go whither they were to go, that they might
not be; and they rend her with pestilent longings, because she longs to
be, yet loves to repose in what she loves. But in these things is no place
of repose; they abide not, they flee; and who can follow them with the
senses of the flesh? yea, who can grasp them, when they are hard by? For
the sense of the flesh is slow, because it is the sense of the flesh; and
thereby is it bounded. It sufficeth for that it was made for; but it
sufficeth not to stay things running their course from their appointed
starting-place to the end appointed. For in Thy Word, by which they are
created, they hear their decree, “hence and hitherto.”

Be not foolish, O my soul, nor become deaf in the ear of thine heart with
the tumult of thy folly. Hearken thou too. The Word itself calleth thee
to return: and there is the place of rest imperturbable, where love is
not forsaken, if itself forsaketh not. Behold, these things pass away,
that others may replace them, and so this lower universe be completed by
all his parts. But do I depart any whither? saith the Word of God. There
fix thy dwelling, trust there whatsoever thou hast thence, O my soul, at
least now thou art tired out with vanities. Entrust Truth, whatsoever
thou hast from the Truth, and thou shalt lose nothing; and thy decay
shall bloom again, and all thy diseases be healed, and thy mortal parts
be reformed and renewed, and bound around thee: nor shall they lay thee
whither themselves descend; but they shall stand fast with thee, and
abide for ever before God, Who abideth and standeth fast for ever.

Why then be perverted and follow thy flesh? Be it converted and follow
thee. Whatever by her thou hast sense of, is in part; and the whole,
whereof these are parts, thou knowest not; and yet they delight thee. But
had the sense of thy flesh a capacity for comprehending the whole, and not
itself also, for thy punishment, been justly restricted to a part of the
whole, thou wouldest, that whatsoever existeth at this present, should
pass away, that so the whole might better please thee. For what we speak
also, by the same sense of the flesh thou hearest; yet wouldest not thou
have the syllables stay, but fly away, that others may come, and thou hear
the whole. And so ever, when any one thing is made up of many, all of
which do not exist together, all collectively would please more than they
do severally, could all be perceived collectively. But far better than
these is He who made all; and He is our God, nor doth He pass away, for
neither doth aught succeed Him.

If bodies please thee, praise God on occasion of them, and turn back thy
love upon their Maker; lest in these things which please thee, thou
displease. If souls please thee, be they loved in God: for they too are
mutable, but in Him are they firmly stablished; else would they pass, and
pass away. In Him then be they beloved; and carry unto Him along with thee
what souls thou canst, and say to them, “Him let us love, Him let us love:
He made these, nor is He far off. For He did not make them, and so depart,
but they are of Him, and in Him. See there He is, where truth is loved. He
is within the very heart, yet hath the heart strayed from Him. Go back
into your heart, ye transgressors, and cleave fast to Him that made you.
Stand with Him, and ye shall stand fast. Rest in Him, and ye shall be at
rest. Whither go ye in rough ways? Whither go ye? The good that you love
is from Him; but it is good and pleasant through reference to Him, and
justly shall it be embittered, because unjustly is any thing loved which
is from Him, if He be forsaken for it. To what end then would ye still and
still walk these difficult and toilsome ways? There is no rest, where ye
seek it. Seek what ye seek; but it is not there where ye seek. Ye seek a
blessed life in the land of death; it is not there. For how should there
be a blessed life where life itself is not?

“But our true Life came down hither, and bore our death, and slew him, out
of the abundance of His own life: and He thundered, calling aloud to us to
return hence to Him into that secret place, whence He came forth to us,
first into the Virgin’s womb, wherein He espoused the human creation, our
mortal flesh, that it might not be for ever mortal, and thence like a
bridegroom coming out of his chamber, rejoicing as a giant to run his
course. For He lingered not, but ran, calling aloud by words, deeds,
death, life, descent, ascension; crying aloud to us to return unto Him.
And He departed from our eyes, that we might return into our heart, and
there find Him. For He departed, and lo, He is here. He would not be long
with us, yet left us not; for He departed thither, whence He never parted,
because the world was made by Him. And in this world He was, and into this
world He came to save sinners, unto whom my soul confesseth, and He
healeth it, for it hath sinned against Him. O ye sons of men, how long so
slow of heart? Even now, after the descent of Life to you, will ye not
ascend and live? But whither ascend ye, when ye are on high, and set your
mouth against the heavens? Descend, that ye may ascend, and ascend to God.
For ye have fallen, by ascending against Him.” Tell them this, that they
may weep in the valley of tears, and so carry them up with thee unto God;
because out of His spirit thou speakest thus unto them, if thou speakest,
burning with the fire of charity.

These things I then knew not, and I loved these lower beauties, and I was
sinking to the very depths, and to my friends I said, “Do we love any
thing but the beautiful? What then is the beautiful? and what is beauty?
What is it that attracts and wins us to the things we love? for unless
there were in them a grace and beauty, they could by no means draw us unto
them.” And I marked and perceived that in bodies themselves, there was a
beauty, from their forming a sort of whole, and again, another from apt
and mutual correspondence, as of a part of the body with its whole, or a
shoe with a foot, and the like. And this consideration sprang up in my
mind, out of my inmost heart, and I wrote “on the fair and fit,” I think,
two or three books. Thou knowest, O Lord, for it is gone from me; for I
have them not, but they are strayed from me, I know not how.

But what moved me, O Lord my God, to dedicate these books unto Hierius, an
orator of Rome, whom I knew not by face, but loved for the fame of his
learning which was eminent in him, and some words of his I had heard,
which pleased me? But more did he please me, for that he pleased others,
who highly extolled him, amazed that out of a Syrian, first instructed in
Greek eloquence, should afterwards be formed a wonderful Latin orator, and
one most learned in things pertaining unto philosophy. One is commended,
and, unseen, he is loved: doth this love enter the heart of the hearer
from the mouth of the commender? Not so. But by one who loveth is another
kindled. For hence he is loved who is commended, when the commender is
believed to extol him with an unfeigned heart; that is, when one that
loves him, praises him.

For so did I then love men, upon the judgment of men, not Thine, O my God,
in Whom no man is deceived. But yet why not for qualities, like those of a
famous charioteer, or fighter with beasts in the theatre, known far and
wide by a vulgar popularity, but far otherwise, and earnestly, and so as I
would be myself commended? For I would not be commended or loved, as
actors are (though I myself did commend and love them), but had rather be
unknown, than so known; and even hated, than so loved. Where now are the
impulses to such various and divers kinds of loves laid up in one soul?
Why, since we are equally men, do I love in another what, if I did not
hate, I should not spurn and cast from myself? For it holds not, that as a
good horse is loved by him, who would not, though he might, be that horse,
therefore the same may be said of an actor, who shares our nature. Do I
then love in a man, what I hate to be, who am a man? Man himself is a
great deep, whose very hairs Thou numberest, O Lord, and they fall not to
the ground without Thee. And yet are the hairs of his head easier to be
numbered than his feelings, and the beatings of his heart.

But that orator was of that sort whom I loved, as wishing to be myself
such; and I erred through a swelling pride, and was tossed about with
every wind, but yet was steered by Thee, though very secretly. And whence
do I know, and whence do I confidently confess unto Thee, that I had loved
him more for the love of his commenders, than for the very things for
which he was commended? Because, had he been unpraised, and these
self-same men had dispraised him, and with dispraise and contempt told the
very same things of him, I had never been so kindled and excited to love
him. And yet the things had not been other, nor he himself other; but only
the feelings of the relators. See where the impotent soul lies along, that
is not yet stayed up by the solidity of truth! Just as the gales of
tongues blow from the breast of the opinionative, so is it carried this
way and that, driven forward and backward, and the light is overclouded to
it, and the truth unseen. And lo, it is before us. And it was to me a
great matter, that my discourse and labours should be known to that man:
which should he approve, I were the more kindled; but if he disapproved,
my empty heart, void of Thy solidity, had been wounded. And yet the “fair
and fit,” whereon I wrote to him, I dwelt on with pleasure, and surveyed
it, and admired it, though none joined therein.

But I saw not yet, whereon this weighty matter turned in Thy wisdom, O
Thou Omnipotent, who only doest wonders; and my mind ranged through
corporeal forms; and “fair,” I defined and distinguished what is so in
itself, and “fit,” whose beauty is in correspondence to some other thing:
and this I supported by corporeal examples. And I turned to the nature of
the mind, but the false notion which I had of spiritual things, let me not
see the truth. Yet the force of truth did of itself flash into mine eyes,
and I turned away my panting soul from incorporeal substance to
lineaments, and colours, and bulky magnitudes. And not being able to see
these in the mind, I thought I could not see my mind. And whereas in
virtue I loved peace, and in viciousness I abhorred discord; in the first
I observed a unity, but in the other, a sort of division. And in that
unity I conceived the rational soul, and the nature of truth and of the
chief good to consist; but in this division I miserably imagined there to
be some unknown substance of irrational life, and the nature of the chief
evil, which should not only be a substance, but real life also, and yet
not derived from Thee, O my God, of whom are all things. And yet that
first I called a Monad, as it had been a soul without sex; but the latter
a Duad;—anger, in deeds of violence, and in flagitiousness, lust;
not knowing whereof I spake. For I had not known or learned that neither
was evil a substance, nor our soul that chief and unchangeable good.

For as deeds of violence arise, if that emotion of the soul be corrupted,
whence vehement action springs, stirring itself insolently and unrulily;
and lusts, when that affection of the soul is ungoverned, whereby carnal
pleasures are drunk in, so do errors and false opinions defile the
conversation, if the reasonable soul itself be corrupted; as it was then
in me, who knew not that it must be enlightened by another light, that it
may be partaker of truth, seeing itself is not that nature of truth. For
Thou shalt light my candle, O Lord my God, Thou shalt enlighten my
darkness: and of Thy fulness have we all received, for Thou art the true
light that lighteth every man that cometh into the world; for in Thee
there is no variableness, neither shadow of change.

But I pressed towards Thee, and was thrust from Thee, that I might taste
of death: for thou resistest the proud. But what prouder, than for me with
a strange madness to maintain myself to be that by nature which Thou art?
For whereas I was subject to change (so much being manifest to me, my very
desire to become wise, being the wish, of worse to become better), yet
chose I rather to imagine Thee subject to change, and myself not to be
that which Thou art. Therefore I was repelled by Thee, and Thou resistedst
my vain stiffneckedness, and I imagined corporeal forms, and, myself
flesh, I accused flesh; and, a wind that passeth away, I returned not to
Thee, but I passed on and on to things which have no being, neither in
Thee, nor in me, nor in the body. Neither were they created for me by Thy
truth, but by my vanity devised out of things corporeal. And I was wont to
ask Thy faithful little ones, my fellow-citizens (from whom, unknown to
myself, I stood exiled), I was wont, prating and foolishly, to ask them,
“Why then doth the soul err which God created?” But I would not be asked,
“Why then doth God err?” And I maintained that Thy unchangeable substance
did err upon constraint, rather than confess that my changeable substance
had gone astray voluntarily, and now, in punishment, lay in error.

I was then some six or seven and twenty years old when I wrote those
volumes; revolving within me corporeal fictions, buzzing in the ears of my
heart, which I turned, O sweet truth, to thy inward melody, meditating on
the “fair and fit,” and longing to stand and hearken to Thee, and to
rejoice greatly at the Bridegroom’s voice, but could not; for by the
voices of mine own errors, I was hurried abroad, and through the weight of
my own pride, I was sinking into the lowest pit. For Thou didst not make
me to hear joy and gladness, nor did the bones exult which were not yet
humbled.

And what did it profit me, that scarce twenty years old, a book of
Aristotle, which they call the ten Predicaments, falling into my hands
(on whose very name I hung, as on something great and divine, so often as
my rhetoric master of Carthage, and others, accounted learned, mouthed it
with cheeks bursting with pride), I read and understood it unaided? And on
my conferring with others, who said that they scarcely understood it with
very able tutors, not only orally explaining it, but drawing many things
in sand, they could tell me no more of it than I had learned, reading it
by myself. And the book appeared to me to speak very clearly of
substances, such as “man,” and of their qualities, as the figure of a man,
of what sort it is; and stature, how many feet high; and his relationship,
whose brother he is; or where placed; or when born; or whether he stands
or sits; or be shod or armed; or does, or suffers anything; and all the
innumerable things which might be ranged under these nine Predicaments, of
which I have given some specimens, or under that chief Predicament of
Substance.

What did all this further me, seeing it even hindered me? when, imagining
whatever was, was comprehended under those ten Predicaments, I essayed
in such wise to understand, O my God, Thy wonderful and unchangeable Unity
also, as if Thou also hadst been subjected to Thine own greatness or
beauty; so that (as in bodies) they should exist in Thee, as their
subject: whereas Thou Thyself art Thy greatness and beauty; but a body is
not great or fair in that it is a body, seeing that, though it were less
great or fair, it should notwithstanding be a body. But it was falsehood
which of Thee I conceived, not truth, fictions of my misery, not the
realities of Thy blessedness. For Thou hadst commanded, and it was done in
me, that the earth should bring forth briars and thorns to me, and that in
the sweat of my brows I should eat my bread.

And what did it profit me, that all the books I could procure of the
so-called liberal arts, I, the vile slave of vile affections, read by
myself, and understood? And I delighted in them, but knew not whence came
all, that therein was true or certain. For I had my back to the light, and
my face to the things enlightened; whence my face, with which I discerned
the things enlightened, itself was not enlightened. Whatever was written,
either on rhetoric, or logic, geometry, music, and arithmetic, by myself
without much difficulty or any instructor, I understood, Thou knowest, O
Lord my God; because both quickness of understanding, and acuteness in
discerning, is Thy gift: yet did I not thence sacrifice to Thee. So then
it served not to my use, but rather to my perdition, since I went about to
get so good a portion of my substance into my own keeping; and I kept not
my strength for Thee, but wandered from Thee into a far country, to spend
it upon harlotries. For what profited me good abilities, not employed to
good uses? For I felt not that those arts were attained with great
difficulty, even by the studious and talented, until I attempted to
explain them to such; when he most excelled in them who followed me not
altogether slowly.

But what did this further me, imagining that Thou, O Lord God, the Truth,
wert a vast and bright body, and I a fragment of that body? Perverseness
too great! But such was I. Nor do I blush, O my God, to confess to Thee
Thy mercies towards me, and to call upon Thee, who blushed not then to
profess to men my blasphemies, and to bark against Thee. What profited me
then my nimble wit in those sciences and all those most knotty volumes,
unravelled by me, without aid from human instruction; seeing I erred so
foully, and with such sacrilegious shamefulness, in the doctrine of piety?
Or what hindrance was a far slower wit to Thy little ones, since they
departed not far from Thee, that in the nest of Thy Church they might
securely be fledged, and nourish the wings of charity, by the food of a
sound faith. O Lord our God, under the shadow of Thy wings let us hope;
protect us, and carry us. Thou wilt carry us both when little, and even to
hoar hairs wilt Thou carry us; for our firmness, when it is Thou, then is
it firmness; but when our own, it is infirmity. Our good ever lives with
Thee; from which when we turn away, we are turned aside. Let us now, O
Lord, return, that we may not be overturned, because with Thee our good
lives without any decay, which good art Thou; nor need we fear, lest there
be no place whither to return, because we fell from it: for through our
absence, our mansion fell not—Thy eternity.

BOOK V

Accept the sacrifice of my confessions from the ministry of my tongue,
which Thou hast formed and stirred up to confess unto Thy name. Heal Thou
all my bones, and let them say, O Lord, who is like unto Thee? For he who
confesses to Thee doth not teach Thee what takes place within him; seeing
a closed heart closes not out Thy eye, nor can man’s hard-heartedness
thrust back Thy hand: for Thou dissolvest it at Thy will in pity or in
vengeance, and nothing can hide itself from Thy heat. But let my soul
praise Thee, that it may love Thee; and let it confess Thy own mercies to
Thee, that it may praise Thee. Thy whole creation ceaseth not, nor is
silent in Thy praises; neither the spirit of man with voice directed unto
Thee, nor creation animate or inanimate, by the voice of those who
meditate thereon: that so our souls may from their weariness arise towards
Thee, leaning on those things which Thou hast created, and passing on to
Thyself, who madest them wonderfully; and there is refreshment and true
strength.

Let the restless, the godless, depart and flee from Thee; yet Thou seest
them, and dividest the darkness. And behold, the universe with them is
fair, though they are foul. And how have they injured Thee? or how have
they disgraced Thy government, which, from the heaven to this lowest
earth, is just and perfect? For whither fled they, when they fled from Thy
presence? or where dost not Thou find them? But they fled, that they might
not see Thee seeing them, and, blinded, might stumble against Thee
(because Thou forsakest nothing Thou hast made); that the unjust, I say,
might stumble upon Thee, and justly be hurt; withdrawing themselves from
thy gentleness, and stumbling at Thy uprightness, and falling upon their
own ruggedness. Ignorant, in truth, that Thou art every where, Whom no
place encompasseth! and Thou alone art near, even to those that remove far
from Thee. Let them then be turned, and seek Thee; because not as they
have forsaken their Creator, hast Thou forsaken Thy creation. Let them be
turned and seek Thee; and behold, Thou art there in their heart, in the
heart of those that confess to Thee, and cast themselves upon Thee, and
weep in Thy bosom, after all their rugged ways. Then dost Thou gently wipe
away their tears, and they weep the more, and joy in weeping; even for
that Thou, Lord,—not man of flesh and blood, but—Thou, Lord,
who madest them, re-makest and comfortest them. But where was I, when I
was seeking Thee? And Thou wert before me, but I had gone away from Thee;
nor did I find myself, how much less Thee!

I would lay open before my God that nine-and-twentieth year of mine age.
There had then come to Carthage a certain Bishop of the Manichees, Faustus
by name, a great snare of the Devil, and many were entangled by him
through that lure of his smooth language: which though I did commend, yet
could I separate from the truth of the things which I was earnest to
learn: nor did I so much regard the service of oratory as the science
which this Faustus, so praised among them, set before me to feed upon.
Fame had before bespoken him most knowing in all valuable learning, and
exquisitely skilled in the liberal sciences. And since I had read and well
remembered much of the philosophers, I compared some things of theirs with
those long fables of the Manichees, and found the former the more
probable; even although they could only prevail so far as to make judgment
of this lower world, the Lord of it they could by no means find out. For
Thou art great, O Lord, and hast respect unto the humble, but the proud
Thou beholdest afar off. Nor dost Thou draw near, but to the contrite in
heart, nor art found by the proud, no, not though by curious skill they
could number the stars and the sand, and measure the starry heavens, and
track the courses of the planets.

For with their understanding and wit, which Thou bestowedst on them, they
search out these things; and much have they found out; and foretold, many
years before, eclipses of those luminaries, the sun and moon,—what
day and hour, and how many digits,—nor did their calculation fail;
and it came to pass as they foretold; and they wrote down the rules they
had found out, and these are read at this day, and out of them do others
foretell in what year and month of the year, and what day of the month,
and what hour of the day, and what part of its light, moon or sun is to be
eclipsed, and so it shall be, as it is foreshowed. At these things men,
that know not this art, marvel and are astonished, and they that know it,
exult, and are puffed up; and by an ungodly pride departing from Thee, and
failing of Thy light, they foresee a failure of the sun’s light, which
shall be, so long before, but see not their own, which is. For they search
not religiously whence they have the wit, wherewith they search out this.
And finding that Thou madest them, they give not themselves up to Thee, to
preserve what Thou madest, nor sacrifice to Thee what they have made
themselves; nor slay their own soaring imaginations, as fowls of the air,
nor their own diving curiosities (wherewith, like the fishes of the sea,
they wander over the unknown paths of the abyss), nor their own
luxuriousness, as beasts of the field, that Thou, Lord, a consuming fire,
mayest burn up those dead cares of theirs, and re-create themselves
immortally.

But they knew not the way, Thy Word, by Whom Thou madest these things
which they number, and themselves who number, and the sense whereby they
perceive what they number, and the understanding, out of which they
number; or that of Thy wisdom there is no number. But the Only Begotten is
Himself made unto us wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and
was numbered among us, and paid tribute unto Caesar. They knew not this
way whereby to descend to Him from themselves, and by Him ascend unto Him.
They knew not this way, and deemed themselves exalted amongst the stars
and shining; and behold, they fell upon the earth, and their foolish heart
was darkened. They discourse many things truly concerning the creature;
but Truth, Artificer of the creature, they seek not piously, and therefore
find Him not; or if they find Him, knowing Him to be God, they glorify Him
not as God, neither are thankful, but become vain in their imaginations,
and profess themselves to be wise, attributing to themselves what is
Thine; and thereby with most perverse blindness, study to impute to Thee
what is their own, forging lies of Thee who art the Truth, and changing
the glory of uncorruptible God into an image made like corruptible man,
and to birds, and four-footed beasts, and creeping things, changing Thy
truth into a lie, and worshipping and serving the creature more than the
Creator.

Yet many truths concerning the creature retained I from these men, and saw
the reason thereof from calculations, the succession of times, and the
visible testimonies of the stars; and compared them with the saying of
Manichaeus, which in his frenzy he had written most largely on these
subjects; but discovered not any account of the solstices, or equinoxes,
or the eclipses of the greater lights, nor whatever of this sort I had
learned in the books of secular philosophy. But I was commanded to
believe; and yet it corresponded not with what had been established by
calculations and my own sight, but was quite contrary.

Doth then, O Lord God of truth, whoso knoweth these things, therefore
please Thee? Surely unhappy is he who knoweth all these, and knoweth not
Thee: but happy whoso knoweth Thee, though he know not these. And whoso
knoweth both Thee and them is not the happier for them, but for Thee only,
if, knowing Thee, he glorifies Thee as God, and is thankful, and becomes
not vain in his imaginations. For as he is better off who knows how to
possess a tree, and return thanks to Thee for the use thereof, although he
know not how many cubits high it is, or how wide it spreads, than he that
can measure it, and count all its boughs, and neither owns it, nor knows
or loves its Creator: so a believer, whose all this world of wealth is,
and who having nothing, yet possesseth all things, by cleaving unto Thee,
whom all things serve, though he know not even the circles of the Great
Bear, yet is it folly to doubt but he is in a better state than one who
can measure the heavens, and number the stars, and poise the elements, yet
neglecteth Thee who hast made all things in number, weight, and measure.

But yet who bade that Manichaeus write on these things also, skill in
which was no element of piety? For Thou hast said to man, Behold piety and
wisdom; of which he might be ignorant, though he had perfect knowledge of
these things; but these things, since, knowing not, he most impudently
dared to teach, he plainly could have no knowledge of piety. For it is
vanity to make profession of these worldly things even when known; but
confession to Thee is piety. Wherefore this wanderer to this end spake
much of these things, that convicted by those who had truly learned them,
it might be manifest what understanding he had in the other abstruser
things. For he would not have himself meanly thought of, but went about to
persuade men, “That the Holy Ghost, the Comforter and Enricher of Thy
faithful ones, was with plenary authority personally within him.” When
then he was found out to have taught falsely of the heaven and stars, and
of the motions of the sun and moon (although these things pertain not to
the doctrine of religion), yet his sacrilegious presumption would become
evident enough, seeing he delivered things which not only he knew not, but
which were falsified, with so mad a vanity of pride, that he sought to
ascribe them to himself, as to a divine person.

For when I hear any Christian brother ignorant of these things, and
mistaken on them, I can patiently behold such a man holding his opinion;
nor do I see that any ignorance as to the position or character of the
corporeal creation can injure him, so long as he doth not believe any
thing unworthy of Thee, O Lord, the Creator of all. But it doth injure
him, if he imagine it to pertain to the form of the doctrine of piety, and
will yet affirm that too stiffly whereof he is ignorant. And yet is even
such an infirmity, in the infancy of faith, borne by our mother Charity,
till the new-born may grow up unto a perfect man, so as not to be carried
about with every wind of doctrine. But in him who in such wise presumed to
be the teacher, source, guide, chief of all whom he could so persuade,
that whoso followed him thought that he followed, not a mere man, but Thy
Holy Spirit; who would not judge that so great madness, when once
convicted of having taught any thing false, were to be detested and
utterly rejected? But I had not as yet clearly ascertained whether the
vicissitudes of longer and shorter days and nights, and of day and night
itself, with the eclipses of the greater lights, and whatever else of the
kind I had read of in other books, might be explained consistently with
his sayings; so that, if they by any means might, it should still remain a
question to me whether it were so or no; but I might, on account of his
reputed sanctity, rest my credence upon his authority.

And for almost all those nine years, wherein with unsettled mind I had
been their disciple, I had longed but too intensely for the coming of this
Faustus. For the rest of the sect, whom by chance I had lighted upon, when
unable to solve my objections about these things, still held out to me the
coming of this Faustus, by conference with whom these and greater
difficulties, if I had them, were to be most readily and abundantly
cleared. When then he came, I found him a man of pleasing discourse, and
who could speak fluently and in better terms, yet still but the self-same
things which they were wont to say. But what availed the utmost neatness
of the cup-bearer to my thirst for a more precious draught? Mine ears were
already cloyed with the like, nor did they seem to me therefore better,
because better said; nor therefore true, because eloquent; nor the soul
therefore wise, because the face was comely, and the language graceful.
But they who held him out to me were no good judges of things; and
therefore to them he appeared understanding and wise, because in words
pleasing. I felt however that another sort of people were suspicious even
of truth, and refused to assent to it, if delivered in a smooth and
copious discourse. But Thou, O my God, hadst already taught me by
wonderful and secret ways, and therefore I believe that Thou taughtest me,
because it is truth, nor is there besides Thee any teacher of truth, where
or whencesoever it may shine upon us. Of Thyself therefore had I now
learned, that neither ought any thing to seem to be spoken truly, because
eloquently; nor therefore falsely, because the utterance of the lips is
inharmonious; nor, again, therefore true, because rudely delivered; nor
therefore false, because the language is rich; but that wisdom and folly
are as wholesome and unwholesome food; and adorned or unadorned phrases as
courtly or country vessels; either kind of meats may be served up in
either kind of dishes.

That greediness then, wherewith I had of so long time expected that man,
was delighted verily with his action and feeling when disputing, and his
choice and readiness of words to clothe his ideas. I was then delighted,
and, with many others and more than they, did I praise and extol him. It
troubled me, however, that in the assembly of his auditors, I was not
allowed to put in and communicate those questions that troubled me, in
familiar converse with him. Which when I might, and with my friends began
to engage his ears at such times as it was not unbecoming for him to
discuss with me, and had brought forward such things as moved me; I found
him first utterly ignorant of liberal sciences, save grammar, and that but
in an ordinary way. But because he had read some of Tully’s Orations, a
very few books of Seneca, some things of the poets, and such few volumes
of his own sect as were written in Latin and neatly, and was daily
practised in speaking, he acquired a certain eloquence, which proved the
more pleasing and seductive because under the guidance of a good wit, and
with a kind of natural gracefulness. Is it not thus, as I recall it, O
Lord my God, Thou judge of my conscience? before Thee is my heart, and my
remembrance, Who didst at that time direct me by the hidden mystery of Thy
providence, and didst set those shameful errors of mine before my face,
that I might see and hate them.

For after it was clear that he was ignorant of those arts in which I
thought he excelled, I began to despair of his opening and solving the
difficulties which perplexed me (of which indeed however ignorant, he
might have held the truths of piety, had he not been a Manichee). For
their books are fraught with prolix fables, of the heaven, and stars, sun,
and moon, and I now no longer thought him able satisfactorily to decide
what I much desired, whether, on comparison of these things with the
calculations I had elsewhere read, the account given in the books of
Manichaeus were preferable, or at least as good. Which when I proposed to
be considered and discussed, he, so far modestly, shrunk from the burthen.
For he knew that he knew not these things, and was not ashamed to confess
it. For he was not one of those talking persons, many of whom I had
endured, who undertook to teach me these things, and said nothing. But
this man had a heart, though not right towards Thee, yet neither
altogether treacherous to himself. For he was not altogether ignorant of
his own ignorance, nor would he rashly be entangled in a dispute, whence
he could neither retreat nor extricate himself fairly. Even for this I
liked him the better. For fairer is the modesty of a candid mind, than the
knowledge of those things which I desired; and such I found him, in all
the more difficult and subtile questions.

My zeal for the writings of Manichaeus being thus blunted, and despairing
yet more of their other teachers, seeing that in divers things which
perplexed me, he, so renowned among them, had so turned out; I began to
engage with him in the study of that literature, on which he also was much
set (and which as rhetoric-reader I was at that time teaching young
students at Carthage), and to read with him, either what himself desired
to hear, or such as I judged fit for his genius. But all my efforts
whereby I had purposed to advance in that sect, upon knowledge of that
man, came utterly to an end; not that I detached myself from them
altogether, but as one finding nothing better, I had settled to be content
meanwhile with what I had in whatever way fallen upon, unless by chance
something more eligible should dawn upon me. Thus, that Faustus, to so
many a snare of death, had now neither willing nor witting it, begun to
loosen that wherein I was taken. For Thy hands, O my God, in the secret
purpose of Thy providence, did not forsake my soul; and out of my mother’s
heart’s blood, through her tears night and day poured out, was a sacrifice
offered for me unto Thee; and Thou didst deal with me by wondrous ways.
Thou didst it, O my God: for the steps of a man are ordered by the Lord,
and He shall dispose his way. Or how shall we obtain salvation, but from
Thy hand, re-making what it made?

Thou didst deal with me, that I should be persuaded to go to Rome, and to
teach there rather, what I was teaching at Carthage. And how I was
persuaded to this, I will not neglect to confess to Thee; because herein
also the deepest recesses of Thy wisdom, and Thy most present mercy to us,
must be considered and confessed. I did not wish therefore to go to Rome,
because higher gains and higher dignities were warranted me by my friends
who persuaded me to this (though even these things had at that time an
influence over my mind), but my chief and almost only reason was, that I
heard that young men studied there more peacefully, and were kept quiet
under a restraint of more regular discipline; so that they did not, at
their pleasures, petulantly rush into the school of one whose pupils they
were not, nor were even admitted without his permission. Whereas at
Carthage there reigns among the scholars a most disgraceful and unruly
licence. They burst in audaciously, and with gestures almost frantic,
disturb all order which any one hath established for the good of his
scholars. Divers outrages they commit, with a wonderful stolidity,
punishable by law, did not custom uphold them; that custom evincing them
to be the more miserable, in that they now do as lawful what by Thy
eternal law shall never be lawful; and they think they do it unpunished,
whereas they are punished with the very blindness whereby they do it, and
suffer incomparably worse than what they do. The manners then which, when
a student, I would not make my own, I was fain as a teacher to endure in
others: and so I was well pleased to go where, all that knew it, assured
me that the like was not done. But Thou, my refuge and my portion in the
land of the living; that I might change my earthly dwelling for the
salvation of my soul, at Carthage didst goad me, that I might thereby be
torn from it; and at Rome didst proffer me allurements, whereby I might be
drawn thither, by men in love with a dying life, the one doing frantic,
the other promising vain, things; and, to correct my steps, didst secretly
use their and my own perverseness. For both they who disturbed my quiet
were blinded with a disgraceful frenzy, and they who invited me elsewhere
savoured of earth. And I, who here detested real misery, was there seeking
unreal happiness.

But why I went hence, and went thither, Thou knewest, O God, yet showedst
it neither to me, nor to my mother, who grievously bewailed my journey,
and followed me as far as the sea. But I deceived her, holding me by
force, that either she might keep me back or go with me, and I feigned
that I had a friend whom I could not leave, till he had a fair wind to
sail. And I lied to my mother, and such a mother, and escaped: for this
also hast Thou mercifully forgiven me, preserving me, thus full of
execrable defilements, from the waters of the sea, for the water of Thy
Grace; whereby when I was cleansed, the streams of my mother’s eyes should
be dried, with which for me she daily watered the ground under her face.
And yet refusing to return without me, I scarcely persuaded her to stay
that night in a place hard by our ship, where was an Oratory in memory of
the blessed Cyprian. That night I privily departed, but she was not behind
in weeping and prayer. And what, O Lord, was she with so many tears asking
of Thee, but that Thou wouldest not suffer me to sail? But Thou, in the
depth of Thy counsels and hearing the main point of her desire, regardest
not what she then asked, that Thou mightest make me what she ever asked.
The wind blew and swelled our sails, and withdrew the shore from our
sight; and she on the morrow was there, frantic with sorrow, and with
complaints and groans filled Thine ears, Who didst then disregard them;
whilst through my desires, Thou wert hurrying me to end all desire, and
the earthly part of her affection to me was chastened by the allotted
scourge of sorrows. For she loved my being with her, as mothers do, but
much more than many; and she knew not how great joy Thou wert about to
work for her out of my absence. She knew not; therefore did she weep and
wail, and by this agony there appeared in her the inheritance of Eve, with
sorrow seeking what in sorrow she had brought forth. And yet, after
accusing my treachery and hardheartedness, she betook herself again to
intercede to Thee for me, went to her wonted place, and I to Rome.

And lo, there was I received by the scourge of bodily sickness, and I was
going down to hell, carrying all the sins which I had committed, both
against Thee, and myself, and others, many and grievous, over and above
that bond of original sin, whereby we all die in Adam. For Thou hadst not
forgiven me any of these things in Christ, nor had He abolished by His
Cross the enmity which by my sins I had incurred with Thee. For how should
He, by the crucifixion of a phantasm, which I believed Him to be? So true,
then, was the death of my soul, as that of His flesh seemed to me false;
and how true the death of His body, so false was the life of my soul,
which did not believe it. And now the fever heightening, I was parting and
departing for ever. For had I then parted hence, whither had I departed,
but into fire and torments, such as my misdeeds deserved in the truth of
Thy appointment? And this she knew not, yet in absence prayed for me. But
Thou, everywhere present, heardest her where she was, and, where I was,
hadst compassion upon me; that I should recover the health of my body,
though frenzied as yet in my sacrilegious heart. For I did not in all that
danger desire Thy baptism; and I was better as a boy, when I begged it of
my mother’s piety, as I have before recited and confessed. But I had grown
up to my own shame, and I madly scoffed at the prescripts of Thy medicine,
who wouldest not suffer me, being such, to die a double death. With which
wound had my mother’s heart been pierced, it could never be healed. For I
cannot express the affection she bore to me, and with how much more
vehement anguish she was now in labour of me in the spirit, than at her
childbearing in the flesh.

I see not then how she should have been healed, had such a death of mine
stricken through the bowels of her love. And where would have been those
her so strong and unceasing prayers, unintermitting to Thee alone? But
wouldest Thou, God of mercies, despise the contrite and humbled heart of
that chaste and sober widow, so frequent in almsdeeds, so full of duty and
service to Thy saints, no day intermitting the oblation at Thine altar,
twice a day, morning and evening, without any intermission, coming to Thy
church, not for idle tattlings and old wives’ fables; but that she might
hear Thee in Thy discourses, and Thou her in her prayers. Couldest Thou
despise and reject from Thy aid the tears of such an one, wherewith she
begged of Thee not gold or silver, nor any mutable or passing good, but
the salvation of her son’s soul? Thou, by whose gift she was such? Never,
Lord. Yea, Thou wert at hand, and wert hearing and doing, in that order
wherein Thou hadst determined before that it should be done. Far be it
that Thou shouldest deceive her in Thy visions and answers, some whereof I
have, some I have not mentioned, which she laid up in her faithful heart,
and ever praying, urged upon Thee, as Thine own handwriting. For Thou,
because Thy mercy endureth for ever, vouchsafest to those to whom Thou
forgivest all of their debts, to become also a debtor by Thy promises.

Thou recoveredst me then of that sickness, and healedst the son of Thy
handmaid, for the time in body, that he might live, for Thee to bestow
upon him a better and more abiding health. And even then, at Rome, I
joined myself to those deceiving and deceived “holy ones”; not with their
disciples only (of which number was he, in whose house I had fallen sick
and recovered); but also with those whom they call “The Elect.” For I
still thought “that it was not we that sin, but that I know not what other
nature sinned in us”; and it delighted my pride, to be free from blame;
and when I had done any evil, not to confess I had done any, that Thou
mightest heal my soul because it had sinned against Thee: but I loved to
excuse it, and to accuse I know not what other thing, which was with me,
but which I was not. But in truth it was wholly I, and mine impiety had
divided me against myself: and that sin was the more incurable, whereby I
did not judge myself a sinner; and execrable iniquity it was, that I had
rather have Thee, Thee, O God Almighty, to be overcome in me to my
destruction, than myself of Thee to salvation. Not as yet then hadst Thou
set a watch before my mouth, and a door of safe keeping around my lips,
that my heart might not turn aside to wicked speeches, to make excuses of
sins, with men that work iniquity; and, therefore, was I still united with
their Elect.

But now despairing to make proficiency in that false doctrine, even those
things (with which if I should find no better, I had resolved to rest
contented) I now held more laxly and carelessly. For there half arose a
thought in me that those philosophers, whom they call Academics, were
wiser than the rest, for that they held men ought to doubt everything, and
laid down that no truth can be comprehended by man: for so, not then
understanding even their meaning, I also was clearly convinced that they
thought, as they are commonly reported. Yet did I freely and openly
discourage that host of mine from that over-confidence which I perceived
him to have in those fables, which the books of Manichaeus are full of.
Yet I lived in more familiar friendship with them, than with others who
were not of this heresy. Nor did I maintain it with my ancient eagerness;
still my intimacy with that sect (Rome secretly harbouring many of them)
made me slower to seek any other way: especially since I despaired of
finding the truth, from which they had turned me aside, in Thy Church, O
Lord of heaven and earth, Creator of all things visible and invisible: and
it seemed to me very unseemly to believe Thee to have the shape of human
flesh, and to be bounded by the bodily lineaments of our members. And
because, when I wished to think on my God, I knew not what to think of,
but a mass of bodies (for what was not such did not seem to me to be
anything), this was the greatest, and almost only cause of my inevitable
error.

For hence I believed Evil also to be some such kind of substance, and to
have its own foul and hideous bulk; whether gross, which they called
earth, or thin and subtile (like the body of the air), which they imagine
to be some malignant mind, creeping through that earth. And because a
piety, such as it was, constrained me to believe that the good God never
created any evil nature, I conceived two masses, contrary to one another,
both unbounded, but the evil narrower, the good more expansive. And from
this pestilent beginning, the other sacrilegious conceits followed on me.
For when my mind endeavoured to recur to the Catholic faith, I was driven
back, since that was not the Catholic faith which I thought to be so. And
I seemed to myself more reverential, if I believed of Thee, my God (to
whom Thy mercies confess out of my mouth), as unbounded, at least on other
sides, although on that one where the mass of evil was opposed to Thee, I
was constrained to confess Thee bounded; than if on all sides I should
imagine Thee to be bounded by the form of a human body. And it seemed to
me better to believe Thee to have created no evil (which to me ignorant
seemed not some only, but a bodily substance, because I could not conceive
of mind unless as a subtile body, and that diffused in definite spaces),
than to believe the nature of evil, such as I conceived it, could come
from Thee. Yea, and our Saviour Himself, Thy Only Begotten, I believed to
have been reached forth (as it were) for our salvation, out of the mass of
Thy most lucid substance, so as to believe nothing of Him, but what I
could imagine in my vanity. His Nature then, being such, I thought could
not be born of the Virgin Mary, without being mingled with the flesh: and
how that which I had so figured to myself could be mingled, and not
defiled, I saw not. I feared therefore to believe Him born in the flesh,
lest I should be forced to believe Him defiled by the flesh. Now will Thy
spiritual ones mildly and lovingly smile upon me, if they shall read these
my confessions. Yet such was I.

Furthermore, what the Manichees had criticised in Thy Scriptures, I
thought could not be defended; yet at times verily I had a wish to confer
upon these several points with some one very well skilled in those books,
and to make trial what he thought thereon; for the words of one Helpidius,
as he spoke and disputed face to face against the said Manichees, had
begun to stir me even at Carthage: in that he had produced things out of
the Scriptures, not easily withstood, the Manichees’ answer whereto seemed
to me weak. And this answer they liked not to give publicly, but only to
us in private. It was, that the Scriptures of the New Testament had been
corrupted by I know not whom, who wished to engraff the law of the Jews
upon the Christian faith: yet themselves produced not any uncorrupted
copies. But I, conceiving of things corporeal only, was mainly held down,
vehemently oppressed and in a manner suffocated by those “masses”; panting
under which after the breath of Thy truth, I could not breathe it pure and
untainted.

I began then diligently to practise that for which I came to Rome, to
teach rhetoric; and first, to gather some to my house, to whom, and
through whom, I had begun to be known; when lo, I found other offences
committed in Rome, to which I was not exposed in Africa. True, those
“subvertings” by profligate young men were not here practised, as was told
me: but on a sudden, said they, to avoid paying their master’s stipend, a
number of youths plot together, and remove to another;—breakers of
faith, who for love of money hold justice cheap. These also my heart
hated, though not with a perfect hatred: for perchance I hated them more
because I was to suffer by them, than because they did things utterly
unlawful. Of a truth such are base persons, and they go a whoring from
Thee, loving these fleeting mockeries of things temporal, and filthy
lucre, which fouls the hand that grasps it; hugging the fleeting world,
and despising Thee, Who abidest, and recallest, and forgivest the
adulteress soul of man, when she returns to Thee. And now I hate such
depraved and crooked persons, though I love them if corrigible, so as to
prefer to money the learning which they acquire, and to learning, Thee, O
God, the truth and fulness of assured good, and most pure peace. But then
I rather for my own sake misliked them evil, than liked and wished them
good for Thine.

When therefore they of Milan had sent to Rome to the prefect of the city,
to furnish them with a rhetoric reader for their city, and sent him at the
public expense, I made application (through those very persons,
intoxicated with Manichaean vanities, to be freed wherefrom I was to go,
neither of us however knowing it) that Symmachus, then prefect of the
city, would try me by setting me some subject, and so send me. To Milan I
came, to Ambrose the Bishop, known to the whole world as among the best of
men, Thy devout servant; whose eloquent discourse did then plentifully
dispense unto Thy people the flour of Thy wheat, the gladness of Thy oil,
and the sober inebriation of Thy wine. To him was I unknowing led by Thee,
that by him I might knowingly be led to Thee. That man of God received me
as a father, and showed me an Episcopal kindness on my coming. Thenceforth
I began to love him, at first indeed not as a teacher of the truth (which
I utterly despaired of in Thy Church), but as a person kind towards
myself. And I listened diligently to him preaching to the people, not with
that intent I ought, but, as it were, trying his eloquence, whether it
answered the fame thereof, or flowed fuller or lower than was reported;
and I hung on his words attentively; but of the matter I was as a careless
and scornful looker-on; and I was delighted with the sweetness of his
discourse, more recondite, yet in manner less winning and harmonious, than
that of Faustus. Of the matter, however, there was no comparison; for the
one was wandering amid Manichaean delusions, the other teaching salvation
most soundly. But salvation is far from sinners, such as I then stood
before him; and yet was I drawing nearer by little and little, and
unconsciously.

For though I took no pains to learn what he spake, but only to hear how he
spake (for that empty care alone was left me, despairing of a way, open
for man, to Thee), yet together with the words which I would choose, came
also into my mind the things which I would refuse; for I could not
separate them. And while I opened my heart to admit “how eloquently he
spake,” there also entered “how truly he spake”; but this by degrees. For
first, these things also had now begun to appear to me capable of defence;
and the Catholic faith, for which I had thought nothing could be said
against the Manichees’ objections, I now thought might be maintained
without shamelessness; especially after I had heard one or two places of
the Old Testament resolved, and ofttimes “in a figure,” which when I
understood literally, I was slain spiritually. Very many places then of
those books having been explained, I now blamed my despair, in believing
that no answer could be given to such as hated and scoffed at the Law and
the Prophets. Yet did I not therefore then see that the Catholic way was
to be held, because it also could find learned maintainers, who could at
large and with some show of reason answer objections; nor that what I held
was therefore to be condemned, because both sides could be maintained. For
the Catholic cause seemed to me in such sort not vanquished, as still not
as yet to be victorious.

Hereupon I earnestly bent my mind, to see if in any way I could by any
certain proof convict the Manichees of falsehood. Could I once have
conceived a spiritual substance, all their strongholds had been beaten
down, and cast utterly out of my mind; but I could not. Notwithstanding,
concerning the frame of this world, and the whole of nature, which the
senses of the flesh can reach to, as I more and more considered and
compared things, I judged the tenets of most of the philosophers to have
been much more probable. So then after the manner of the Academics (as
they are supposed) doubting of every thing, and wavering between all, I
settled so far, that the Manichees were to be abandoned; judging that,
even while doubting, I might not continue in that sect, to which I already
preferred some of the philosophers; to which philosophers notwithstanding,
for that they were without the saving Name of Christ, I utterly refused to
commit the cure of my sick soul. I determined therefore so long to be a
Catechumen in the Catholic Church, to which I had been commended by my
parents, till something certain should dawn upon me, whither I might steer
my course.

BOOK VI

O Thou, my hope from my youth, where wert Thou to me, and whither wert
Thou gone? Hadst not Thou created me, and separated me from the beasts of
the field, and fowls of the air? Thou hadst made me wiser, yet did I walk
in darkness, and in slippery places, and sought Thee abroad out of myself,
and found not the God of my heart; and had come into the depths of the
sea, and distrusted and despaired of ever finding truth. My mother had now
come to me, resolute through piety, following me over sea and land, in all
perils confiding in Thee. For in perils of the sea, she comforted the very
mariners (by whom passengers unacquainted with the deep, use rather to be
comforted when troubled), assuring them of a safe arrival, because Thou
hadst by a vision assured her thereof. She found me in grievous peril,
through despair of ever finding truth. But when I had discovered to her
that I was now no longer a Manichee, though not yet a Catholic Christian,
she was not overjoyed, as at something unexpected; although she was now
assured concerning that part of my misery, for which she bewailed me as
one dead, though to be reawakened by Thee, carrying me forth upon the bier
of her thoughts, that Thou mightest say to the son of the widow, Young
man, I say unto thee, Arise; and he should revive, and begin to speak, and
Thou shouldest deliver him to his mother. Her heart then was shaken with
no tumultuous exultation, when she heard that what she daily with tears
desired of Thee was already in so great part realised; in that, though I
had not yet attained the truth, I was rescued from falsehood; but, as
being assured, that Thou, Who hadst promised the whole, wouldest one day
give the rest, most calmly, and with a heart full of confidence, she
replied to me, “She believed in Christ, that before she departed this
life, she should see me a Catholic believer.” Thus much to me. But to
Thee, Fountain of mercies, poured she forth more copious prayers and
tears, that Thou wouldest hasten Thy help, and enlighten my darkness; and
she hastened the more eagerly to the Church, and hung upon the lips of
Ambrose, praying for the fountain of that water, which springeth up unto
life everlasting. But that man she loved as an angel of God, because she
knew that by him I had been brought for the present to that doubtful state
of faith I now was in, through which she anticipated most confidently that
I should pass from sickness unto health, after the access, as it were, of
a sharper fit, which physicians call “the crisis.”

When then my mother had once, as she was wont in Afric, brought to the
Churches built in memory of the Saints, certain cakes, and bread and wine,
and was forbidden by the door-keeper; so soon as she knew that the Bishop
had forbidden this, she so piously and obediently embraced his wishes,
that I myself wondered how readily she censured her own practice, rather
than discuss his prohibition. For wine-bibbing did not lay siege to her
spirit, nor did love of wine provoke her to hatred of the truth, as it
doth too many (both men and women), who revolt at a lesson of sobriety, as
men well-drunk at a draught mingled with water. But she, when she had
brought her basket with the accustomed festival-food, to be but tasted by
herself, and then given away, never joined therewith more than one small
cup of wine, diluted according to her own abstemious habits, which for
courtesy she would taste. And if there were many churches of the departed
saints that were to be honoured in that manner, she still carried round
that same one cup, to be used every where; and this, though not only made
very watery, but unpleasantly heated with carrying about, she would
distribute to those about her by small sips; for she sought there
devotion, not pleasure. So soon, then, as she found this custom to be
forbidden by that famous preacher and most pious prelate, even to those
that would use it soberly, lest so an occasion of excess might be given to
the drunken; and for these, as it were, anniversary funeral solemnities
did much resemble the superstition of the Gentiles, she most willingly
forbare it: and for a basket filled with fruits of the earth, she had
learned to bring to the Churches of the martyrs a breast filled with more
purified petitions, and to give what she could to the poor; that so the
communication of the Lord’s Body might be there rightly celebrated, where,
after the example of His Passion, the martyrs had been sacrificed and
crowned. But yet it seems to me, O Lord my God, and thus thinks my heart
of it in Thy sight, that perhaps she would not so readily have yielded to
the cutting off of this custom, had it been forbidden by another, whom she
loved not as Ambrose, whom, for my salvation, she loved most entirely; and
he her again, for her most religious conversation, whereby in good works,
so fervent in spirit, she was constant at church; so that, when he saw me,
he often burst forth into her praises; congratulating me that I had such a
mother; not knowing what a son she had in me, who doubted of all these
things, and imagined the way to life could not be found out.

Nor did I yet groan in my prayers, that Thou wouldest help me; but my
spirit was wholly intent on learning, and restless to dispute. And Ambrose
himself, as the world counts happy, I esteemed a happy man, whom
personages so great held in such honour; only his celibacy seemed to me a
painful course. But what hope he bore within him, what struggles he had
against the temptations which beset his very excellencies, or what comfort
in adversities, and what sweet joys Thy Bread had for the hidden mouth of
his spirit, when chewing the cud thereof, I neither could conjecture, nor
had experienced. Nor did he know the tides of my feelings, or the abyss of
my danger. For I could not ask of him, what I would as I would, being shut
out both from his ear and speech by multitudes of busy people, whose
weaknesses he served. With whom when he was not taken up (which was but a
little time), he was either refreshing his body with the sustenance
absolutely necessary, or his mind with reading. But when he was reading,
his eye glided over the pages, and his heart searched out the sense, but
his voice and tongue were at rest. Ofttimes when we had come (for no man
was forbidden to enter, nor was it his wont that any who came should be
announced to him), we saw him thus reading to himself, and never
otherwise; and having long sat silent (for who durst intrude on one so
intent?) we were fain to depart, conjecturing that in the small interval
which he obtained, free from the din of others’ business, for the
recruiting of his mind, he was loth to be taken off; and perchance he
dreaded lest if the author he read should deliver any thing obscurely,
some attentive or perplexed hearer should desire him to expound it, or to
discuss some of the harder questions; so that his time being thus spent,
he could not turn over so many volumes as he desired; although the
preserving of his voice (which a very little speaking would weaken) might
be the truer reason for his reading to himself. But with what intent
soever he did it, certainly in such a man it was good.

I however certainly had no opportunity of enquiring what I wished of that
so holy oracle of Thine, his breast, unless the thing might be answered
briefly. But those tides in me, to be poured out to him, required his full
leisure, and never found it. I heard him indeed every Lord’s day, rightly
expounding the Word of truth among the people; and I was more and more
convinced that all the knots of those crafty calumnies, which those our
deceivers had knit against the Divine Books, could be unravelled. But when
I understood withal, that “man created by Thee, after Thine own image,”
was not so understood by Thy spiritual sons, whom of the Catholic Mother
Thou hast born again through grace, as though they believed and conceived
of Thee as bounded by human shape (although what a spiritual substance
should be I had not even a faint or shadowy notion); yet, with joy I
blushed at having so many years barked not against the Catholic faith, but
against the fictions of carnal imaginations. For so rash and impious had I
been, that what I ought by enquiring to have learned, I had pronounced on,
condemning. For Thou, Most High, and most near; most secret, and most
present; Who hast not limbs some larger, some smaller, but art wholly
every where, and no where in space, art not of such corporeal shape, yet
hast Thou made man after Thine own image; and behold, from head to foot is
he contained in space.

Ignorant then how this Thy image should subsist, I should have knocked and
proposed the doubt, how it was to be believed, not insultingly opposed it,
as if believed. Doubt, then, what to hold for certain, the more sharply
gnawed my heart, the more ashamed I was, that so long deluded and deceived
by the promise of certainties, I had with childish error and vehemence,
prated of so many uncertainties. For that they were falsehoods became
clear to me later. However I was certain that they were uncertain, and
that I had formerly accounted them certain, when with a blind
contentiousness, I accused Thy Catholic Church, whom I now discovered, not
indeed as yet to teach truly, but at least not to teach that for which I
had grievously censured her. So I was confounded, and converted: and I
joyed, O my God, that the One Only Church, the body of Thine Only Son
(wherein the name of Christ had been put upon me as an infant), had no
taste for infantine conceits; nor in her sound doctrine maintained any
tenet which should confine Thee, the Creator of all, in space, however
great and large, yet bounded every where by the limits of a human form.

I joyed also that the old Scriptures of the law and the Prophets were laid
before me, not now to be perused with that eye to which before they seemed
absurd, when I reviled Thy holy ones for so thinking, whereas indeed they
thought not so: and with joy I heard Ambrose in his sermons to the people,
oftentimes most diligently recommend this text for a rule, The letter
killeth, but the Spirit giveth life; whilst he drew aside the mystic veil,
laying open spiritually what, according to the letter, seemed to teach
something unsound; teaching herein nothing that offended me, though he
taught what I knew not as yet, whether it were true. For I kept my heart
from assenting to any thing, fearing to fall headlong; but by hanging in
suspense I was the worse killed. For I wished to be as assured of the
things I saw not, as I was that seven and three are ten. For I was not so
mad as to think that even this could not be comprehended; but I desired to
have other things as clear as this, whether things corporeal, which were
not present to my senses, or spiritual, whereof I knew not how to
conceive, except corporeally. And by believing might I have been cured,
that so the eyesight of my soul being cleared, might in some way be
directed to Thy truth, which abideth always, and in no part faileth. But
as it happens that one who has tried a bad physician, fears to trust
himself with a good one, so was it with the health of my soul, which could
not be healed but by believing, and lest it should believe falsehoods,
refused to be cured; resisting Thy hands, Who hast prepared the medicines
of faith, and hast applied them to the diseases of the whole world, and
given unto them so great authority.

Being led, however, from this to prefer the Catholic doctrine, I felt that
her proceeding was more unassuming and honest, in that she required to be
believed things not demonstrated (whether it was that they could in
themselves be demonstrated but not to certain persons, or could not at all
be), whereas among the Manichees our credulity was mocked by a promise of
certain knowledge, and then so many most fabulous and absurd things were
imposed to be believed, because they could not be demonstrated. Then Thou,
O Lord, little by little with most tender and most merciful hand, touching
and composing my heart, didst persuade me—considering what
innumerable things I believed, which I saw not, nor was present while they
were done, as so many things in secular history, so many reports of places
and of cities, which I had not seen; so many of friends, so many of
physicians, so many continually of other men, which unless we should
believe, we should do nothing at all in this life; lastly, with how
unshaken an assurance I believed of what parents I was born, which I could
not know, had I not believed upon hearsay—considering all this, Thou
didst persuade me, that not they who believed Thy Books (which Thou hast
established in so great authority among almost all nations), but they who
believed them not, were to be blamed; and that they were not to be heard,
who should say to me, “How knowest thou those Scriptures to have been
imparted unto mankind by the Spirit of the one true and most true God?”
For this very thing was of all most to be believed, since no
contentiousness of blasphemous questionings, of all that multitude which I
had read in the self-contradicting philosophers, could wring this belief
from me, “That Thou art” whatsoever Thou wert (what I knew not), and “That
the government of human things belongs to Thee.”

This I believed, sometimes more strongly, more weakly otherwhiles; yet I
ever believed both that Thou wert, and hadst a care of us; though I was
ignorant, both what was to be thought of Thy substance, and what way led
or led back to Thee. Since then we were too weak by abstract reasonings to
find out truth: and for this very cause needed the authority of Holy Writ;
I had now begun to believe that Thou wouldest never have given such
excellency of authority to that Writ in all lands, hadst Thou not willed
thereby to be believed in, thereby sought. For now what things, sounding
strangely in the Scripture, were wont to offend me, having heard divers of
them expounded satisfactorily, I referred to the depth of the mysteries,
and its authority appeared to me the more venerable, and more worthy of
religious credence, in that, while it lay open to all to read, it reserved
the majesty of its mysteries within its profounder meaning, stooping to
all in the great plainness of its words and lowliness of its style, yet
calling forth the intensest application of such as are not light of heart;
that so it might receive all in its open bosom, and through narrow
passages waft over towards Thee some few, yet many more than if it stood
not aloft on such a height of authority, nor drew multitudes within its
bosom by its holy lowliness. These things I thought on, and Thou wert with
me; I sighed, and Thou heardest me; I wavered, and Thou didst guide me; I
wandered through the broad way of the world, and Thou didst not forsake
me.

I panted after honours, gains, marriage; and thou deridedst me. In these
desires I underwent most bitter crosses, Thou being the more gracious, the
less Thou sufferedst aught to grow sweet to me, which was not Thou. Behold
my heart, O Lord, who wouldest I should remember all this, and confess to
Thee. Let my soul cleave unto Thee, now that Thou hast freed it from that
fast-holding birdlime of death. How wretched was it! and Thou didst
irritate the feeling of its wound, that forsaking all else, it might be
converted unto Thee, who art above all, and without whom all things would
be nothing; be converted, and be healed. How miserable was I then, and how
didst Thou deal with me, to make me feel my misery on that day, when I was
preparing to recite a panegyric of the Emperor, wherein I was to utter
many a lie, and lying, was to be applauded by those who knew I lied, and
my heart was panting with these anxieties, and boiling with the
feverishness of consuming thoughts. For, passing through one of the
streets of Milan, I observed a poor beggar, then, I suppose, with a full
belly, joking and joyous: and I sighed, and spoke to the friends around
me, of the many sorrows of our frenzies; for that by all such efforts of
ours, as those wherein I then toiled dragging along, under the goading of
desire, the burthen of my own wretchedness, and, by dragging, augmenting
it, we yet looked to arrive only at that very joyousness whither that
beggar-man had arrived before us, who should never perchance attain it.
For what he had obtained by means of a few begged pence, the same was I
plotting for by many a toilsome turning and winding; the joy of a
temporary felicity. For he verily had not the true joy; but yet I with
those my ambitious designs was seeking one much less true. And certainly
he was joyous, I anxious; he void of care, I full of fears. But should any
ask me, had I rather be merry or fearful? I would answer merry. Again, if
he asked had I rather be such as he was, or what I then was? I should
choose to be myself, though worn with cares and fears; but out of wrong
judgment; for, was it the truth? For I ought not to prefer myself to him,
because more learned than he, seeing I had no joy therein, but sought to
please men by it; and that not to instruct, but simply to please.
Wherefore also Thou didst break my bones with the staff of Thy correction.

Away with those then from my soul who say to her, “It makes a difference
whence a man’s joy is. That beggar-man joyed in drunkenness; Thou
desiredst to joy in glory.” What glory, Lord? That which is not in Thee.
For even as his was no true joy, so was that no true glory: and it
overthrew my soul more. He that very night should digest his drunkenness;
but I had slept and risen again with mine, and was to sleep again, and
again to rise with it, how many days, Thou, God, knowest. But “it doth
make a difference whence a man’s joy is.” I know it, and the joy of a
faithful hope lieth incomparably beyond such vanity. Yea, and so was he
then beyond me: for he verily was the happier; not only for that he was
thoroughly drenched in mirth, I disembowelled with cares: but he, by fair
wishes, had gotten wine; I, by lying, was seeking for empty, swelling
praise. Much to this purpose said I then to my friends: and I often marked
in them how it fared with me; and I found it went ill with me, and
grieved, and doubled that very ill; and if any prosperity smiled on me, I
was loth to catch at it, for almost before I could grasp it, it flew away.

These things we, who were living as friends together, bemoaned together,
but chiefly and most familiarly did I speak thereof with Alypius and
Nebridius, of whom Alypius was born in the same town with me, of persons
of chief rank there, but younger than I. For he had studied under me, both
when I first lectured in our town, and afterwards at Carthage, and he
loved me much, because I seemed to him kind, and learned; and I him, for
his great towardliness to virtue, which was eminent enough in one of no
greater years. Yet the whirlpool of Carthaginian habits (amongst whom
those idle spectacles are hotly followed) had drawn him into the madness
of the Circus. But while he was miserably tossed therein, and I,
professing rhetoric there, had a public school, as yet he used not my
teaching, by reason of some unkindness risen betwixt his father and me. I
had found then how deadly he doted upon the Circus, and was deeply grieved
that he seemed likely, nay, or had thrown away so great promise: yet had I
no means of advising or with a sort of constraint reclaiming him, either
by the kindness of a friend, or the authority of a master. For I supposed
that he thought of me as did his father; but he was not such; laying aside
then his father’s mind in that matter, he began to greet me, come
sometimes into my lecture room, hear a little, and be gone.

I however had forgotten to deal with him, that he should not, through a
blind and headlong desire of vain pastimes, undo so good a wit. But Thou,
O Lord, who guidest the course of all Thou hast created, hadst not
forgotten him, who was one day to be among Thy children, Priest and
Dispenser of Thy Sacrament; and that his amendment might plainly be
attributed to Thyself, Thou effectedst it through me, unknowingly. For as
one day I sat in my accustomed place, with my scholars before me, he
entered, greeted me, sat down, and applied his mind to what I then
handled. I had by chance a passage in hand, which while I was explaining,
a likeness from the Circensian races occurred to me, as likely to make
what I would convey pleasanter and plainer, seasoned with biting mockery
of those whom that madness had enthralled; God, Thou knowest that I then
thought not of curing Alypius of that infection. But he took it wholly to
himself, and thought that I said it simply for his sake. And whence
another would have taken occasion of offence with me, that right-minded
youth took as a ground of being offended at himself, and loving me more
fervently. For Thou hadst said it long ago, and put it into Thy book,
Rebuke a wise man and he will love Thee. But I had not rebuked him, but
Thou, who employest all, knowing or not knowing, in that order which
Thyself knowest (and that order is just), didst of my heart and tongue
make burning coals, by which to set on fire the hopeful mind, thus
languishing, and so cure it. Let him be silent in Thy praises, who
considers not Thy mercies, which confess unto Thee out of my inmost soul.
For he upon that speech burst out of that pit so deep, wherein he was
wilfully plunged, and was blinded with its wretched pastimes; and he shook
his mind with a strong self-command; whereupon all the filths of the
Circensian pastimes flew off from him, nor came he again thither. Upon
this, he prevailed with his unwilling father that he might be my scholar.
He gave way, and gave in. And Alypius beginning to be my hearer again, was
involved in the same superstition with me, loving in the Manichees that
show of continency which he supposed true and unfeigned. Whereas it was a
senseless and seducing continency, ensnaring precious souls, unable as yet
to reach the depth of virtue, yet readily beguiled with the surface of
what was but a shadowy and counterfeit virtue.

He, not forsaking that secular course which his parents had charmed him to
pursue, had gone before me to Rome, to study law, and there he was carried
away incredibly with an incredible eagerness after the shows of
gladiators. For being utterly averse to and detesting spectacles, he was
one day by chance met by divers of his acquaintance and fellow-students
coming from dinner, and they with a familiar violence haled him,
vehemently refusing and resisting, into the Amphitheatre, during these
cruel and deadly shows, he thus protesting: “Though you hale my body to
that place, and there set me, can you force me also to turn my mind or my
eyes to those shows? I shall then be absent while present, and so shall
overcome both you and them.” They, hearing this, led him on nevertheless,
desirous perchance to try that very thing, whether he could do as he said.
When they were come thither, and had taken their places as they could, the
whole place kindled with that savage pastime. But he, closing the passage
of his eyes, forbade his mind to range abroad after such evil; and would
he had stopped his ears also! For in the fight, when one fell, a mighty
cry of the whole people striking him strongly, overcome by curiosity, and
as if prepared to despise and be superior to it whatsoever it were, even
when seen, he opened his eyes, and was stricken with a deeper wound in his
soul than the other, whom he desired to behold, was in his body; and he
fell more miserably than he upon whose fall that mighty noise was raised,
which entered through his ears, and unlocked his eyes, to make way for the
striking and beating down of a soul, bold rather than resolute, and the
weaker, in that it had presumed on itself, which ought to have relied on
Thee. For so soon as he saw that blood, he therewith drunk down
savageness; nor turned away, but fixed his eye, drinking in frenzy,
unawares, and was delighted with that guilty fight, and intoxicated with
the bloody pastime. Nor was he now the man he came, but one of the throng
he came unto, yea, a true associate of theirs that brought him thither.
Why say more? He beheld, shouted, kindled, carried thence with him the
madness which should goad him to return not only with them who first drew
him thither, but also before them, yea and to draw in others. Yet thence
didst Thou with a most strong and most merciful hand pluck him, and
taughtest him to have confidence not in himself, but in Thee. But this was
after.

But this was already being laid up in his memory to be a medicine
hereafter. So was that also, that when he was yet studying under me at
Carthage, and was thinking over at mid-day in the market-place what he was
to say by heart (as scholars use to practise), Thou sufferedst him to be
apprehended by the officers of the market-place for a thief. For no other
cause, I deem, didst Thou, our God, suffer it, but that he who was
hereafter to prove so great a man, should already begin to learn that in
judging of causes, man was not readily to be condemned by man out of a
rash credulity. For as he was walking up and down by himself before the
judgment-seat, with his note-book and pen, lo, a young man, a lawyer, the
real thief, privily bringing a hatchet, got in, unperceived by Alypius, as
far as the leaden gratings which fence in the silversmiths’ shops, and
began to cut away the lead. But the noise of the hatchet being heard, the
silversmiths beneath began to make a stir, and sent to apprehend whomever
they should find. But he, hearing their voices, ran away, leaving his
hatchet, fearing to be taken with it. Alypius now, who had not seen him
enter, was aware of his going, and saw with what speed he made away. And
being desirous to know the matter, entered the place; where finding the
hatchet, he was standing, wondering and considering it, when behold, those
that had been sent, find him alone with the hatchet in his hand, the noise
whereof had startled and brought them thither. They seize him, hale him
away, and gathering the dwellers in the market-place together, boast of
having taken a notorious thief, and so he was being led away to be taken
before the judge.

But thus far was Alypius to be instructed. For forthwith, O Lord, Thou
succouredst his innocency, whereof Thou alone wert witness. For as he was
being led either to prison or to punishment, a certain architect met them,
who had the chief charge of the public buildings. Glad they were to meet
him especially, by whom they were wont to be suspected of stealing the
goods lost out of the market-place, as though to show him at last by whom
these thefts were committed. He, however, had divers times seen Alypius at
a certain senator’s house, to whom he often went to pay his respects; and
recognising him immediately, took him aside by the hand, and enquiring the
occasion of so great a calamity, heard the whole matter, and bade all
present, amid much uproar and threats, to go with him. So they came to the
house of the young man who had done the deed. There, before the door, was
a boy so young as to be likely, not apprehending any harm to his master,
to disclose the whole. For he had attended his master to the market-place.
Whom so soon as Alypius remembered, he told the architect: and he showing
the hatchet to the boy, asked him “Whose that was?” “Ours,” quoth he
presently: and being further questioned, he discovered every thing. Thus
the crime being transferred to that house, and the multitude ashamed,
which had begun to insult over Alypius, he who was to be a dispenser of
Thy Word, and an examiner of many causes in Thy Church, went away better
experienced and instructed.

Him then I had found at Rome, and he clave to me by a most strong tie, and
went with me to Milan, both that he might not leave me, and might practise
something of the law he had studied, more to please his parents than
himself. There he had thrice sat as Assessor, with an uncorruptness much
wondered at by others, he wondering at others rather who could prefer gold
to honesty. His character was tried besides, not only with the bait of
covetousness, but with the goad of fear. At Rome he was Assessor to the
count of the Italian Treasury. There was at that time a very powerful
senator, to whose favours many stood indebted, many much feared. He would
needs, by his usual power, have a thing allowed him which by the laws was
unallowed. Alypius resisted it: a bribe was promised; with all his heart
he scorned it: threats were held out; he trampled upon them: all wondering
at so unwonted a spirit, which neither desired the friendship, nor feared
the enmity of one so great and so mightily renowned for innumerable means
of doing good or evil. And the very judge, whose councillor Alypius was,
although also unwilling it should be, yet did not openly refuse, but put
the matter off upon Alypius, alleging that he would not allow him to do
it: for in truth had the judge done it, Alypius would have decided
otherwise. With this one thing in the way of learning was he well-nigh
seduced, that he might have books copied for him at Praetorian prices, but
consulting justice, he altered his deliberation for the better; esteeming
equity whereby he was hindered more gainful than the power whereby he were
allowed. These are slight things, but he that is faithful in little, is
faithful also in much. Nor can that any how be void, which proceeded out
of the mouth of Thy Truth: If ye have not been faithful in the unrighteous
Mammon, who will commit to your trust true riches? And if ye have not been
faithful in that which is another man’s, who shall give you that which is
your own? He being such, did at that time cleave to me, and with me
wavered in purpose, what course of life was to be taken.

Nebridius also, who having left his native country near Carthage, yea and
Carthage itself, where he had much lived, leaving his excellent
family-estate and house, and a mother behind, who was not to follow him,
had come to Milan, for no other reason but that with me he might live in a
most ardent search after truth and wisdom. Like me he sighed, like me he
wavered, an ardent searcher after true life, and a most acute examiner of
the most difficult questions. Thus were there the mouths of three indigent
persons, sighing out their wants one to another, and waiting upon Thee
that Thou mightest give them their meat in due season. And in all the
bitterness which by Thy mercy followed our worldly affairs, as we looked
towards the end, why we should suffer all this, darkness met us; and we
turned away groaning, and saying, How long shall these things be? This too
we often said; and so saying forsook them not, for as yet there dawned
nothing certain, which these forsaken, we might embrace.

And I, viewing and reviewing things, most wondered at the length of time
from that my nineteenth year, wherein I had begun to kindle with the
desire of wisdom, settling when I had found her, to abandon all the empty
hopes and lying frenzies of vain desires. And lo, I was now in my
thirtieth year, sticking in the same mire, greedy of enjoying things
present, which passed away and wasted my soul; while I said to myself,
“Tomorrow I shall find it; it will appear manifestly and I shall grasp it;
lo, Faustus the Manichee will come, and clear every thing! O you great
men, ye Academicians, it is true then, that no certainty can be attained
for the ordering of life! Nay, let us search the more diligently, and
despair not. Lo, things in the ecclesiastical books are not absurd to us
now, which sometimes seemed absurd, and may be otherwise taken, and in a
good sense. I will take my stand, where, as a child, my parents placed me,
until the clear truth be found out. But where shall it be sought or when?
Ambrose has no leisure; we have no leisure to read; where shall we find
even the books? Whence, or when procure them? from whom borrow them? Let
set times be appointed, and certain hours be ordered for the health of our
soul. Great hope has dawned; the Catholic Faith teaches not what we
thought, and vainly accused it of; her instructed members hold it profane
to believe God to be bounded by the figure of a human body: and do we
doubt to ‘knock,’ that the rest ‘may be opened’? The forenoons our
scholars take up; what do we during the rest? Why not this? But when then
pay we court to our great friends, whose favour we need? When compose what
we may sell to scholars? When refresh ourselves, unbending our minds from
this intenseness of care?

“Perish every thing, dismiss we these empty vanities, and betake ourselves
to the one search for truth! Life is vain, death uncertain; if it steals
upon us on a sudden, in what state shall we depart hence? and where shall
we learn what here we have neglected? and shall we not rather suffer the
punishment of this negligence? What, if death itself cut off and end all
care and feeling? Then must this be ascertained. But God forbid this! It
is no vain and empty thing, that the excellent dignity of the authority of
the Christian Faith hath overspread the whole world. Never would such and
so great things be by God wrought for us, if with the death of the body
the life of the soul came to an end. Wherefore delay then to abandon
worldly hopes, and give ourselves wholly to seek after God and the blessed
life? But wait! Even those things are pleasant; they have some, and no
small sweetness. We must not lightly abandon them, for it were a shame to
return again to them. See, it is no great matter now to obtain some
station, and then what should we more wish for? We have store of powerful
friends; if nothing else offer, and we be in much haste, at least a
presidentship may be given us: and a wife with some money, that she
increase not our charges: and this shall be the bound of desire. Many
great men, and most worthy of imitation, have given themselves to the
study of wisdom in the state of marriage.”

While I went over these things, and these winds shifted and drove my heart
this way and that, time passed on, but I delayed to turn to the Lord; and
from day to day deferred to live in Thee, and deferred not daily to die in
myself. Loving a happy life, I feared it in its own abode, and sought it,
by fleeing from it. I thought I should be too miserable, unless folded in
female arms; and of the medicine of Thy mercy to cure that infirmity I
thought not, not having tried it. As for continency, I supposed it to be
in our own power (though in myself I did not find that power), being so
foolish as not to know what is written, None can be continent unless Thou
give it; and that Thou wouldest give it, if with inward groanings I did
knock at Thine ears, and with a settled faith did cast my care on Thee.

Alypius indeed kept me from marrying; alleging that so could we by no
means with undistracted leisure live together in the love of wisdom, as we
had long desired. For himself was even then most pure in this point, so
that it was wonderful; and that the more, since in the outset of his youth
he had entered into that course, but had not stuck fast therein; rather
had he felt remorse and revolting at it, living thenceforth until now most
continently. But I opposed him with the examples of those who as married
men had cherished wisdom, and served God acceptably, and retained their
friends, and loved them faithfully. Of whose greatness of spirit I was far
short; and bound with the disease of the flesh, and its deadly sweetness,
drew along my chain, dreading to be loosed, and as if my wound had been
fretted, put back his good persuasions, as it were the hand of one that
would unchain me. Moreover, by me did the serpent speak unto Alypius
himself, by my tongue weaving and laying in his path pleasurable snares,
wherein his virtuous and free feet might be entangled.

For when he wondered that I, whom he esteemed not slightly, should stick
so fast in the birdlime of that pleasure, as to protest (so oft as we
discussed it) that I could never lead a single life; and urged in my
defence when I saw him wonder, that there was great difference between his
momentary and scarce-remembered knowledge of that life, which so he might
easily despise, and my continued acquaintance whereto if the honourable
name of marriage were added, he ought not to wonder why I could not
contemn that course; he began also to desire to be married; not as
overcome with desire of such pleasure, but out of curiosity. For he would
fain know, he said, what that should be, without which my life, to him so
pleasing, would to me seem not life but a punishment. For his mind, free
from that chain, was amazed at my thraldom; and through that amazement was
going on to a desire of trying it, thence to the trial itself, and thence
perhaps to sink into that bondage whereat he wondered, seeing he was
willing to make a covenant with death; and he that loves danger, shall
fall into it. For whatever honour there be in the office of well-ordering
a married life, and a family, moved us but slightly. But me for the most
part the habit of satisfying an insatiable appetite tormented, while it
held me captive; him, an admiring wonder was leading captive. So were we,
until Thou, O Most High, not forsaking our dust, commiserating us
miserable, didst come to our help, by wondrous and secret ways.

Continual effort was made to have me married. I wooed, I was promised,
chiefly through my mother’s pains, that so once married, the health-giving
baptism might cleanse me, towards which she rejoiced that I was being
daily fitted, and observed that her prayers, and Thy promises, were being
fulfilled in my faith. At which time verily, both at my request and her
own longing, with strong cries of heart she daily begged of Thee, that
Thou wouldest by a vision discover unto her something concerning my future
marriage; Thou never wouldest. She saw indeed certain vain and fantastic
things, such as the energy of the human spirit, busied thereon, brought
together; and these she told me of, not with that confidence she was wont,
when Thou showedst her any thing, but slighting them. For she could, she
said, through a certain feeling, which in words she could not express,
discern betwixt Thy revelations, and the dreams of her own soul. Yet the
matter was pressed on, and a maiden asked in marriage, two years under the
fit age; and, as pleasing, was waited for.

And many of us friends conferring about, and detesting the turbulent
turmoils of human life, had debated and now almost resolved on living
apart from business and the bustle of men; and this was to be thus
obtained; we were to bring whatever we might severally procure, and make
one household of all; so that through the truth of our friendship nothing
should belong especially to any; but the whole thus derived from all,
should as a whole belong to each, and all to all. We thought there might
be some often persons in this society; some of whom were very rich,
especially Romanianus our townsman, from childhood a very familiar friend
of mine, whom the grievous perplexities of his affairs had brought up to
court; who was the most earnest for this project; and therein was his
voice of great weight, because his ample estate far exceeded any of the
rest. We had settled also that two annual officers, as it were, should
provide all things necessary, the rest being undisturbed. But when we
began to consider whether the wives, which some of us already had, others
hoped to have, would allow this, all that plan, which was being so well
moulded, fell to pieces in our hands, was utterly dashed and cast aside.
Thence we betook us to sighs, and groans, and our steps to follow the
broad and beaten ways of the world; for many thoughts were in our heart,
but Thy counsel standeth for ever. Out of which counsel Thou didst deride
ours, and preparedst Thine own; purposing to give us meat in due season,
and to fill our souls with blessing.

Meanwhile my sins were being multiplied, and my concubine being torn from
my side as a hindrance to my marriage, my heart which clave unto her was
torn and wounded and bleeding. And she returned to Afric, vowing unto Thee
never to know any other man, leaving with me my son by her. But unhappy I,
who could not imitate a very woman, impatient of delay, inasmuch as not
till after two years was I to obtain her I sought not being so much a
lover of marriage as a slave to lust, procured another, though no wife,
that so by the servitude of an enduring custom, the disease of my soul
might be kept up and carried on in its vigour, or even augmented, into the
dominion of marriage. Nor was that my wound cured, which had been made by
the cutting away of the former, but after inflammation and most acute
pain, it mortified, and my pains became less acute, but more desperate.

To Thee be praise, glory to Thee, Fountain of mercies. I was becoming more
miserable, and Thou nearer. Thy right hand was continually ready to pluck
me out of the mire, and to wash me thoroughly, and I knew it not; nor did
anything call me back from a yet deeper gulf of carnal pleasures, but the
fear of death, and of Thy judgment to come; which amid all my changes,
never departed from my breast. And in my disputes with my friends Alypius
and Nebridius of the nature of good and evil, I held that Epicurus had in
my mind won the palm, had I not believed that after death there remained a
life for the soul, and places of requital according to men’s deserts,
which Epicurus would not believe. And I asked, “were we immortal, and to
live in perpetual bodily pleasure, without fear of losing it, why should
we not be happy, or what else should we seek?” not knowing that great
misery was involved in this very thing, that, being thus sunk and blinded,
I could not discern that light of excellence and beauty, to be embraced
for its own sake, which the eye of flesh cannot see, and is seen by the
inner man. Nor did I, unhappy, consider from what source it sprung, that
even on these things, foul as they were, I with pleasure discoursed with
my friends, nor could I, even according to the notions I then had of
happiness, be happy without friends, amid what abundance soever of carnal
pleasures. And yet these friends I loved for themselves only, and I felt
that I was beloved of them again for myself only.

O crooked paths! Woe to the audacious soul, which hoped, by forsaking
Thee, to gain some better thing! Turned it hath, and turned again, upon
back, sides, and belly, yet all was painful; and Thou alone rest. And
behold, Thou art at hand, and deliverest us from our wretched wanderings,
and placest us in Thy way, and dost comfort us, and say, “Run; I will
carry you; yea I will bring you through; there also will I carry you.”

BOOK VII

Deceased was now that my evil and abominable youth, and I was passing into
early manhood; the more defiled by vain things as I grew in years, who
could not imagine any substance, but such as is wont to be seen with these
eyes. I thought not of Thee, O God, under the figure of a human body;
since I began to hear aught of wisdom, I always avoided this; and rejoiced
to have found the same in the faith of our spiritual mother, Thy Catholic
Church. But what else to conceive of Thee I knew not. And I, a man, and
such a man, sought to conceive of Thee the sovereign, only, true God; and
I did in my inmost soul believe that Thou wert incorruptible, and
uninjurable, and unchangeable; because though not knowing whence or how,
yet I saw plainly, and was sure, that that which may be corrupted must be
inferior to that which cannot; what could not be injured I preferred
unhesitatingly to what could receive injury; the unchangeable to things
subject to change. My heart passionately cried out against all my
phantoms, and with this one blow I sought to beat away from the eye of my
mind all that unclean troop which buzzed around it. And lo, being scarce
put off, in the twinkling of an eye they gathered again thick about me,
flew against my face, and beclouded it; so that though not under the form
of the human body, yet was I constrained to conceive of Thee (that
incorruptible, uninjurable, and unchangeable, which I preferred before the
corruptible, and injurable, and changeable) as being in space, whether
infused into the world, or diffused infinitely without it. Because
whatsoever I conceived, deprived of this space, seemed to me nothing, yea
altogether nothing, not even a void, as if a body were taken out of its
place, and the place should remain empty of any body at all, of earth and
water, air and heaven, yet would it remain a void place, as it were a
spacious nothing.

I then being thus gross-hearted, nor clear even to myself, whatsoever was
not extended over certain spaces, nor diffused, nor condensed, nor swelled
out, or did not or could not receive some of these dimensions, I thought
to be altogether nothing. For over such forms as my eyes are wont to
range, did my heart then range: nor yet did I see that this same notion of
the mind, whereby I formed those very images, was not of this sort, and
yet it could not have formed them, had not itself been some great thing.
So also did I endeavour to conceive of Thee, Life of my life, as vast,
through infinite spaces on every side penetrating the whole mass of the
universe, and beyond it, every way, through unmeasurable boundless spaces;
so that the earth should have Thee, the heaven have Thee, all things have
Thee, and they be bounded in Thee, and Thou bounded nowhere. For that as
the body of this air which is above the earth, hindereth not the light of
the sun from passing through it, penetrating it, not by bursting or by
cutting, but by filling it wholly: so I thought the body not of heaven,
air, and sea only, but of the earth too, pervious to Thee, so that in all
its parts, the greatest as the smallest, it should admit Thy presence, by
a secret inspiration, within and without, directing all things which Thou
hast created. So I guessed, only as unable to conceive aught else, for it
was false. For thus should a greater part of the earth contain a greater
portion of Thee, and a less, a lesser: and all things should in such sort
be full of Thee, that the body of an elephant should contain more of Thee,
than that of a sparrow, by how much larger it is, and takes up more room;
and thus shouldest Thou make the several portions of Thyself present unto
the several portions of the world, in fragments, large to the large, petty
to the petty. But such art not Thou. But not as yet hadst Thou enlightened
my darkness.

It was enough for me, Lord, to oppose to those deceived deceivers, and
dumb praters, since Thy word sounded not out of them;—that was
enough which long ago, while we were yet at Carthage, Nebridius used to
propound, at which all we that heard it were staggered: “That said nation
of darkness, which the Manichees are wont to set as an opposing mass over
against Thee, what could it have done unto Thee, hadst Thou refused to
fight with it? For, if they answered, ‘it would have done Thee some hurt,’
then shouldest Thou be subject to injury and corruption: but it could do
Thee no hurt,’ then was no reason brought for Thy fighting with it; and
fighting in such wise, as that a certain portion or member of Thee, or
offspring of Thy very Substance, should be mingled with opposed powers,
and natures not created by Thee, and be by them so far corrupted and
changed to the worse, as to be turned from happiness into misery, and need
assistance, whereby it might be extricated and purified; and that this
offspring of Thy Substance was the soul, which being enthralled, defiled,
corrupted, Thy Word, free, pure, and whole, might relieve; that Word
itself being still corruptible because it was of one and the same
Substance. So then, should they affirm Thee, whatsoever Thou art, that is,
Thy Substance whereby Thou art, to be incorruptible, then were all these
sayings false and execrable; but if corruptible, the very statement showed
it to be false and revolting.” This argument then of Nebridius sufficed
against those who deserved wholly to be vomited out of the overcharged
stomach; for they had no escape, without horrible blasphemy of heart and
tongue, thus thinking and speaking of Thee.

But I also as yet, although I held and was firmly persuaded that Thou our
Lord the true God, who madest not only our souls, but our bodies, and not
only our souls and bodies, but all beings, and all things, wert
undefilable and unalterable, and in no degree mutable; yet understood I
not, clearly and without difficulty, the cause of evil. And yet whatever
it were, I perceived it was in such wise to be sought out, as should not
constrain me to believe the immutable God to be mutable, lest I should
become that evil I was seeking out. I sought it out then, thus far free
from anxiety, certain of the untruth of what these held, from whom I
shrunk with my whole heart: for I saw, that through enquiring the origin
of evil, they were filled with evil, in that they preferred to think that
Thy substance did suffer ill than their own did commit it.

And I strained to perceive what I now heard, that free-will was the cause
of our doing ill, and Thy just judgment of our suffering ill. But I was
not able clearly to discern it. So then endeavouring to draw my soul’s
vision out of that deep pit, I was again plunged therein, and endeavouring
often, I was plunged back as often. But this raised me a little into Thy
light, that I knew as well that I had a will, as that I lived: when then I
did will or nill any thing, I was most sure that no other than myself did
will and nill: and I all but saw that there was the cause of my sin. But
what I did against my will, I saw that I suffered rather than did, and I
judged not to be my fault, but my punishment; whereby, however, holding
Thee to be just, I speedily confessed myself to be not unjustly punished.
But again I said, Who made me? Did not my God, Who is not only good, but
goodness itself? Whence then came I to will evil and nill good, so that I
am thus justly punished? who set this in me, and ingrafted into me this
plant of bitterness, seeing I was wholly formed by my most sweet God? If
the devil were the author, whence is that same devil? And if he also by
his own perverse will, of a good angel became a devil, whence, again, came
in him that evil will whereby he became a devil, seeing the whole nature
of angels was made by that most good Creator? By these thoughts I was
again sunk down and choked; yet not brought down to that hell of error
(where no man confesseth unto Thee), to think rather that Thou dost suffer
ill, than that man doth it.

For I was in such wise striving to find out the rest, as one who had
already found that the incorruptible must needs be better than the
corruptible: and Thee therefore, whatsoever Thou wert, I confessed to be
incorruptible. For never soul was, nor shall be, able to conceive any
thing which may be better than Thou, who art the sovereign and the best
good. But since most truly and certainly, the incorruptible is preferable
to the corruptible (as I did now prefer it), then, wert Thou not
incorruptible, I could in thought have arrived at something better than my
God. Where then I saw the incorruptible to be preferable to the
corruptible, there ought I to seek for Thee, and there observe “wherein
evil itself was”; that is, whence corruption comes, by which Thy substance
can by no means be impaired. For corruption does no ways impair our God;
by no will, by no necessity, by no unlooked-for chance: because He is God,
and what He wills is good, and Himself is that good; but to be corrupted
is not good. Nor art Thou against Thy will constrained to any thing, since
Thy will is not greater than Thy power. But greater should it be, were
Thyself greater than Thyself. For the will and power of God is God
Himself. And what can be unlooked-for by Thee, Who knowest all things? Nor
is there any nature in things, but Thou knowest it. And what should we
more say, “why that substance which God is should not be corruptible,”
seeing if it were so, it should not be God?

And I sought “whence is evil,” and sought in an evil way; and saw not the
evil in my very search. I set now before the sight of my spirit the whole
creation, whatsoever we can see therein (as sea, earth, air, stars, trees,
mortal creatures); yea, and whatever in it we do not see, as the firmament
of heaven, all angels moreover, and all the spiritual inhabitants thereof.
But these very beings, as though they were bodies, did my fancy dispose in
place, and I made one great mass of Thy creation, distinguished as to the
kinds of bodies; some, real bodies, some, what myself had feigned for
spirits. And this mass I made huge, not as it was (which I could not
know), but as I thought convenient, yet every way finite. But Thee, O
Lord, I imagined on every part environing and penetrating it, though every
way infinite: as if there were a sea, every where, and on every side,
through unmeasured space, one only boundless sea, and it contained within
it some sponge, huge, but bounded; that sponge must needs, in all its
parts, be filled from that unmeasurable sea: so conceived I Thy creation,
itself finite, full of Thee, the Infinite; and I said, Behold God, and
behold what God hath created; and God is good, yea, most mightily and
incomparably better than all these: but yet He, the Good, created them
good; and see how He environeth and fulfils them. Where is evil then, and
whence, and how crept it in hither? What is its root, and what its seed?
Or hath it no being? Why then fear we and avoid what is not? Or if we fear
it idly, then is that very fear evil, whereby the soul is thus idly goaded
and racked. Yea, and so much a greater evil, as we have nothing to fear,
and yet do fear. Therefore either is that evil which we fear, or else evil
is, that we fear. Whence is it then? seeing God, the Good, hath created
all these things good. He indeed, the greater and chiefest Good, hath
created these lesser goods; still both Creator and created, all are good.
Whence is evil? Or, was there some evil matter of which He made, and
formed, and ordered it, yet left something in it which He did not convert
into good? Why so then? Had He no might to turn and change the whole, so
that no evil should remain in it, seeing He is All-mighty? Lastly, why
would He make any thing at all of it, and not rather by the same
All-mightiness cause it not to be at all? Or, could it then be against His
will? Or if it were from eternity, why suffered He it so to be for
infinite spaces of times past, and was pleased so long after to make
something out of it? Or if He were suddenly pleased now to effect
somewhat, this rather should the All-mighty have effected, that this evil
matter should not be, and He alone be, the whole, true, sovereign, and
infinite Good. Or if it was not good that He who was good should not also
frame and create something that were good, then, that evil matter being
taken away and brought to nothing, He might form good matter, whereof to
create all things. For He should not be All-mighty, if He might not create
something good without the aid of that matter which Himself had not
created. These thoughts I revolved in my miserable heart, overcharged with
most gnawing cares, lest I should die ere I had found the truth; yet was
the faith of Thy Christ, our Lord and Saviour, professed in the Church
Catholic, firmly fixed in my heart, in many points, indeed, as yet
unformed, and fluctuating from the rule of doctrine; yet did not my mind
utterly leave it, but rather daily took in more and more of it.

By this time also had I rejected the lying divinations and impious dotages
of the astrologers. Let Thine own mercies, out of my very inmost soul,
confess unto Thee for this also, O my God. For Thou, Thou altogether (for
who else calls us back from the death of all errors, save the Life which
cannot die, and the Wisdom which needing no light enlightens the minds
that need it, whereby the universe is directed, down to the whirling
leaves of trees?)—Thou madest provision for my obstinacy wherewith I
struggled against Vindicianus, an acute old man, and Nebridius, a young
man of admirable talents; the first vehemently affirming, and the latter
often (though with some doubtfulness) saying, “That there was no such art
whereby to foresee things to come, but that men’s conjectures were a sort
of lottery, and that out of many things which they said should come to
pass, some actually did, unawares to them who spake it, who stumbled upon
it, through their oft speaking.” Thou providedst then a friend for me, no
negligent consulter of the astrologers; nor yet well skilled in those
arts, but (as I said) a curious consulter with them, and yet knowing
something, which he said he had heard of his father, which how far it went
to overthrow the estimation of that art, he knew not. This man then,
Firminus by name, having had a liberal education, and well taught in
Rhetoric, consulted me, as one very dear to him, what, according to his
so-called constellations, I thought on certain affairs of his, wherein his
worldly hopes had risen, and I, who had herein now begun to incline
towards Nebridius’ opinion, did not altogether refuse to conjecture, and
tell him what came into my unresolved mind; but added, that I was now
almost persuaded that these were but empty and ridiculous follies.
Thereupon he told me that his father had been very curious in such books,
and had a friend as earnest in them as himself, who with joint study and
conference fanned the flame of their affections to these toys, so that
they would observe the moments whereat the very dumb animals, which bred
about their houses, gave birth, and then observed the relative position of
the heavens, thereby to make fresh experiments in this so-called art. He
said then that he had heard of his father, that what time his mother was
about to give birth to him, Firminus, a woman-servant of that friend of
his father’s was also with child, which could not escape her master, who
took care with most exact diligence to know the births of his very
puppies. And so it was that (the one for his wife, and the other for his
servant, with the most careful observation, reckoning days, hours, nay,
the lesser divisions of the hours) both were delivered at the same
instant; so that both were constrained to allow the same constellations,
even to the minutest points, the one for his son, the other for his
new-born slave. For so soon as the women began to be in labour, they each
gave notice to the other what was fallen out in their houses, and had
messengers ready to send to one another so soon as they had notice of the
actual birth, of which they had easily provided, each in his own province,
to give instant intelligence. Thus then the messengers of the respective
parties met, he averred, at such an equal distance from either house that
neither of them could make out any difference in the position of the
stars, or any other minutest points; and yet Firminus, born in a high
estate in his parents’ house, ran his course through the gilded paths of
life, was increased in riches, raised to honours; whereas that slave
continued to serve his masters, without any relaxation of his yoke, as
Firminus, who knew him, told me.

Upon hearing and believing these things, told by one of such credibility,
all that my resistance gave way; and first I endeavoured to reclaim
Firminus himself from that curiosity, by telling him that upon inspecting
his constellations, I ought if I were to predict truly, to have seen in
them parents eminent among their neighbours, a noble family in its own
city, high birth, good education, liberal learning. But if that servant
had consulted me upon the same constellations, since they were his also, I
ought again (to tell him too truly) to see in them a lineage the most
abject, a slavish condition, and every thing else utterly at variance with
the former. Whence then, if I spake the truth, I should, from the same
constellations, speak diversely, or if I spake the same, speak falsely:
thence it followed most certainly that whatever, upon consideration of the
constellations, was spoken truly, was spoken not out of art, but chance;
and whatever spoken falsely, was not out of ignorance in the art, but the
failure of the chance.

An opening thus made, ruminating with myself on the like things, that no
one of those dotards (who lived by such a trade, and whom I longed to
attack, and with derision to confute) might urge against me that Firminus
had informed me falsely, or his father him; I bent my thoughts on those
that are born twins, who for the most part come out of the womb so near
one to other, that the small interval (how much force soever in the nature
of things folk may pretend it to have) cannot be noted by human
observation, or be at all expressed in those figures which the astrologer
is to inspect, that he may pronounce truly. Yet they cannot be true: for
looking into the same figures, he must have predicted the same of Esau and
Jacob, whereas the same happened not to them. Therefore he must speak
falsely; or if truly, then, looking into the same figures, he must not
give the same answer. Not by art, then, but by chance, would he speak
truly. For Thou, O Lord, most righteous Ruler of the Universe, while
consulters and consulted know it not, dost by Thy hidden inspiration
effect that the consulter should hear what, according to the hidden
deservings of souls, he ought to hear, out of the unsearchable depth of
Thy just judgment, to Whom let no man say, What is this? Why that? Let him
not so say, for he is man.

Now then, O my Helper, hadst Thou loosed me from those fetters: and I
sought “whence is evil,” and found no way. But Thou sufferedst me not by
any fluctuations of thought to be carried away from the Faith whereby I
believed Thee both to be, and Thy substance to be unchangeable, and that
Thou hast a care of, and wouldest judge men, and that in Christ, Thy Son,
Our Lord, and the holy Scriptures, which the authority of Thy Catholic
Church pressed upon me, Thou hadst set the way of man’s salvation, to that
life which is to be after this death. These things being safe and
immovably settled in my mind, I sought anxiously “whence was evil?” What
were the pangs of my teeming heart, what groans, O my God! yet even there
were Thine ears open, and I knew it not; and when in silence I vehemently
sought, those silent contritions of my soul were strong cries unto Thy
mercy. Thou knewest what I suffered, and no man. For, what was that which
was thence through my tongue distilled into the ears of my most familiar
friends? Did the whole tumult of my soul, for which neither time nor
utterance sufficed, reach them? Yet went up the whole to Thy hearing, all
which I roared out from the groanings of my heart; and my desire was
before Thee, and the light of mine eyes was not with me: for that was
within, I without: nor was that confined to place, but I was intent on
things contained in place, but there found I no resting-place, nor did
they so receive me, that I could say, “It is enough,” “it is well”: nor
did they yet suffer me to turn back, where it might be well enough with
me. For to these things was I superior, but inferior to Thee; and Thou art
my true joy when subjected to Thee, and Thou hadst subjected to me what
Thou createdst below me. And this was the true temperament, and middle
region of my safety, to remain in Thy Image, and by serving Thee, rule the
body. But when I rose proudly against Thee, and ran against the Lord with
my neck, with the thick bosses of my buckler, even these inferior things
were set above me, and pressed me down, and no where was there respite or
space of breathing. They met my sight on all sides by heaps and troops,
and in thought the images thereof presented themselves unsought, as I
would return to Thee, as if they would say unto me, “Whither goest thou,
unworthy and defiled?” And these things had grown out of my wound; for
Thou “humbledst the proud like one that is wounded,” and through my own
swelling was I separated from Thee; yea, my pride-swollen face closed up
mine eyes.

But Thou, Lord, abidest for ever, yet not for ever art Thou angry with us;
because Thou pitiest our dust and ashes, and it was pleasing in Thy sight
to reform my deformities; and by inward goads didst Thou rouse me, that I
should be ill at ease, until Thou wert manifested to my inward sight.
Thus, by the secret hand of Thy medicining was my swelling abated, and the
troubled and bedimmed eyesight of my mind, by the smarting anointings of
healthful sorrows, was from day to day healed.

And Thou, willing first to show me how Thou resistest the proud, but
givest grace unto the humble, and by how great an act of Thy mercy Thou
hadst traced out to men the way of humility, in that Thy Word was made
flesh, and dwelt among men:—Thou procuredst for me, by means of one
puffed up with most unnatural pride, certain books of the Platonists,
translated from Greek into Latin. And therein I read, not indeed in the
very words, but to the very same purpose, enforced by many and divers
reasons, that In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God,
and the Word was God: the Same was in the beginning with God: all things
were made by Him, and without Him was nothing made: that which was made by
Him is life, and the life was the light of men, and the light shineth in
the darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not. And that the soul of
man, though it bears witness to the light, yet itself is not that light;
but the Word of God, being God, is that true light that lighteth every man
that cometh into the world. And that He was in the world, and the world
was made by Him, and the world knew Him not. But, that He came unto His
own, and His own received Him not; but as many as received Him, to them
gave He power to become the sons of God, as many as believed in His name;
this I read not there.

Again I read there, that God the Word was born not of flesh nor of blood,
nor of the will of man, nor of the will of the flesh, but of God. But that
the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, I read not there. For I
traced in those books that it was many and divers ways said, that the Son
was in the form of the Father, and thought it not robbery to be equal with
God, for that naturally He was the Same Substance. But that He emptied
Himself, taking the form of a servant, being made in the likeness of men,
and found in fashion as a man, humbled Himself, and became obedient unto
death, and that the death of the cross: wherefore God exalted Him from the
dead, and gave Him a name above every name, that at the name of Jesus
every knee should how, of things in heaven, and things in earth, and
things under the earth; and that every tongue should confess that the Lord
Jesus Christ is in the glory of God the Father; those books have not. For
that before all times and above all times Thy Only-Begotten Son remaineth
unchangeable, co-eternal with Thee, and that of His fulness souls receive,
that they may be blessed; and that by participation of wisdom abiding in
them, they are renewed, so as to be wise, is there. But that in due time
He died for the ungodly; and that Thou sparedst not Thine Only Son, but
deliveredst Him for us all, is not there. For Thou hiddest these things
from the wise, and revealedst them to babes; that they that labour and are
heavy laden might come unto Him, and He refresh them, because He is meek
and lowly in heart; and the meek He directeth in judgment, and the gentle
He teacheth His ways, beholding our lowliness and trouble, and forgiving
all our sins. But such as are lifted up in the lofty walk of some would-be
sublimer learning, hear not Him, saying, Learn of Me, for I am meek and
lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest to your souls. Although they knew
God, yet they glorify Him not as God, nor are thankful, but wax vain in
their thoughts; and their foolish heart is darkened; professing that they
were wise, they became fools.

And therefore did I read there also, that they had changed the glory of
Thy incorruptible nature into idols and divers shapes, into the likeness
of the image of corruptible man, and birds, and beasts, and creeping
things; namely, into that Egyptian food for which Esau lost his
birthright, for that Thy first-born people worshipped the head of a
four-footed beast instead of Thee; turning in heart back towards Egypt;
and bowing Thy image, their own soul, before the image of a calf that
eateth hay. These things found I here, but I fed not on them. For it
pleased Thee, O Lord, to take away the reproach of diminution from Jacob,
that the elder should serve the younger: and Thou calledst the Gentiles
into Thine inheritance. And I had come to Thee from among the Gentiles;
and I set my mind upon the gold which Thou willedst Thy people to take
from Egypt, seeing Thine it was, wheresoever it were. And to the Athenians
Thou saidst by Thy Apostle, that in Thee we live, move, and have our
being, as one of their own poets had said. And verily these books came
from thence. But I set not my mind on the idols of Egypt, whom they served
with Thy gold, who changed the truth of God into a lie, and worshipped and
served the creature more than the Creator.

And being thence admonished to return to myself, I entered even into my
inward self, Thou being my Guide: and able I was, for Thou wert become my
Helper. And I entered and beheld with the eye of my soul (such as it was),
above the same eye of my soul, above my mind, the Light Unchangeable. Not
this ordinary light, which all flesh may look upon, nor as it were a
greater of the same kind, as though the brightness of this should be
manifold brighter, and with its greatness take up all space. Not such was
this light, but other, yea, far other from these. Nor was it above my
soul, as oil is above water, nor yet as heaven above earth: but above to
my soul, because It made me; and I below It, because I was made by It. He
that knows the Truth, knows what that Light is; and he that knows It,
knows eternity. Love knoweth it. O Truth Who art Eternity! and Love Who
art Truth! and Eternity Who art Love! Thou art my God, to Thee do I sigh
night and day. Thee when I first knew, Thou liftedst me up, that I might
see there was what I might see, and that I was not yet such as to see. And
Thou didst beat back the weakness of my sight, streaming forth Thy beams
of light upon me most strongly, and I trembled with love and awe: and I
perceived myself to be far off from Thee, in the region of unlikeness, as
if I heard this Thy voice from on high: “I am the food of grown men, grow,
and thou shalt feed upon Me; nor shalt thou convert Me, like the food of
thy flesh into thee, but thou shalt be converted into Me.” And I learned,
that Thou for iniquity chastenest man, and Thou madest my soul to consume
away like a spider. And I said, “Is Truth therefore nothing because it is
not diffused through space finite or infinite?” And Thou criedst to me
from afar: “Yet verily, I AM that I AM.” And I heard, as the heart
heareth, nor had I room to doubt, and I should sooner doubt that I live
than that Truth is not, which is clearly seen, being understood by those
things which are made.

And I beheld the other things below Thee, and I perceived that they
neither altogether are, nor altogether are not, for they are, since they
are from Thee, but are not, because they are not what Thou art. For that
truly is which remains unchangeably. It is good then for me to hold fast
unto God; for if I remain not in Him, I cannot in myself; but He
remaining in Himself, reneweth all things. And Thou art the Lord my God,
since Thou standest not in need of my goodness.

And it was manifested unto me, that those things be good which yet are
corrupted; which neither were they sovereignly good, nor unless they were
good could be corrupted: for if sovereignly good, they were incorruptible,
if not good at all, there were nothing in them to be corrupted. For
corruption injures, but unless it diminished goodness, it could not
injure. Either then corruption injures not, which cannot be; or which is
most certain, all which is corrupted is deprived of good. But if they be
deprived of all good, they shall cease to be. For if they shall be, and
can now no longer be corrupted, they shall be better than before, because
they shall abide incorruptibly. And what more monstrous than to affirm
things to become better by losing all their good? Therefore, if they shall
be deprived of all good, they shall no longer be. So long therefore as
they are, they are good: therefore whatsoever is, is good. That evil then
which I sought, whence it is, is not any substance: for were it a
substance, it should be good. For either it should be an incorruptible
substance, and so a chief good: or a corruptible substance; which unless
it were good, could not be corrupted. I perceived therefore, and it was
manifested to me that Thou madest all things good, nor is there any
substance at all, which Thou madest not; and for that Thou madest not all
things equal, therefore are all things; because each is good, and
altogether very good, because our God made all things very good.

And to Thee is nothing whatsoever evil: yea, not only to Thee, but also to
Thy creation as a whole, because there is nothing without, which may break
in, and corrupt that order which Thou hast appointed it. But in the parts
thereof some things, because unharmonising with other some, are accounted
evil: whereas those very things harmonise with others, and are good; and
in themselves are good. And all these things which harmonise not together,
do yet with the inferior part, which we call Earth, having its own cloudy
and windy sky harmonising with it. Far be it then that I should say,
“These things should not be”: for should I see nought but these, I should
indeed long for the better; but still must even for these alone praise
Thee; for that Thou art to be praised, do show from the earth, dragons,
and all deeps, fire, hail, snow, ice, and stormy wind, which fulfil Thy
word; mountains, and all hills, fruitful trees, and all cedars; beasts,
and all cattle, creeping things, and flying fowls; kings of the earth, and
all people, princes, and all judges of the earth; young men and maidens,
old men and young, praise Thy Name. But when, from heaven, these praise
Thee, praise Thee, our God, in the heights all Thy angels, all Thy hosts,
sun and moon, all the stars and light, the Heaven of heavens, and the
waters that be above the heavens, praise Thy Name; I did not now long for
things better, because I conceived of all: and with a sounder judgment I
apprehended that the things above were better than these below, but
altogether better than those above by themselves.

There is no soundness in them, whom aught of Thy creation displeaseth: as
neither in me, when much which Thou hast made, displeased me. And because
my soul durst not be displeased at my God, it would fain not account that
Thine, which displeased it. Hence it had gone into the opinion of two
substances, and had no rest, but talked idly. And returning thence, it had
made to itself a God, through infinite measures of all space; and thought
it to be Thee, and placed it in its heart; and had again become the temple
of its own idol, to Thee abominable. But after Thou hadst soothed my head,
unknown to me, and closed mine eyes that they should not behold vanity, I
ceased somewhat of my former self, and my frenzy was lulled to sleep; and
I awoke in Thee, and saw Thee infinite, but in another way, and this sight
was not derived from the flesh.

And I looked back on other things; and I saw that they owed their being to
Thee; and were all bounded in Thee: but in a different way; not as being
in space; but because Thou containest all things in Thine hand in Thy
Truth; and all things are true so far as they nor is there any falsehood,
unless when that is thought to be, which is not. And I saw that all things
did harmonise, not with their places only, but with their seasons. And
that Thou, who only art Eternal, didst not begin to work after innumerable
spaces of times spent; for that all spaces of times, both which have
passed, and which shall pass, neither go nor come, but through Thee,
working and abiding.

And I perceived and found it nothing strange, that bread which is pleasant
to a healthy palate is loathsome to one distempered: and to sore eyes
light is offensive, which to the sound is delightful. And Thy
righteousness displeaseth the wicked; much more the viper and reptiles,
which Thou hast created good, fitting in with the inferior portions of Thy
Creation, with which the very wicked also fit in; and that the more, by
how much they be unlike Thee; but with the superior creatures, by how much
they become more like to Thee. And I enquired what iniquity was, and found
it to be no substance, but the perversion of the will, turned aside from
Thee, O God, the Supreme, towards these lower things, and casting out its
bowels, and puffed up outwardly.

And I wondered that I now loved Thee, and no phantasm for Thee. And yet
did I not press on to enjoy my God; but was borne up to Thee by Thy
beauty, and soon borne down from Thee by mine own weight, sinking with
sorrow into these inferior things. This weight was carnal custom. Yet
dwelt there with me a remembrance of Thee; nor did I any way doubt that
there was One to whom I might cleave, but that I was not yet such as to
cleave to Thee: for that the body which is corrupted presseth down the
soul, and the earthly tabernacle weigheth down the mind that museth upon
many things. And most certain I was, that Thy invisible works from the
creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things
that are made, even Thy eternal power and Godhead. For examining whence it
was that I admired the beauty of bodies celestial or terrestrial; and what
aided me in judging soundly on things mutable, and pronouncing, “This
ought to be thus, this not”; examining, I say, whence it was that I so
judged, seeing I did so judge, I had found the unchangeable and true
Eternity of Truth above my changeable mind. And thus by degrees I passed
from bodies to the soul, which through the bodily senses perceives; and
thence to its inward faculty, to which the bodily senses represent things
external, whitherto reach the faculties of beasts; and thence again to the
reasoning faculty, to which what is received from the senses of the body,
is referred to be judged. Which finding itself also to be in me a thing
variable, raised itself up to its own understanding, and drew away my
thoughts from the power of habit, withdrawing itself from those troops of
contradictory phantasms; that so it might find what that light was whereby
it was bedewed, when, without all doubting, it cried out, “That the
unchangeable was to be preferred to the changeable”; whence also it knew
That Unchangeable, which, unless it had in some way known, it had had no
sure ground to prefer it to the changeable. And thus with the flash of one
trembling glance it arrived at THAT WHICH IS. And then I saw Thy invisible
things understood by the things which are made. But I could not fix my
gaze thereon; and my infirmity being struck back, I was thrown again on my
wonted habits, carrying along with me only a loving memory thereof, and a
longing for what I had, as it were, perceived the odour of, but was not
yet able to feed on.

Then I sought a way of obtaining strength sufficient to enjoy Thee; and
found it not, until I embraced that Mediator betwixt God and men, the Man
Christ Jesus, who is over all, God blessed for evermore, calling unto me,
and saying, I am the way, the truth, and the life, and mingling that food
which I was unable to receive, with our flesh. For, the Word was made
flesh, that Thy wisdom, whereby Thou createdst all things, might provide
milk for our infant state. For I did not hold to my Lord Jesus Christ, I,
humbled, to the Humble; nor knew I yet whereto His infirmity would guide
us. For Thy Word, the Eternal Truth, far above the higher parts of Thy
Creation, raises up the subdued unto Itself: but in this lower world built
for Itself a lowly habitation of our clay, whereby to abase from
themselves such as would be subdued, and bring them over to Himself;
allaying their swelling, and fomenting their love; to the end they might
go on no further in self-confidence, but rather consent to become weak,
seeing before their feet the Divinity weak by taking our coats of skin;
and wearied, might cast themselves down upon It, and It rising, might lift
them up.

But I thought otherwise; conceiving only of my Lord Christ as of a man of
excellent wisdom, whom no one could be equalled unto; especially, for that
being wonderfully born of a Virgin, He seemed, in conformity therewith,
through the Divine care for us, to have attained that great eminence of
authority, for an ensample of despising things temporal for the obtaining
of immortality. But what mystery there lay in “The Word was made flesh,” I
could not even imagine. Only I had learnt out of what is delivered to us
in writing of Him that He did eat, and drink, sleep, walk, rejoiced in
spirit, was sorrowful, discoursed; that flesh did not cleave by itself
unto Thy Word, but with the human soul and mind. All know this who know
the unchangeableness of Thy Word, which I now knew, as far as I could, nor
did I at all doubt thereof. For, now to move the limbs of the body by
will, now not, now to be moved by some affection, now not, now to deliver
wise sayings through human signs, now to keep silence, belong to soul and
mind subject to variation. And should these things be falsely written of
Him, all the rest also would risk the charge, nor would there remain in
those books any saving faith for mankind. Since then they were written
truly, I acknowledged a perfect man to be in Christ; not the body of a man
only, nor, with the body, a sensitive soul without a rational, but very
man; whom, not only as being a form of Truth, but for a certain great
excellence of human nature and a more perfect participation of wisdom, I
judged to be preferred before others. But Alypius imagined the Catholics
to believe God to be so clothed with flesh, that besides God and flesh,
there was no soul at all in Christ, and did not think that a human mind
was ascribed to Him. And because he was well persuaded that the actions
recorded of Him could only be performed by a vital and a rational
creature, he moved the more slowly towards the Christian Faith. But
understanding afterwards that this was the error of the Apollinarian
heretics, he joyed in and was conformed to the Catholic Faith. But
somewhat later, I confess, did I learn how in that saying, The Word was
made flesh, the Catholic truth is distinguished from the falsehood of
Photinus. For the rejection of heretics makes the tenets of Thy Church and
sound doctrine to stand out more clearly. For there must also be heresies,
that the approved may be made manifest among the weak.

But having then read those books of the Platonists, and thence been taught
to search for incorporeal truth, I saw Thy invisible things, understood by
those things which are made; and though cast back, I perceived what that
was which through the darkness of my mind I was hindered from
contemplating, being assured “That Thou wert, and wert infinite, and yet
not diffused in space, finite or infinite; and that Thou truly art Who art
the same ever, in no part nor motion varying; and that all other things
are from Thee, on this most sure ground alone, that they are.” Of these
things I was assured, yet too unsure to enjoy Thee. I prated as one well
skilled; but had I not sought Thy way in Christ our Saviour, I had proved
to be, not skilled, but killed. For now I had begun to wish to seem wise,
being filled with mine own punishment, yet I did not mourn, but rather
scorn, puffed up with knowledge. For where was that charity building upon
the foundation of humility, which is Christ Jesus? or when should these
books teach me it? Upon these, I believe, Thou therefore willedst that I
should fall, before I studied Thy Scriptures, that it might be imprinted
on my memory how I was affected by them; and that afterwards when my
spirits were tamed through Thy books, and my wounds touched by Thy healing
fingers, I might discern and distinguish between presumption and
confession; between those who saw whither they were to go, yet saw not the
way, and the way that leadeth not to behold only but to dwell in the
beatific country. For had I first been formed in Thy Holy Scriptures, and
hadst Thou in the familiar use of them grown sweet unto me, and had I then
fallen upon those other volumes, they might perhaps have withdrawn me from
the solid ground of piety, or, had I continued in that healthful frame
which I had thence imbibed, I might have thought that it might have been
obtained by the study of those books alone.

Most eagerly then did I seize that venerable writing of Thy Spirit; and
chiefly the Apostle Paul. Whereupon those difficulties vanished away,
wherein he once seemed to me to contradict himself, and the text of his
discourse not to agree with the testimonies of the Law and the Prophets.
And the face of that pure word appeared to me one and the same; and I
learned to rejoice with trembling. So I began; and whatsoever truth I had
read in those other books, I found here amid the praise of Thy Grace; that
whoso sees, may not so glory as if he had not received, not only what he
sees, but also that he sees (for what hath he, which he hath not
received?), and that he may be not only admonished to behold Thee, who art
ever the same, but also healed, to hold Thee; and that he who cannot see
afar off, may yet walk on the way, whereby he may arrive, and behold, and
hold Thee. For, though a man be delighted with the law of God after the
inner man, what shall he do with that other law in his members which
warreth against the law of his mind, and bringeth him into captivity to
the law of sin which is in his members? For, Thou art righteous, O Lord,
but we have sinned and committed iniquity, and have done wickedly, and Thy
hand is grown heavy upon us, and we are justly delivered over unto that
ancient sinner, the king of death; because he persuaded our will to be
like his will whereby he abode not in Thy truth. What shall wretched man
do? who shall deliver him from the body of his death, but only Thy Grace,
through Jesus Christ our Lord, whom Thou hast begotten co-eternal, and
formedst in the beginning of Thy ways, in whom the prince of this world
found nothing worthy of death, yet killed he Him; and the handwriting,
which was contrary to us, was blotted out? This those writings contain
not. Those pages present not the image of this piety, the tears of
confession, Thy sacrifice, a troubled spirit, a broken and a contrite
heart, the salvation of the people, the Bridal City, the earnest of the
Holy Ghost, the Cup of our Redemption. No man sings there, Shall not my
soul be submitted unto God? for of Him cometh my salvation. For He is my
God and my salvation, my guardian, I shall no more be moved. No one there
hears Him call, Come unto Me, all ye that labour. They scorn to learn of
Him, because He is meek and lowly in heart; for these things hast Thou hid
from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes. For it is
one thing, from the mountain’s shaggy top to see the land of peace, and to
find no way thither; and in vain to essay through ways unpassable, opposed
and beset by fugitives and deserters, under their captain the lion and the
dragon: and another to keep on the way that leads thither, guarded by the
host of the heavenly General; where they spoil not who have deserted the
heavenly army; for they avoid it, as very torment. These things did
wonderfully sink into my bowels, when I read that least of Thy Apostles,
and had meditated upon Thy works, and trembled exceedingly.

BOOK VIII

O my God, let me, with thanksgiving, remember, and confess unto Thee Thy
mercies on me. Let my bones be bedewed with Thy love, and let them say
unto Thee, Who is like unto Thee, O Lord? Thou hast broken my bonds in
sunder, I will offer unto Thee the sacrifice of thanksgiving. And how Thou
hast broken them, I will declare; and all who worship Thee, when they hear
this, shall say, “Blessed be the Lord, in heaven and in earth, great and
wonderful is his name.” Thy words had stuck fast in my heart, and I was
hedged round about on all sides by Thee. Of Thy eternal life I was now
certain, though I saw it in a figure and as through a glass. Yet I had
ceased to doubt that there was an incorruptible substance, whence was all
other substance; nor did I now desire to be more certain of Thee, but more
steadfast in Thee. But for my temporal life, all was wavering, and my
heart had to be purged from the old leaven. The Way, the Saviour Himself,
well pleased me, but as yet I shrunk from going through its straitness.
And Thou didst put into my mind, and it seemed good in my eyes, to go to
Simplicianus, who seemed to me a good servant of Thine; and Thy grace
shone in him. I had heard also that from his very youth he had lived most
devoted unto Thee. Now he was grown into years; and by reason of so great
age spent in such zealous following of Thy ways, he seemed to me likely to
have learned much experience; and so he had. Out of which store I wished
that he would tell me (setting before him my anxieties) which were the
fittest way for one in my case to walk in Thy paths.

For, I saw the church full; and one went this way, and another that way.
But I was displeased that I led a secular life; yea now that my desires no
longer inflamed me, as of old, with hopes of honour and profit, a very
grievous burden it was to undergo so heavy a bondage. For, in comparison
of Thy sweetness, and the beauty of Thy house which I loved, those things
delighted me no longer. But still I was enthralled with the love of woman;
nor did the Apostle forbid me to marry, although he advised me to
something better, chiefly wishing that all men were as himself was. But I
being weak, chose the more indulgent place; and because of this alone, was
tossed up and down in all beside, faint and wasted with withering cares,
because in other matters I was constrained against my will to conform
myself to a married life, to which I was given up and enthralled. I had
heard from the mouth of the Truth, that there were some eunuchs which had
made themselves eunuchs for the kingdom of heaven’s sake: but, saith He,
let him who can receive it, receive it. Surely vain are all men who are
ignorant of God, and could not out of the good things which are seen, find
out Him who is good. But I was no longer in that vanity; I had surmounted
it; and by the common witness of all Thy creatures had found Thee our
Creator, and Thy Word, God with Thee, and together with Thee one God, by
whom Thou createdst all things. There is yet another kind of ungodly, who
knowing God, glorified Him not as God, neither were thankful. Into this
also had I fallen, but Thy right hand upheld me, and took me thence, and
Thou placedst me where I might recover. For Thou hast said unto man,
Behold, the fear of the Lord is wisdom, and, Desire not to seem wise;
because they who affirmed themselves to be wise, became fools. But I had
now found the goodly pearl, which, selling all that I had, I ought to have
bought, and I hesitated.

To Simplicianus then I went, the father of Ambrose (a Bishop now) in
receiving Thy grace, and whom Ambrose truly loved as a father. To him I
related the mazes of my wanderings. But when I mentioned that I had read
certain books of the Platonists, which Victorinus, sometime Rhetoric
Professor of Rome (who had died a Christian, as I had heard), had
translated into Latin, he testified his joy that I had not fallen upon the
writings of other philosophers, full of fallacies and deceits, after the
rudiments of this world, whereas the Platonists many ways led to the
belief in God and His Word. Then to exhort me to the humility of Christ,
hidden from the wise, and revealed to little ones, he spoke of Victorinus
himself, whom while at Rome he had most intimately known: and of him he
related what I will not conceal. For it contains great praise of Thy
grace, to be confessed unto Thee, how that aged man, most learned and
skilled in the liberal sciences, and who had read, and weighed so many
works of the philosophers; the instructor of so many noble Senators, who
also, as a monument of his excellent discharge of his office, had (which
men of this world esteem a high honour) both deserved and obtained a
statue in the Roman Forum; he, to that age a worshipper of idols, and a
partaker of the sacrilegious rites, to which almost all the nobility of
Rome were given up, and had inspired the people with the love of

Anubis, barking Deity, and all
The monster Gods of every kind, who fought
‘Gainst Neptune, Venus, and Minerva:

whom Rome once conquered, now adored, all which the aged Victorinus had
with thundering eloquence so many years defended;—he now blushed not
to be the child of Thy Christ, and the new-born babe of Thy fountain;
submitting his neck to the yoke of humility, and subduing his forehead to
the reproach of the Cross.

O Lord, Lord, Which hast bowed the heavens and come down, touched the
mountains and they did smoke, by what means didst Thou convey Thyself into
that breast? He used to read (as Simplicianus said) the holy Scripture,
most studiously sought and searched into all the Christian writings, and
said to Simplicianus (not openly, but privately and as a friend),
“Understand that I am already a Christian.” Whereto he answered, “I will
not believe it, nor will I rank you among Christians, unless I see you in
the Church of Christ.” The other, in banter, replied, “Do walls then make
Christians?” And this he often said, that he was already a Christian; and
Simplicianus as often made the same answer, and the conceit of the “walls”
was by the other as often renewed. For he feared to offend his friends,
proud daemon-worshippers, from the height of whose Babylonian dignity, as
from cedars of Libanus, which the Lord had not yet broken down, he
supposed the weight of enmity would fall upon him. But after that by
reading and earnest thought he had gathered firmness, and feared to be
denied by Christ before the holy angels, should he now be afraid to
confess Him before men, and appeared to himself guilty of a heavy offence,
in being ashamed of the Sacraments of the humility of Thy Word, and not
being ashamed of the sacrilegious rites of those proud daemons, whose
pride he had imitated and their rites adopted, he became bold-faced
against vanity, and shame-faced towards the truth, and suddenly and
unexpectedly said to Simplicianus (as himself told me), “Go we to the
Church; I wish to be made a Christian.” But he, not containing himself for
joy, went with him. And having been admitted to the first Sacrament and
become a Catechumen, not long after he further gave in his name, that he
might be regenerated by baptism, Rome wondering, the Church rejoicing. The
proud saw, and were wroth; they gnashed with their teeth, and melted away.
But the Lord God was the hope of Thy servant, and he regarded not vanities
and lying madness.

To conclude, when the hour was come for making profession of his faith
(which at Rome they, who are about to approach to Thy grace, deliver, from
an elevated place, in the sight of all the faithful, in a set form of
words committed to memory), the presbyters, he said, offered Victorinus
(as was done to such as seemed likely through bashfulness to be alarmed)
to make his profession more privately: but he chose rather to profess his
salvation in the presence of the holy multitude. “For it was not salvation
that he taught in rhetoric, and yet that he had publicly professed: how
much less then ought he, when pronouncing Thy word, to dread Thy meek
flock, who, when delivering his own words, had not feared a mad
multitude!” When, then, he went up to make his profession, all, as they
knew him, whispered his name one to another with the voice of
congratulation. And who there knew him not? and there ran a low murmur
through all the mouths of the rejoicing multitude, Victorinus! Victorinus!
Sudden was the burst of rapture, that they saw him; suddenly were they
hushed that they might hear him. He pronounced the true faith with an
excellent boldness, and all wished to draw him into their very heart; yea
by their love and joy they drew him thither, such were the hands wherewith
they drew him.

Good God! what takes place in man, that he should more rejoice at the
salvation of a soul despaired of, and freed from greater peril, than if
there had always been hope of him, or the danger had been less? For so
Thou also, merciful Father, dost more rejoice over one penitent than over
ninety-nine just persons that need no repentance. And with much joyfulness
do we hear, so often as we hear with what joy the sheep which had strayed
is brought back upon the shepherd’s shoulder, and the groat is restored to
Thy treasury, the neighbours rejoicing with the woman who found it; and
the joy of the solemn service of Thy house forceth to tears, when in Thy
house it is read of Thy younger son, that he was dead, and liveth again;
had been lost, and is found. For Thou rejoicest in us, and in Thy holy
angels, holy through holy charity. For Thou art ever the same; for all
things which abide not the same nor for ever, Thou for ever knowest in the
same way.

What then takes place in the soul, when it is more delighted at finding or
recovering the things it loves, than if it had ever had them? yea, and
other things witness hereunto; and all things are full of witnesses,
crying out, “So is it.” The conquering commander triumpheth; yet had he
not conquered unless he had fought; and the more peril there was in the
battle, so much the more joy is there in the triumph. The storm tosses the
sailors, threatens shipwreck; all wax pale at approaching death; sky and
sea are calmed, and they are exceeding joyed, as having been exceeding
afraid. A friend is sick, and his pulse threatens danger; all who long for
his recovery are sick in mind with him. He is restored, though as yet he
walks not with his former strength; yet there is such joy, as was not,
when before he walked sound and strong. Yea, the very pleasures of human
life men acquire by difficulties, not those only which fall upon us
unlooked for, and against our wills, but even by self-chosen, and
pleasure-seeking trouble. Eating and drinking have no pleasure, unless
there precede the pinching of hunger and thirst. Men, given to drink, eat
certain salt meats, to procure a troublesome heat, which the drink
allaying, causes pleasure. It is also ordered that the affianced bride
should not at once be given, lest as a husband he should hold cheap whom,
as betrothed, he sighed not after.

This law holds in foul and accursed joy; this in permitted and lawful joy;
this in the very purest perfection of friendship; this, in him who was
dead, and lived again; had been lost and was found. Every where the
greater joy is ushered in by the greater pain. What means this, O Lord my
God, whereas Thou art everlastingly joy to Thyself, and some things around
Thee evermore rejoice in Thee? What means this, that this portion of
things thus ebbs and flows alternately displeased and reconciled? Is this
their allotted measure? Is this all Thou hast assigned to them, whereas
from the highest heavens to the lowest earth, from the beginning of the
world to the end of ages, from the angel to the worm, from the first
motion to the last, Thou settest each in its place, and realisest each in
their season, every thing good after its kind? Woe is me! how high art
Thou in the highest, and how deep in the deepest! and Thou never
departest, and we scarcely return to Thee.

Up, Lord, and do; stir us up, and recall us; kindle and draw us; inflame,
grow sweet unto us, let us now love, let us run. Do not many, out of a
deeper hell of blindness than Victorinus, return to Thee, approach, and
are enlightened, receiving that Light, which they who receive, receive
power from Thee to become Thy sons? But if they be less known to the
nations, even they that know them, joy less for them. For when many joy
together, each also has more exuberant joy for that they are kindled and
inflamed one by the other. Again, because those known to many, influence
the more towards salvation, and lead the way with many to follow. And
therefore do they also who preceded them much rejoice in them, because
they rejoice not in them alone. For far be it, that in Thy tabernacle the
persons of the rich should be accepted before the poor, or the noble
before the ignoble; seeing rather Thou hast chosen the weak things of the
world to confound the strong; and the base things of this world, and the
things despised hast Thou chosen, and those things which are not, that
Thou mightest bring to nought things that are. And yet even that least of
Thy apostles, by whose tongue Thou soundedst forth these words, when
through his warfare, Paulus the Proconsul, his pride conquered, was made
to pass under the easy yoke of Thy Christ, and became a provincial of the
great King; he also for his former name Saul, was pleased to be called
Paul, in testimony of so great a victory. For the enemy is more overcome
in one, of whom he hath more hold; by whom he hath hold of more. But the
proud he hath more hold of, through their nobility; and by them, of more
through their authority. By how much the more welcome then the heart of
Victorinus was esteemed, which the devil had held as an impregnable
possession, the tongue of Victorinus, with which mighty and keen weapon he
had slain many; so much the more abundantly ought Thy sons to rejoice, for
that our King hath bound the strong man, and they saw his vessels taken
from him and cleansed, and made meet for Thy honour; and become
serviceable for the Lord, unto every good work.

But when that man of Thine, Simplicianus, related to me this of
Victorinus, I was on fire to imitate him; for for this very end had he
related it. But when he had subjoined also, how in the days of the Emperor
Julian a law was made, whereby Christians were forbidden to teach the
liberal sciences or oratory; and how he, obeying this law, chose rather to
give over the wordy school than Thy Word, by which Thou makest eloquent
the tongues of the dumb; he seemed to me not more resolute than blessed,
in having thus found opportunity to wait on Thee only. Which thing I was
sighing for, bound as I was, not with another’s irons, but by my own iron
will. My will the enemy held, and thence had made a chain for me, and
bound me. For of a forward will, was a lust made; and a lust served,
became custom; and custom not resisted, became necessity. By which links,
as it were, joined together (whence I called it a chain) a hard bondage
held me enthralled. But that new will which had begun to be in me, freely
to serve Thee, and to wish to enjoy Thee, O God, the only assured
pleasantness, was not yet able to overcome my former wilfulness,
strengthened by age. Thus did my two wills, one new, and the other old,
one carnal, the other spiritual, struggle within me; and by their discord,
undid my soul.

Thus, I understood, by my own experience, what I had read, how the flesh
lusteth against the spirit and the spirit against the flesh. Myself verily
either way; yet more myself, in that which I approved in myself, than in
that which in myself I disapproved. For in this last, it was now for the
more part not myself, because in much I rather endured against my will,
than acted willingly. And yet it was through me that custom had obtained
this power of warring against me, because I had come willingly, whither I
willed not. And who has any right to speak against it, if just punishment
follow the sinner? Nor had I now any longer my former plea, that I
therefore as yet hesitated to be above the world and serve Thee, for that
the truth was not altogether ascertained to me; for now it too was. But I
still under service to the earth, refused to fight under Thy banner, and
feared as much to be freed of all incumbrances, as we should fear to be
encumbered with it. Thus with the baggage of this present world was I held
down pleasantly, as in sleep: and the thoughts wherein I meditated on Thee
were like the efforts of such as would awake, who yet overcome with a
heavy drowsiness, are again drenched therein. And as no one would sleep
for ever, and in all men’s sober judgment waking is better, yet a man for
the most part, feeling a heavy lethargy in all his limbs, defers to shake
off sleep, and though half displeased, yet, even after it is time to rise,
with pleasure yields to it, so was I assured that much better were it for
me to give myself up to Thy charity, than to give myself over to mine own
cupidity; but though the former course satisfied me and gained the
mastery, the latter pleased me and held me mastered. Nor had I any thing
to answer Thee calling to me, Awake, thou that sleepest, and arise from
the dead, and Christ shall give thee light. And when Thou didst on all
sides show me that what Thou saidst was true, I, convicted by the truth,
had nothing at all to answer, but only those dull and drowsy words, “Anon,
anon,” “presently,” “leave me but a little.” But “presently, presently,”
had no present, and my “little while” went on for a long while; in vain I
delighted in Thy law according to the inner man, when another law in my
members rebelled against the law of my mind, and led me captive under the
law of sin which was in my members. For the law of sin is the violence of
custom, whereby the mind is drawn and holden, even against its will; but
deservedly, for that it willingly fell into it. Who then should deliver me
thus wretched from the body of this death, but Thy grace only, through
Jesus Christ our Lord?

And how Thou didst deliver me out of the bonds of desire, wherewith I was
bound most straitly to carnal concupiscence, and out of the drudgery of
worldly things, I will now declare, and confess unto Thy name, O Lord, my
helper and my redeemer. Amid increasing anxiety, I was doing my wonted
business, and daily sighing unto Thee. I attended Thy Church, whenever
free from the business under the burden of which I groaned. Alypius was
with me, now after the third sitting released from his law business, and
awaiting to whom to sell his counsel, as I sold the skill of speaking, if
indeed teaching can impart it. Nebridius had now, in consideration of our
friendship, consented to teach under Verecundus, a citizen and a
grammarian of Milan, and a very intimate friend of us all; who urgently
desired, and by the right of friendship challenged from our company, such
faithful aid as he greatly needed. Nebridius then was not drawn to this by
any desire of advantage (for he might have made much more of his learning
had he so willed), but as a most kind and gentle friend, he would not be
wanting to a good office, and slight our request. But he acted herein very
discreetly, shunning to become known to personages great according to this
world, avoiding the distraction of mind thence ensuing, and desiring to
have it free and at leisure, as many hours as might be, to seek, or read,
or hear something concerning wisdom.

Upon a day then, Nebridius being absent (I recollect not why), lo, there
came to see me and Alypius, one Pontitianus, our countryman so far as
being an African, in high office in the Emperor’s court. What he would
with us, I know not, but we sat down to converse, and it happened that
upon a table for some game, before us, he observed a book, took, opened
it, and contrary to his expectation, found it the Apostle Paul; for he
thought it some of those books which I was wearing myself in teaching.
Whereat smiling, and looking at me, he expressed his joy and wonder that
he had on a sudden found this book, and this only before my eyes. For he
was a Christian, and baptised, and often bowed himself before Thee our God
in the Church, in frequent and continued prayers. When then I had told him
that I bestowed very great pains upon those Scriptures, a conversation
arose (suggested by his account) on Antony the Egyptian monk: whose name
was in high reputation among Thy servants, though to that hour unknown to
us. Which when he discovered, he dwelt the more upon that subject,
informing and wondering at our ignorance of one so eminent. But we stood
amazed, hearing Thy wonderful works most fully attested, in times so
recent, and almost in our own, wrought in the true Faith and Church
Catholic. We all wondered; we, that they were so great, and he, that they
had not reached us.

Thence his discourse turned to the flocks in the monasteries, and their
holy ways, a sweet-smelling savour unto Thee, and the fruitful deserts of
the wilderness, whereof we knew nothing. And there was a monastery at
Milan, full of good brethren, without the city walls, under the fostering
care of Ambrose, and we knew it not. He went on with his discourse, and we
listened in intent silence. He told us then how one afternoon at Triers,
when the Emperor was taken up with the Circensian games, he and three
others, his companions, went out to walk in gardens near the city walls,
and there as they happened to walk in pairs, one went apart with him, and
the other two wandered by themselves; and these, in their wanderings,
lighted upon a certain cottage, inhabited by certain of Thy servants, poor
in spirit, of whom is the kingdom of heaven, and there they found a little
book containing the life of Antony. This one of them began to read,
admire, and kindle at it; and as he read, to meditate on taking up such a
life, and giving over his secular service to serve Thee. And these two
were of those whom they style agents for the public affairs. Then
suddenly, filled with a holy love, and a sober shame, in anger with
himself cast his eyes upon his friend, saying, “Tell me, I pray thee, what
would we attain by all these labours of ours? what aim we at? what serve
we for? Can our hopes in court rise higher than to be the Emperor’s
favourites? and in this, what is there not brittle, and full of perils?
and by how many perils arrive we at a greater peril? and when arrive we
thither? But a friend of God, if I wish it, I become now at once.” So
spake he. And in pain with the travail of a new life, he turned his eyes
again upon the book, and read on, and was changed inwardly, where Thou
sawest, and his mind was stripped of the world, as soon appeared. For as
he read, and rolled up and down the waves of his heart, he stormed at
himself a while, then discerned, and determined on a better course; and
now being Thine, said to his friend, “Now have I broken loose from those
our hopes, and am resolved to serve God; and this, from this hour, in this
place, I begin upon. If thou likest not to imitate me, oppose not.” The
other answered, he would cleave to him, to partake so glorious a reward,
so glorious a service. Thus both being now Thine, were building the tower
at the necessary cost, the forsaking all that they had, and following
Thee. Then Pontitianus and the other with him, that had walked in other
parts of the garden, came in search of them to the same place; and finding
them, reminded them to return, for the day was now far spent. But they
relating their resolution and purpose, and how that will was begun and
settled in them, begged them, if they would not join, not to molest them.
But the others, though nothing altered from their former selves, did yet
bewail themselves (as he affirmed), and piously congratulated them,
recommending themselves to their prayers; and so, with hearts lingering on
the earth, went away to the palace. But the other two, fixing their heart
on heaven, remained in the cottage. And both had affianced brides, who
when they heard hereof, also dedicated their virginity unto God.

Such was the story of Pontitianus; but Thou, O Lord, while he was
speaking, didst turn me round towards myself, taking me from behind my
back where I had placed me, unwilling to observe myself; and setting me
before my face, that I might see how foul I was, how crooked and defiled,
bespotted and ulcerous. And I beheld and stood aghast; and whither to flee
from myself I found not. And if I sought to turn mine eye from off myself,
he went on with his relation, and Thou again didst set me over against
myself, and thrustedst me before my eyes, that I might find out mine
iniquity, and hate it. I had known it, but made as though I saw it not,
winked at it, and forgot it.

But now, the more ardently I loved those whose healthful affections I
heard of, that they had resigned themselves wholly to Thee to be cured,
the more did I abhor myself, when compared with them. For many of my years
(some twelve) had now run out with me since my nineteenth, when, upon the
reading of Cicero’s Hortensius, I was stirred to an earnest love of
wisdom; and still I was deferring to reject mere earthly felicity, and
give myself to search out that, whereof not the finding only, but the very
search, was to be preferred to the treasures and kingdoms of the world,
though already found, and to the pleasures of the body, though spread
around me at my will. But I wretched, most wretched, in the very
commencement of my early youth, had begged chastity of Thee, and said,
“Give me chastity and continency, only not yet.” For I feared lest Thou
shouldest hear me soon, and soon cure me of the disease of concupiscence,
which I wished to have satisfied, rather than extinguished. And I had
wandered through crooked ways in a sacrilegious superstition, not indeed
assured thereof, but as preferring it to the others which I did not seek
religiously, but opposed maliciously.

And I had thought that I therefore deferred from day to day to reject the
hopes of this world, and follow Thee only, because there did not appear
aught certain, whither to direct my course. And now was the day come
wherein I was to be laid bare to myself, and my conscience was to upbraid
me. “Where art thou now, my tongue? Thou saidst that for an uncertain
truth thou likedst not to cast off the baggage of vanity; now, it is
certain, and yet that burden still oppresseth thee, while they who neither
have so worn themselves out with seeking it, nor for often years and more
have been thinking thereon, have had their shoulders lightened, and
received wings to fly away.” Thus was I gnawed within, and exceedingly
confounded with a horrible shame, while Pontitianus was so speaking. And
he having brought to a close his tale and the business he came for, went
his way; and I into myself. What said I not against myself? with what
scourges of condemnation lashed I not my soul, that it might follow me,
striving to go after Thee! Yet it drew back; refused, but excused not
itself. All arguments were spent and confuted; there remained a mute
shrinking; and she feared, as she would death, to be restrained from the
flux of that custom, whereby she was wasting to death.

Then in this great contention of my inward dwelling, which I had strongly
raised against my soul, in the chamber of my heart, troubled in mind and
countenance, I turned upon Alypius. “What ails us?” I exclaim: “what is
it? what heardest thou? The unlearned start up and take heaven by force,
and we with our learning, and without heart, lo, where we wallow in flesh
and blood! Are we ashamed to follow, because others are gone before, and
not ashamed not even to follow?” Some such words I uttered, and my fever
of mind tore me away from him, while he, gazing on me in astonishment,
kept silence. For it was not my wonted tone; and my forehead, cheeks,
eyes, colour, tone of voice, spake my mind more than the words I uttered.
A little garden there was to our lodging, which we had the use of, as of
the whole house; for the master of the house, our host, was not living
there. Thither had the tumult of my breast hurried me, where no man might
hinder the hot contention wherein I had engaged with myself, until it
should end as Thou knewest, I knew not. Only I was healthfully distracted
and dying, to live; knowing what evil thing I was, and not knowing what
good thing I was shortly to become. I retired then into the garden, and
Alypius, on my steps. For his presence did not lessen my privacy; or how
could he forsake me so disturbed? We sate down as far removed as might be
from the house. I was troubled in spirit, most vehemently indignant that I
entered not into Thy will and covenant, O my God, which all my bones cried
out unto me to enter, and praised it to the skies. And therein we enter
not by ships, or chariots, or feet, no, move not so far as I had come from
the house to that place where we were sitting. For, not to go only, but to
go in thither was nothing else but to will to go, but to will resolutely
and thoroughly; not to turn and toss, this way and that, a maimed and
half-divided will, struggling, with one part sinking as another rose.

Lastly, in the very fever of my irresoluteness, I made with my body many
such motions as men sometimes would, but cannot, if either they have not
the limbs, or these be bound with bands, weakened with infirmity, or any
other way hindered. Thus, if I tore my hair, beat my forehead, if locking
my fingers I clasped my knee; I willed, I did it. But I might have willed,
and not done it; if the power of motion in my limbs had not obeyed. So
many things then I did, when “to will” was not in itself “to be able”; and
I did not what both I longed incomparably more to do, and which soon
after, when I should will, I should be able to do; because soon after,
when I should will, I should will thoroughly. For in these things the
ability was one with the will, and to will was to do; and yet was it not
done: and more easily did my body obey the weakest willing of my soul, in
moving its limbs at its nod, than the soul obeyed itself to accomplish in
the will alone this its momentous will.

Whence is this monstrousness? and to what end? Let Thy mercy gleam that I
may ask, if so be the secret penalties of men, and those darkest pangs of
the sons of Adam, may perhaps answer me. Whence is this monstrousness? and
to what end? The mind commands the body, and it obeys instantly; the mind
commands itself, and is resisted. The mind commands the hand to be moved;
and such readiness is there, that command is scarce distinct from
obedience. Yet the mind is mind, the hand is body. The mind commands the
mind, its own self, to will, and yet it doth not. Whence this
monstrousness? and to what end? It commands itself, I say, to will, and
would not command, unless it willed, and what it commands is not done. But
it willeth not entirely: therefore doth it not command entirely. For so
far forth it commandeth, as it willeth: and, so far forth is the thing
commanded, not done, as it willeth not. For the will commandeth that there
be a will; not another, but itself. But it doth not command entirely,
therefore what it commandeth, is not. For were the will entire, it would
not even command it to be, because it would already be. It is therefore no
monstrousness partly to will, partly to nill, but a disease of the mind,
that it doth not wholly rise, by truth upborne, borne down by custom. And
therefore are there two wills, for that one of them is not entire: and
what the one lacketh, the other hath.

Let them perish from Thy presence, O God, as perish vain talkers and
seducers of the soul: who observing that in deliberating there were two
wills, affirm that there are two minds in us of two kinds, one good, the
other evil. Themselves are truly evil, when they hold these evil things;
and themselves shall become good when they hold the truth and assent unto
the truth, that Thy Apostle may say to them, Ye were sometimes darkness,
but now light in the Lord. But they, wishing to be light, not in the Lord,
but in themselves, imagining the nature of the soul to be that which God
is, are made more gross darkness through a dreadful arrogancy; for that
they went back farther from Thee, the true Light that enlightened every
man that cometh into the world. Take heed what you say, and blush for
shame: draw near unto Him and be enlightened, and your faces shall not be
ashamed. Myself when I was deliberating upon serving the Lord my God now,
as I had long purposed, it was I who willed, I who nilled, I, I myself. I
neither willed entirely, nor nilled entirely. Therefore was I at strife
with myself, and rent asunder by myself. And this rent befell me against
my will, and yet indicated, not the presence of another mind, but the
punishment of my own. Therefore it was no more I that wrought it, but sin
that dwelt in me; the punishment of a sin more freely committed, in that I
was a son of Adam.

For if there be so many contrary natures as there be conflicting wills,
there shall now be not two only, but many. If a man deliberate whether he
should go to their conventicle or to the theatre, these Manichees cry out,
Behold, here are two natures: one good, draws this way; another bad, draws
back that way. For whence else is this hesitation between conflicting
wills? But I say that both be bad: that which draws to them, as that which
draws back to the theatre. But they believe not that will to be other than
good, which draws to them. What then if one of us should deliberate, and
amid the strife of his two wills be in a strait, whether he should go to
the theatre or to our church? would not these Manichees also be in a
strait what to answer? For either they must confess (which they fain would
not) that the will which leads to our church is good, as well as theirs,
who have received and are held by the mysteries of theirs: or they must
suppose two evil natures, and two evil souls conflicting in one man, and
it will not be true, which they say, that there is one good and another
bad; or they must be converted to the truth, and no more deny that where
one deliberates, one soul fluctuates between contrary wills.

Let them no more say then, when they perceive two conflicting wills in one
man, that the conflict is between two contrary souls, of two contrary
substances, from two contrary principles, one good, and the other bad. For
Thou, O true God, dost disprove, check, and convict them; as when, both
wills being bad, one deliberates whether he should kill a man by poison or
by the sword; whether he should seize this or that estate of another’s,
when he cannot both; whether he should purchase pleasure by luxury, or
keep his money by covetousness; whether he go to the circus or the
theatre, if both be open on one day; or thirdly, to rob another’s house,
if he have the opportunity; or, fourthly, to commit adultery, if at the
same time he have the means thereof also; all these meeting together in
the same juncture of time, and all being equally desired, which cannot at
one time be acted: for they rend the mind amid four, or even (amid the
vast variety of things desired) more, conflicting wills, nor do they yet
allege that there are so many divers substances. So also in wills which
are good. For I ask them, is it good to take pleasure in reading the
Apostle? or good to take pleasure in a sober Psalm? or good to discourse
on the Gospel? They will answer to each, “it is good.” What then if all
give equal pleasure, and all at once? Do not divers wills distract the
mind, while he deliberates which he should rather choose? yet are they all
good, and are at variance till one be chosen, whither the one entire will
may be borne, which before was divided into many. Thus also, when, above,
eternity delights us, and the pleasure of temporal good holds us down
below, it is the same soul which willeth not this or that with an entire
will; and therefore is rent asunder with grievous perplexities, while out
of truth it sets this first, but out of habit sets not that aside.

Thus soul-sick was I, and tormented, accusing myself much more severely
than my wont, rolling and turning me in my chain, till that were wholly
broken, whereby I now was but just, but still was, held. And Thou, O Lord,
pressedst upon me in my inward parts by a severe mercy, redoubling the
lashes of fear and shame, lest I should again give way, and not bursting
that same slight remaining tie, it should recover strength, and bind me
the faster. For I said with myself, “Be it done now, be it done now.” And
as I spake, I all but enacted it: I all but did it, and did it not: yet
sunk not back to my former state, but kept my stand hard by, and took
breath. And I essayed again, and wanted somewhat less of it, and somewhat
less, and all but touched, and laid hold of it; and yet came not at it,
nor touched nor laid hold of it; hesitating to die to death and to live to
life: and the worse whereto I was inured, prevailed more with me than the
better whereto I was unused: and the very moment wherein I was to become
other than I was, the nearer it approached me, the greater horror did it
strike into me; yet did it not strike me back, nor turned me away, but
held me in suspense.

The very toys of toys, and vanities of vanities, my ancient mistresses,
still held me; they plucked my fleshy garment, and whispered softly, “Dost
thou cast us off? and from that moment shall we no more be with thee for
ever? and from that moment shall not this or that be lawful for thee for
ever?” And what was it which they suggested in that I said, “this or
that,” what did they suggest, O my God? Let Thy mercy turn it away from
the soul of Thy servant. What defilements did they suggest! what shame!
And now I much less than half heard them, and not openly showing
themselves and contradicting me, but muttering as it were behind my back,
and privily plucking me, as I was departing, but to look back on them. Yet
they did retard me, so that I hesitated to burst and shake myself free
from them, and to spring over whither I was called; a violent habit saying
to me, “Thinkest thou, thou canst live without them?”

But now it spake very faintly. For on that side whither I had set my face,
and whither I trembled to go, there appeared unto me the chaste dignity of
Continency, serene, yet not relaxedly, gay, honestly alluring me to come
and doubt not; and stretching forth to receive and embrace me, her holy
hands full of multitudes of good examples: there were so many young men
and maidens here, a multitude of youth and every age, grave widows and
aged virgins; and Continence herself in all, not barren, but a fruitful
mother of children of joys, by Thee her Husband, O Lord. And she smiled on
me with a persuasive mockery, as would she say, “Canst not thou what these
youths, what these maidens can? or can they either in themselves, and not
rather in the Lord their God? The Lord their God gave me unto them. Why
standest thou in thyself, and so standest not? cast thyself upon Him, fear
not He will not withdraw Himself that thou shouldest fall; cast thyself
fearlessly upon Him, He will receive, and will heal thee.” And I blushed
exceedingly, for that I yet heard the muttering of those toys, and hung in
suspense. And she again seemed to say, “Stop thine ears against those thy
unclean members on the earth, that they may be mortified. They tell thee
of delights, but not as doth the law of the Lord thy God.” This
controversy in my heart was self against self only. But Alypius sitting
close by my side, in silence waited the issue of my unwonted emotion.

But when a deep consideration had from the secret bottom of my soul drawn
together and heaped up all my misery in the sight of my heart; there arose
a mighty storm, bringing a mighty shower of tears. Which that I might pour
forth wholly, in its natural expressions, I rose from Alypius: solitude
was suggested to me as fitter for the business of weeping; so I retired so
far that even his presence could not be a burden to me. Thus was it then
with me, and he perceived something of it; for something I suppose I had
spoken, wherein the tones of my voice appeared choked with weeping, and so
had risen up. He then remained where we were sitting, most extremely
astonished. I cast myself down I know not how, under a certain fig-tree,
giving full vent to my tears; and the floods of mine eyes gushed out an
acceptable sacrifice to Thee. And, not indeed in these words, yet to this
purpose, spake I much unto Thee: and Thou, O Lord, how long? how long,
Lord, wilt Thou be angry for ever? Remember not our former iniquities, for
I felt that I was held by them. I sent up these sorrowful words: How long,
how long, “tomorrow, and tomorrow?” Why not now? why not is there this
hour an end to my uncleanness?

So was I speaking and weeping in the most bitter contrition of my heart,
when, lo! I heard from a neighbouring house a voice, as of boy or girl, I
know not, chanting, and oft repeating, “Take up and read; Take up and
read.” Instantly, my countenance altered, I began to think most intently
whether children were wont in any kind of play to sing such words: nor
could I remember ever to have heard the like. So checking the torrent of
my tears, I arose; interpreting it to be no other than a command from God
to open the book, and read the first chapter I should find. For I had
heard of Antony, that coming in during the reading of the Gospel, he
received the admonition, as if what was being read was spoken to him: Go,
sell all that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have
treasure in heaven, and come and follow me: and by such oracle he was
forthwith converted unto Thee. Eagerly then I returned to the place where
Alypius was sitting; for there had I laid the volume of the Apostle when I
arose thence. I seized, opened, and in silence read that section on which
my eyes first fell: Not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and
wantonness, not in strife and envying; but put ye on the Lord Jesus
Christ, and make not provision for the flesh, in concupiscence. No further
would I read; nor needed I: for instantly at the end of this sentence, by
a light as it were of serenity infused into my heart, all the darkness of
doubt vanished away.

Then putting my finger between, or some other mark, I shut the volume, and
with a calmed countenance made it known to Alypius. And what was wrought
in him, which I knew not, he thus showed me. He asked to see what I had
read: I showed him; and he looked even further than I had read, and I knew
not what followed. This followed, him that is weak in the faith, receive;
which he applied to himself, and disclosed to me. And by this admonition
was he strengthened; and by a good resolution and purpose, and most
corresponding to his character, wherein he did always very far differ from
me, for the better, without any turbulent delay he joined me. Thence we go
in to my mother; we tell her; she rejoiceth: we relate in order how it
took place; she leaps for joy, and triumpheth, and blesseth Thee, Who are
able to do above that which we ask or think; for she perceived that Thou
hadst given her more for me, than she was wont to beg by her pitiful and
most sorrowful groanings. For thou convertedst me unto Thyself, so that I
sought neither wife, nor any hope of this world, standing in that rule of
faith, where Thou hadst showed me unto her in a vision, so many years
before. And Thou didst convert her mourning into joy, much more plentiful
than she had desired, and in a much more precious and purer way than she
erst required, by having grandchildren of my body.

BOOK IX

O Lord, I am Thy servant; I am Thy servant, and the son of Thy handmaid:
Thou hast broken my bonds in sunder. I will offer to Thee the sacrifice of
praise. Let my heart and my tongue praise Thee; yea, let all my bones say,
O Lord, who is like unto Thee? Let them say, and answer Thou me, and say
unto my soul, I am thy salvation. Who am I, and what am I? What evil have
not been either my deeds, or if not my deeds, my words, or if not my
words, my will? But Thou, O Lord, are good and merciful, and Thy right
hand had respect unto the depth of my death, and from the bottom of my
heart emptied that abyss of corruption. And this Thy whole gift was, to
nill what I willed, and to will what Thou willedst. But where through all
those years, and out of what low and deep recess was my free-will called
forth in a moment, whereby to submit my neck to Thy easy yoke, and my
shoulders unto Thy light burden, O Christ Jesus, my Helper and my
Redeemer? How sweet did it at once become to me, to want the sweetnesses
of those toys! and what I feared to be parted from, was now a joy to part
with. For Thou didst cast them forth from me, Thou true and highest
sweetness. Thou castest them forth, and for them enteredst in Thyself,
sweeter than all pleasure, though not to flesh and blood; brighter than
all light, but more hidden than all depths, higher than all honour, but
not to the high in their own conceits. Now was my soul free from the
biting cares of canvassing and getting, and weltering in filth, and
scratching off the itch of lust. And my infant tongue spake freely to
Thee, my brightness, and my riches, and my health, the Lord my God.

And I resolved in Thy sight, not tumultuously to tear, but gently to
withdraw, the service of my tongue from the marts of lip-labour: that the
young, no students in Thy law, nor in Thy peace, but in lying dotages and
law-skirmishes, should no longer buy at my mouth arms for their madness.
And very seasonably, it now wanted but very few days unto the Vacation of
the Vintage, and I resolved to endure them, then in a regular way to take
my leave, and having been purchased by Thee, no more to return for sale.
Our purpose then was known to Thee; but to men, other than our own
friends, was it not known. For we had agreed among ourselves not to let it
out abroad to any: although to us, now ascending from the valley of tears,
and singing that song of degrees, Thou hadst given sharp arrows, and
destroying coals against the subtle tongue, which as though advising for
us, would thwart, and would out of love devour us, as it doth its meat.

Thou hadst pierced our hearts with Thy charity, and we carried Thy words
as it were fixed in our entrails: and the examples of Thy servants, whom
for black Thou hadst made bright, and for dead, alive, being piled
together in the receptacle of our thoughts, kindled and burned up that our
heavy torpor, that we should not sink down to the abyss; and they fired us
so vehemently, that all the blasts of subtle tongues from gainsayers might
only inflame us the more fiercely, not extinguish us. Nevertheless,
because for Thy Name’s sake which Thou hast hallowed throughout the earth,
this our vow and purpose might also find some to commend it, it seemed
like ostentation not to wait for the vacation now so near, but to quit
beforehand a public profession, which was before the eyes of all; so that
all looking on this act of mine, and observing how near was the time of
vintage which I wished to anticipate, would talk much of me, as if I had
desired to appear some great one. And what end had it served me, that
people should repute and dispute upon my purpose, and that our good should
be evil spoken of.

Moreover, it had at first troubled me that in this very summer my lungs
began to give way, amid too great literary labour, and to breathe deeply
with difficulty, and by the pain in my chest to show that they were
injured, and to refuse any full or lengthened speaking; this had troubled
me, for it almost constrained me of necessity to lay down that burden of
teaching, or, if I could be cured and recover, at least to intermit it.
But when the full wish for leisure, that I might see how that Thou art the
Lord, arose, and was fixed, in me; my God, Thou knowest, I began even to
rejoice that I had this secondary, and that no feigned, excuse, which
might something moderate the offence taken by those who, for their sons’
sake, wished me never to have the freedom of Thy sons. Full then of such
joy, I endured till that interval of time were run; it may have been some
twenty days, yet they were endured manfully; endured, for the covetousness
which aforetime bore a part of this heavy business, had left me, and I
remained alone, and had been overwhelmed, had not patience taken its
place. Perchance, some of Thy servants, my brethren, may say that I sinned
in this, that with a heart fully set on Thy service, I suffered myself to
sit even one hour in the chair of lies. Nor would I be contentious. But
hast not Thou, O most merciful Lord, pardoned and remitted this sin also,
with my other most horrible and deadly sins, in the holy water?

Verecundus was worn down with care about this our blessedness, for that
being held back by bonds, whereby he was most straitly bound, he saw that
he should be severed from us. For himself was not yet a Christian, his
wife one of the faithful; and yet hereby, more rigidly than by any other
chain, was he let and hindered from the journey which we had now essayed.
For he would not, he said, be a Christian on any other terms than on those
he could not. However, he offered us courteously to remain at his
country-house so long as we should stay there. Thou, O Lord, shalt reward
him in the resurrection of the just, seeing Thou hast already given him
the lot of the righteous. For although, in our absence, being now at Rome,
he was seized with bodily sickness, and therein being made a Christian,
and one of the faithful, he departed this life; yet hadst Thou mercy not
on him only, but on us also: lest remembering the exceeding kindness of
our friend towards us, yet unable to number him among Thy flock, we should
be agonised with intolerable sorrow. Thanks unto Thee, our God, we are
Thine: Thy suggestions and consolations tell us, Faithful in promises,
Thou now requitest Verecundus for his country-house of Cassiacum, where
from the fever of the world we reposed in Thee, with the eternal freshness
of Thy Paradise: for that Thou hast forgiven him his sins upon earth, in
that rich mountain, that mountain which yieldeth milk, Thine own mountain.

He then had at that time sorrow, but Nebridius joy. For although he also,
not being yet a Christian, had fallen into the pit of that most pernicious
error, believing the flesh of Thy Son to be a phantom: yet emerging
thence, he believed as we did; not as yet endued with any Sacraments of
Thy Church, but a most ardent searcher out of truth. Whom, not long after
our conversion and regeneration by Thy Baptism, being also a faithful
member of the Church Catholic, and serving Thee in perfect chastity and
continence amongst his people in Africa, his whole house having through
him first been made Christian, didst Thou release from the flesh; and now
he lives in Abraham’s bosom. Whatever that be, which is signified by that
bosom, there lives my Nebridius, my sweet friend, and Thy child, O Lord,
adopted of a freed man: there he liveth. For what other place is there for
such a soul? There he liveth, whereof he asked much of me, a poor
inexperienced man. Now lays he not his ear to my mouth, but his spiritual
mouth unto Thy fountain, and drinketh as much as he can receive, wisdom in
proportion to his thirst, endlessly happy. Nor do I think that he is so
inebriated therewith, as to forget me; seeing Thou, Lord, Whom he
drinketh, art mindful of us. So were we then, comforting Verecundus, who
sorrowed, as far as friendship permitted, that our conversion was of such
sort; and exhorting him to become faithful, according to his measure,
namely, of a married estate; and awaiting Nebridius to follow us, which,
being so near, he was all but doing: and so, lo! those days rolled by at
length; for long and many they seemed, for the love I bare to the easeful
liberty, that I might sing to Thee, from my inmost marrow, My heart hath
said unto Thee, I have sought Thy face: Thy face, Lord, will I seek.

Now was the day come wherein I was in deed to be freed of my Rhetoric
Professorship, whereof in thought I was already freed. And it was done.
Thou didst rescue my tongue, whence Thou hadst before rescued my heart.
And I blessed Thee, rejoicing; retiring with all mine to the villa. What I
there did in writing, which was now enlisted in Thy service, though still,
in this breathing-time as it were, panting from the school of pride, my
books may witness, as well what I debated with others, as what with myself
alone, before Thee: what with Nebridius, who was absent, my Epistles bear
witness. And when shall I have time to rehearse all Thy great benefits
towards us at that time, especially when hasting on to yet greater
mercies? For my remembrance recalls me, and pleasant is it to me, O Lord,
to confess to Thee, by what inward goads Thou tamedst me; and how Thou
hast evened me, lowering the mountains and hills of my high imaginations,
straightening my crookedness, and smoothing my rough ways; and how Thou
also subduedst the brother of my heart, Alypius, unto the name of Thy Only
Begotten, our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, which he would not at first
vouchsafe to have inserted in our writings. For rather would he have them
savour of the lofty cedars of the Schools, which the Lord hath now broken
down, than of the wholesome herbs of the Church, the antidote against
serpents.

Oh, in what accents spake I unto Thee, my God, when I read the Psalms of
David, those faithful songs, and sounds of devotion, which allow of no
swelling spirit, as yet a Catechumen, and a novice in Thy real love,
resting in that villa, with Alypius a Catechumen, my mother cleaving to
us, in female garb with masculine faith, with the tranquillity of age,
motherly love, Christian piety! Oh, what accents did I utter unto Thee in
those Psalms, and how was I by them kindled towards Thee, and on fire to
rehearse them, if possible, through the whole world, against the pride of
mankind! And yet they are sung through the whole world, nor can any hide
himself from Thy heat. With what vehement and bitter sorrow was I angered
at the Manichees! and again I pitied them, for they knew not those
Sacraments, those medicines, and were mad against the antidote which might
have recovered them of their madness. How I would they had then been
somewhere near me, and without my knowing that they were there, could have
beheld my countenance, and heard my words, when I read the fourth Psalm in
that time of my rest, and how that Psalm wrought upon me: When I called,
the God of my righteousness heard me; in tribulation Thou enlargedst me.
Have mercy upon me, O Lord, and hear my prayer. Would that what I uttered
on these words, they could hear, without my knowing whether they heard,
lest they should think I spake it for their sakes! Because in truth
neither should I speak the same things, nor in the same way, if I
perceived that they heard and saw me; nor if I spake them would they so
receive them, as when I spake by and for myself before Thee, out of the
natural feelings of my soul.

I trembled for fear, and again kindled with hope, and with rejoicing in
Thy mercy, O Father; and all issued forth both by mine eyes and voice,
when Thy good Spirit turning unto us, said, O ye sons of men, how long
slow of heart? why do ye love vanity, and seek after leasing? For I had
loved vanity, and sought after leasing. And Thou, O Lord, hadst already
magnified Thy Holy One, raising Him from the dead, and setting Him at Thy
right hand, whence from on high He should send His promise, the Comforter,
the Spirit of truth. And He had already sent Him, but I knew it not; He
had sent Him, because He was now magnified, rising again from the dead,
and ascending into heaven. For till then, the Spirit was not yet given,
because Jesus was not yet glorified. And the prophet cries out, How long,
slow of heart? why do ye love vanity, and seek after leasing? Know this,
that the Lord hath magnified His Holy One. He cries out, How long? He
cries out, Know this: and I so long, not knowing, loved vanity, and sought
after leasing: and therefore I heard and trembled, because it was spoken
unto such as I remembered myself to have been. For in those phantoms which
I had held for truths, was there vanity and leasing; and I spake aloud
many things earnestly and forcibly, in the bitterness of my remembrance.
Which would they had heard, who yet love vanity and seek after leasing!
They would perchance have been troubled, and have vomited it up; and Thou
wouldest hear them when they cried unto Thee; for by a true death in the
flesh did He die for us, who now intercedeth unto Thee for us.

I further read, Be angry, and sin not. And how was I moved, O my God, who
had now learned to be angry at myself for things past, that I might not
sin in time to come! Yea, to be justly angry; for that it was not another
nature of a people of darkness which sinned for me, as they say who are
not angry at themselves, and treasure up wrath against the day of wrath,
and of the revelation of Thy just judgment. Nor were my good things now
without, nor sought with the eyes of flesh in that earthly sun; for they
that would have joy from without soon become vain, and waste themselves on
the things seen and temporal, and in their famished thoughts do lick their
very shadows. Oh that they were wearied out with their famine, and said,
Who will show us good things? And we would say, and they hear, The light
of Thy countenance is sealed upon us. For we are not that light which
enlighteneth every man, but we are enlightened by Thee; that having been
sometimes darkness, we may be light in Thee. Oh that they could see the
eternal Internal, which having tasted, I was grieved that I could not show
It them, so long as they brought me their heart in their eyes roving
abroad from Thee, while they said, Who will show us good things? For
there, where I was angry within myself in my chamber, where I was inwardly
pricked, where I had sacrificed, slaying my old man and commencing the
purpose of a new life, putting my trust in Thee,—there hadst Thou
begun to grow sweet unto me, and hadst put gladness in my heart. And I
cried out, as I read this outwardly, finding it inwardly. Nor would I be
multiplied with worldly goods; wasting away time, and wasted by time;
whereas I had in Thy eternal Simple Essence other corn, and wine, and oil.

And with a loud cry of my heart I cried out in the next verse, O in peace,
O for The Self-same! O what said he, I will lay me down and sleep, for who
shall hinder us, when cometh to pass that saying which is written, Death
is swallowed up in victory? And Thou surpassingly art the Self-same, Who
art not changed; and in Thee is rest which forgetteth all toil, for there
is none other with Thee, nor are we to seek those many other things, which
are not what Thou art: but Thou, Lord, alone hast made me dwell in hope. I
read, and kindled; nor found I what to do to those deaf and dead, of whom
myself had been, a pestilent person, a bitter and a blind bawler against
those writings, which are honied with the honey of heaven, and lightsome
with Thine own light: and I was consumed with zeal at the enemies of this
Scripture.

When shall I recall all which passed in those holy-days? Yet neither have
I forgotten, nor will I pass over the severity of Thy scourge, and the
wonderful swiftness of Thy mercy. Thou didst then torment me with pain in
my teeth; which when it had come to such height that I could not speak, it
came into my heart to desire all my friends present to pray for me to
Thee, the God of all manner of health. And this I wrote on wax, and gave
it them to read. Presently so soon as with humble devotion we had bowed
our knees, that pain went away. But what pain? or how went it away? I was
affrighted, O my Lord, my God; for from infancy I had never experienced
the like. And the power of Thy Nod was deeply conveyed to me, and
rejoicing in faith, I praised Thy Name. And that faith suffered me not to
be at ease about my past sins, which were not yet forgiven me by Thy
baptism.

The vintage-vacation ended, I gave notice to the Milanese to provide their
scholars with another master to sell words to them; for that I had both
made choice to serve Thee, and through my difficulty of breathing and pain
in my chest was not equal to the Professorship. And by letters I signified
to Thy Prelate, the holy man Ambrose, my former errors and present
desires, begging his advice what of Thy Scriptures I had best read, to
become readier and fitter for receiving so great grace. He recommended
Isaiah the Prophet: I believe, because he above the rest is a more clear
foreshower of the Gospel and of the calling of the Gentiles. But I, not
understanding the first lesson in him, and imagining the whole to be like
it, laid it by, to be resumed when better practised in our Lord’s own
words.

Thence, when the time was come wherein I was to give in my name, we left
the country and returned to Milan. It pleased Alypius also to be with me
born again in Thee, being already clothed with the humility befitting Thy
Sacraments; and a most valiant tamer of the body, so as, with unwonted
venture, to wear the frozen ground of Italy with his bare feet. We joined
with us the boy Adeodatus, born after the flesh, of my sin. Excellently
hadst Thou made him. He was not quite fifteen, and in wit surpassed many
grave and learned men. I confess unto Thee Thy gifts, O Lord my God,
Creator of all, and abundantly able to reform our deformities: for I had
no part in that boy, but the sin. For that we brought him up in Thy
discipline, it was Thou, none else, had inspired us with it. I confess
unto Thee Thy gifts. There is a book of ours entitled The Master; it is a
dialogue between him and me. Thou knowest that all there ascribed to the
person conversing with me were his ideas, in his sixteenth year. Much
besides, and yet more admirable, I found in him. That talent struck awe
into me. And who but Thou could be the workmaster of such wonders? Soon
didst Thou take his life from the earth: and I now remember him without
anxiety, fearing nothing for his childhood or youth, or his whole self.
Him we joined with us, our contemporary in grace, to be brought up in Thy
discipline: and we were baptised, and anxiety for our past life vanished
from us. Nor was I sated in those days with the wondrous sweetness of
considering the depth of Thy counsels concerning the salvation of mankind.
How did I weep, in Thy Hymns and Canticles, touched to the quick by the
voices of Thy sweet-attuned Church! The voices flowed into mine ears, and
the Truth distilled into my heart, whence the affections of my devotion
overflowed, and tears ran down, and happy was I therein.

Not long had the Church of Milan begun to use this kind of consolation and
exhortation, the brethren zealously joining with harmony of voice and
hearts. For it was a year, or not much more, that Justina, mother to the
Emperor Valentinian, a child, persecuted Thy servant Ambrose, in favour of
her heresy, to which she was seduced by the Arians. The devout people kept
watch in the Church, ready to die with their Bishop Thy servant. There my
mother Thy handmaid, bearing a chief part of those anxieties and
watchings, lived for prayer. We, yet unwarmed by the heat of Thy Spirit,
still were stirred up by the sight of the amazed and disquieted city. Then
it was first instituted that after the manner of the Eastern Churches,
Hymns and Psalms should be sung, lest the people should wax faint through
the tediousness of sorrow: and from that day to this the custom is
retained, divers (yea, almost all) Thy congregations, throughout other
parts of the world following herein.

Then didst Thou by a vision discover to Thy forenamed Bishop where the
bodies of Gervasius and Protasius the martyrs lay hid (whom Thou hadst in
Thy secret treasury stored uncorrupted so many years), whence Thou
mightest seasonably produce them to repress the fury of a woman, but an
Empress. For when they were discovered and dug up, and with due honour
translated to the Ambrosian Basilica, not only they who were vexed with
unclean spirits (the devils confessing themselves) were cured, but a
certain man who had for many years been blind, a citizen, and well known
to the city, asking and hearing the reason of the people’s confused joy,
sprang forth desiring his guide to lead him thither. Led thither, he
begged to be allowed to touch with his handkerchief the bier of Thy
saints, whose death is precious in Thy sight. Which when he had done, and
put to his eyes, they were forthwith opened. Thence did the fame spread,
thence Thy praises glowed, shone; thence the mind of that enemy, though
not turned to the soundness of believing, was yet turned back from her
fury of persecuting. Thanks to Thee, O my God. Whence and whither hast
Thou thus led my remembrance, that I should confess these things also unto
Thee? which great though they be, I had passed by in forgetfulness. And
yet then, when the odour of Thy ointments was so fragrant, did we not run
after Thee. Therefore did I more weep among the singing of Thy Hymns,
formerly sighing after Thee, and at length breathing in Thee, as far as
the breath may enter into this our house of grass.

Thou that makest men to dwell of one mind in one house, didst join with us
Euodius also, a young man of our own city. Who being an officer of Court,
was before us converted to Thee and baptised: and quitting his secular
warfare, girded himself to Thine. We were together, about to dwell
together in our devout purpose. We sought where we might serve Thee most
usefully, and were together returning to Africa: whitherward being as far
as Ostia, my mother departed this life. Much I omit, as hastening much.
Receive my confessions and thanksgivings, O my God, for innumerable things
whereof I am silent. But I will not omit whatsoever my soul would bring
forth concerning that Thy handmaid, who brought me forth, both in the
flesh, that I might be born to this temporal light, and in heart, that I
might be born to Light eternal. Not her gifts, but Thine in her, would I
speak of; for neither did she make nor educate herself. Thou createdst
her; nor did her father and mother know what a one should come from them.
And the sceptre of Thy Christ, the discipline of Thine only Son, in a
Christian house, a good member of Thy Church, educated her in Thy fear.
Yet for her good discipline was she wont to commend not so much her
mother’s diligence, as that of a certain decrepit maid-servant, who had
carried her father when a child, as little ones used to be carried at the
backs of elder girls. For which reason, and for her great age, and
excellent conversation, was she, in that Christian family, well respected
by its heads. Whence also the charge of her master’s daughters was
entrusted to her, to which she gave diligent heed, restraining them
earnestly, when necessary, with a holy severity, and teaching them with a
grave discretion. For, except at those hours wherein they were most
temporately fed at their parents’ table, she would not suffer them, though
parched with thirst, to drink even water; preventing an evil custom, and
adding this wholesome advice: “Ye drink water now, because you have not
wine in your power; but when you come to be married, and be made
mistresses of cellars and cupboards, you will scorn water, but the custom
of drinking will abide.” By this method of instruction, and the authority
she had, she refrained the greediness of childhood, and moulded their very
thirst to such an excellent moderation that what they should not, that
they would not.

And yet (as Thy handmaid told me her son) there had crept upon her a love
of wine. For when (as the manner was) she, as though a sober maiden, was
bidden by her parents to draw wine out of the hogshed, holding the vessel
under the opening, before she poured the wine into the flagon, she sipped
a little with the tip of her lips; for more her instinctive feelings
refused. For this she did, not out of any desire of drink, but out of the
exuberance of youth, whereby it boils over in mirthful freaks, which in
youthful spirits are wont to be kept under by the gravity of their elders.
And thus by adding to that little, daily littles (for whoso despiseth
little things shall fall by little and little), she had fallen into such a
habit as greedily to drink off her little cup brim-full almost of wine.
Where was then that discreet old woman, and that her earnest
countermanding? Would aught avail against a secret disease, if Thy healing
hand, O Lord, watched not over us? Father, mother, and governors absent,
Thou present, who createdst, who callest, who also by those set over us,
workest something towards the salvation of our souls, what didst Thou
then, O my God? how didst Thou cure her? how heal her? didst Thou not out
of another soul bring forth a hard and a sharp taunt, like a lancet out of
Thy secret store, and with one touch remove all that foul stuff? For a
maid-servant with whom she used to go to the cellar, falling to words (as
it happens) with her little mistress, when alone with her, taunted her
with this fault, with most bitter insult, calling her wine-bibber. With
which taunt she, stung to the quick, saw the foulness of her fault, and
instantly condemned and forsook it. As flattering friends pervert, so
reproachful enemies mostly correct. Yet not what by them Thou doest, but
what themselves purposed, dost Thou repay them. For she in her anger
sought to vex her young mistress, not to amend her; and did it in private,
either for that the time and place of the quarrel so found them; or lest
herself also should have anger, for discovering it thus late. But Thou,
Lord, Governor of all in heaven and earth, who turnest to Thy purposes the
deepest currents, and the ruled turbulence of the tide of times, didst by
the very unhealthiness of one soul heal another; lest any, when he
observes this, should ascribe it to his own power, even when another, whom
he wished to be reformed, is reformed through words of his.

Brought up thus modestly and soberly, and made subject rather by Thee to
her parents, than by her parents to Thee, so soon as she was of
marriageable age, being bestowed upon a husband, she served him as her
lord; and did her diligence to win him unto Thee, preaching Thee unto him
by her conversation; by which Thou ornamentedst her, making her reverently
amiable, and admirable unto her husband. And she so endured the wronging
of her bed as never to have any quarrel with her husband thereon. For she
looked for Thy mercy upon him, that believing in Thee, he might be made
chaste. But besides this, he was fervid, as in his affections, so in
anger: but she had learnt not to resist an angry husband, not in deed
only, but not even in word. Only when he was smoothed and tranquil, and in
a temper to receive it, she would give an account of her actions, if haply
he had overhastily taken offence. In a word, while many matrons, who had
milder husbands, yet bore even in their faces marks of shame, would in
familiar talk blame their husbands’ lives, she would blame their tongues,
giving them, as in jest, earnest advice: “That from the time they heard
the marriage writings read to them, they should account them as
indentures, whereby they were made servants; and so, remembering their
condition, ought not to set themselves up against their lords.” And when
they, knowing what a choleric husband she endured, marvelled that it had
never been heard, nor by any token perceived, that Patricius had beaten
his wife, or that there had been any domestic difference between them,
even for one day, and confidentially asking the reason, she taught them
her practice above mentioned. Those wives who observed it found the good,
and returned thanks; those who observed it not, found no relief, and
suffered.

Her mother-in-law also, at first by whisperings of evil servants incensed
against her, she so overcame by observance and persevering endurance and
meekness, that she of her own accord discovered to her son the meddling
tongues whereby the domestic peace betwixt her and her daughter-in-law had
been disturbed, asking him to correct them. Then, when in compliance with
his mother, and for the well-ordering of the family, he had with stripes
corrected those discovered, at her will who had discovered them, she
promised the like reward to any who, to please her, should speak ill of
her daughter-in-law to her: and none now venturing, they lived together
with a remarkable sweetness of mutual kindness.

This great gift also thou bestowedst, O my God, my mercy, upon that good
handmaid of Thine, in whose womb Thou createdst me, that between any
disagreeing and discordant parties where she was able, she showed herself
such a peacemaker, that hearing on both sides most bitter things, such as
swelling and indigested choler uses to break out into, when the crudities
of enmities are breathed out in sour discourses to a present friend
against an absent enemy, she never would disclose aught of the one unto
the other, but what might tend to their reconcilement. A small good this
might appear to me, did I not to my grief know numberless persons, who
through some horrible and wide-spreading contagion of sin, not only
disclose to persons mutually angered things said in anger, but add withal
things never spoken, whereas to humane humanity, it ought to seem a light
thing not to foment or increase ill will by ill words, unless one study
withal by good words to quench it. Such was she, Thyself, her most inward
Instructor, teaching her in the school of the heart.

Finally, her own husband, towards the very end of his earthly life, did
she gain unto Thee; nor had she to complain of that in him as a believer,
which before he was a believer she had borne from him. She was also the
servant of Thy servants; whosoever of them knew her, did in her much
praise and honour and love Thee; for that through the witness of the
fruits of a holy conversation they perceived Thy presence in her heart.
For she had been the wife of one man, had requited her parents, had
governed her house piously, was well reported of for good works, had
brought up children, so often travailing in birth of them, as she saw them
swerving from Thee. Lastly, of all of us Thy servants, O Lord (whom on
occasion of Thy own gift Thou sufferest to speak), us, who before her
sleeping in Thee lived united together, having received the grace of Thy
baptism, did she so take care of, as though she had been mother of us all;
so served us, as though she had been child to us all.

The day now approaching whereon she was to depart this life (which day
Thou well knewest, we knew not), it came to pass, Thyself, as I believe,
by Thy secret ways so ordering it, that she and I stood alone, leaning in
a certain window, which looked into the garden of the house where we now
lay, at Ostia; where removed from the din of men, we were recruiting from
the fatigues of a long journey, for the voyage. We were discoursing then
together, alone, very sweetly; and forgetting those things which are
behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, we were
enquiring between ourselves in the presence of the Truth, which Thou art,
of what sort the eternal life of the saints was to be, which eye hath not
seen, nor ear heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man. But yet we
gasped with the mouth of our heart, after those heavenly streams of Thy
fountain, the fountain of life, which is with Thee; that being bedewed
thence according to our capacity, we might in some sort meditate upon so
high a mystery.

And when our discourse was brought to that point, that the very highest
delight of the earthly senses, in the very purest material light, was, in
respect of the sweetness of that life, not only not worthy of comparison,
but not even of mention; we raising up ourselves with a more glowing
affection towards the “Self-same,” did by degrees pass through all things
bodily, even the very heaven whence sun and moon and stars shine upon the
earth; yea, we were soaring higher yet, by inward musing, and discourse,
and admiring of Thy works; and we came to our own minds, and went beyond
them, that we might arrive at that region of never-failing plenty, where
Thou feedest Israel for ever with the food of truth, and where life is the
Wisdom by whom all these things are made, and what have been, and what
shall be, and she is not made, but is, as she hath been, and so shall she
be ever; yea rather, to “have been,” and “hereafter to be,” are not in
her, but only “to be,” seeing she is eternal. For to “have been,” and to
“be hereafter,” are not eternal. And while we were discoursing and panting
after her, we slightly touched on her with the whole effort of our heart;
and we sighed, and there we leave bound the first fruits of the Spirit;
and returned to vocal expressions of our mouth, where the word spoken has
beginning and end. And what is like unto Thy Word, our Lord, who endureth
in Himself without becoming old, and maketh all things new?

We were saying then: If to any the tumult of the flesh were hushed, hushed
the images of earth, and waters, and air, hushed also the pole of heaven,
yea the very soul be hushed to herself, and by not thinking on self
surmount self, hushed all dreams and imaginary revelations, every tongue
and every sign, and whatsoever exists only in transition, since if any
could hear, all these say, We made not ourselves, but He made us that
abideth for ever—If then having uttered this, they too should be
hushed, having roused only our ears to Him who made them, and He alone
speak, not by them but by Himself, that we may hear His Word, not through
any tongue of flesh, nor Angel’s voice, nor sound of thunder, nor in the
dark riddle of a similitude, but might hear Whom in these things we love,
might hear His Very Self without these (as we two now strained ourselves,
and in swift thought touched on that Eternal Wisdom which abideth over
all);—could this be continued on, and other visions of kind far
unlike be withdrawn, and this one ravish, and absorb, and wrap up its
beholder amid these inward joys, so that life might be for ever like that
one moment of understanding which now we sighed after; were not this,
Enter into thy Master’s joy? And when shall that be? When we shall all
rise again, though we shall not all be changed?

Such things was I speaking, and even if not in this very manner, and these
same words, yet, Lord, Thou knowest that in that day when we were speaking
of these things, and this world with all its delights became, as we spake,
contemptible to us, my mother said, “Son, for mine own part I have no
further delight in any thing in this life. What I do here any longer, and
to what I am here, I know not, now that my hopes in this world are
accomplished. One thing there was for which I desired to linger for a
while in this life, that I might see thee a Catholic Christian before I
died. My God hath done this for me more abundantly, that I should now see
thee withal, despising earthly happiness, become His servant: what do I
here?”

What answer I made her unto these things, I remember not. For scarce five
days after, or not much more, she fell sick of a fever; and in that
sickness one day she fell into a swoon, and was for a while withdrawn from
these visible things. We hastened round her; but she was soon brought back
to her senses; and looking on me and my brother standing by her, said to
us enquiringly, “Where was I?” And then looking fixedly on us, with grief
amazed: “Here,” saith she, “shall you bury your mother.” I held my peace
and refrained weeping; but my brother spake something, wishing for her, as
the happier lot, that she might die, not in a strange place, but in her
own land. Whereat, she with anxious look, checking him with her eyes, for
that he still savoured such things, and then looking upon me: “Behold,”
saith she, “what he saith”: and soon after to us both, “Lay,” she saith,
“this body any where; let not the care for that any way disquiet you: this
only I request, that you would remember me at the Lord’s altar, wherever
you be.” And having delivered this sentiment in what words she could, she
held her peace, being exercised by her growing sickness.

But I, considering Thy gifts, Thou unseen God, which Thou instillest into
the hearts of Thy faithful ones, whence wondrous fruits do spring, did
rejoice and give thanks to Thee, recalling what I before knew, how careful
and anxious she had ever been as to her place of burial, which she had
provided and prepared for herself by the body of her husband. For because
they had lived in great harmony together, she also wished (so little can
the human mind embrace things divine) to have this addition to that
happiness, and to have it remembered among men, that after her pilgrimage
beyond the seas, what was earthly of this united pair had been permitted
to be united beneath the same earth. But when this emptiness had through
the fulness of Thy goodness begun to cease in her heart, I knew not, and
rejoiced admiring what she had so disclosed to me; though indeed in that
our discourse also in the window, when she said, “What do I here any
longer?” there appeared no desire of dying in her own country. I heard
afterwards also, that when we were now at Ostia, she with a mother’s
confidence, when I was absent, one day discoursed with certain of my
friends about the contempt of this life, and the blessing of death: and
when they were amazed at such courage which Thou hadst given to a woman,
and asked, “Whether she were not afraid to leave her body so far from her
own city?” she replied, “Nothing is far to God; nor was it to be feared
lest at the end of the world, He should not recognise whence He were to
raise me up.” On the ninth day then of her sickness, and the fifty-sixth
year of her age, and the three-and-thirtieth of mine, was that religious
and holy soul freed from the body.

I closed her eyes; and there flowed withal a mighty sorrow into my heart,
which was overflowing into tears; mine eyes at the same time, by the
violent command of my mind, drank up their fountain wholly dry; and woe
was me in such a strife! But when she breathed her last, the boy Adeodatus
burst out into a loud lament; then, checked by us all, held his peace. In
like manner also a childish feeling in me, which was, through my heart’s
youthful voice, finding its vent in weeping, was checked and silenced. For
we thought it not fitting to solemnise that funeral with tearful lament,
and groanings; for thereby do they for the most part express grief for the
departed, as though unhappy, or altogether dead; whereas she was neither
unhappy in her death, nor altogether dead. Of this we were assured on good
grounds, the testimony of her good conversation and her faith unfeigned.

What then was it which did grievously pain me within, but a fresh wound
wrought through the sudden wrench of that most sweet and dear custom of
living together? I joyed indeed in her testimony, when, in that her last
sickness, mingling her endearments with my acts of duty, she called me
“dutiful,” and mentioned, with great affection of love, that she never had
heard any harsh or reproachful sound uttered by my mouth against her. But
yet, O my God, Who madest us, what comparison is there betwixt that honour
that I paid to her, and her slavery for me? Being then forsaken of so
great comfort in her, my soul was wounded, and that life rent asunder as
it were, which, of hers and mine together, had been made but one.

The boy then being stilled from weeping, Euodius took up the Psalter, and
began to sing, our whole house answering him, the Psalm, I will sing of
mercy and judgments to Thee, O Lord. But hearing what we were doing, many
brethren and religious women came together; and whilst they (whose office
it was) made ready for the burial, as the manner is, I, in a part of the
house, where I might properly, together with those who thought not fit to
leave me, discoursed upon something fitting the time; and by this balm of
truth assuaged that torment, known to Thee, they unknowing and listening
intently, and conceiving me to be without all sense of sorrow. But in Thy
ears, where none of them heard, I blamed the weakness of my feelings, and
refrained my flood of grief, which gave way a little unto me; but again
came, as with a tide, yet not so as to burst out into tears, nor to change
of countenance; still I knew what I was keeping down in my heart. And
being very much displeased that these human things had such power over me,
which in the due order and appointment of our natural condition must needs
come to pass, with a new grief I grieved for my grief, and was thus worn
by a double sorrow.

And behold, the corpse was carried to the burial; we went and returned
without tears. For neither in those prayers which we poured forth unto
Thee, when the Sacrifice of our ransom was offered for her, when now the
corpse was by the grave’s side, as the manner there is, previous to its
being laid therein, did I weep even during those prayers; yet was I the
whole day in secret heavily sad, and with troubled mind prayed Thee, as I
could, to heal my sorrow, yet Thou didst not; impressing, I believe, upon
my memory by this one instance, how strong is the bond of all habit, even
upon a soul, which now feeds upon no deceiving Word. It seemed also good
to me to go and bathe, having heard that the bath had its name (balneum)
from the Greek Balaneion for that it drives sadness from the mind. And
this also I confess unto Thy mercy, Father of the fatherless, that I
bathed, and was the same as before I bathed. For the bitterness of sorrow
could not exude out of my heart. Then I slept, and woke up again, and
found my grief not a little softened; and as I was alone in my bed, I
remembered those true verses of Thy Ambrose. For Thou art the

“Maker of all, the Lord,
    And Ruler of the height,
Who, robing day in light, hast poured
    Soft slumbers o’er the night,
That to our limbs the power
    Of toil may be renew’d,
And hearts be rais’d that sink and cower,
    And sorrows be subdu’d.”

And then by little and little I recovered my former thoughts of Thy
handmaid, her holy conversation towards Thee, her holy tenderness and
observance towards us, whereof I was suddenly deprived: and I was minded
to weep in Thy sight, for her and for myself, in her behalf and in my own.
And I gave way to the tears which I before restrained, to overflow as much
as they desired; reposing my heart upon them; and it found rest in them,
for it was in Thy ears, not in those of man, who would have scornfully
interpreted my weeping. And now, Lord, in writing I confess it unto Thee.
Read it, who will, and interpret it, how he will: and if he finds sin
therein, that I wept my mother for a small portion of an hour (the mother
who for the time was dead to mine eyes, who had for many years wept for me
that I might live in Thine eyes), let him not deride me; but rather, if he
be one of large charity, let him weep himself for my sins unto Thee, the
Father of all the brethren of Thy Christ.

But now, with a heart cured of that wound, wherein it might seem
blameworthy for an earthly feeling, I pour out unto Thee, our God, in
behalf of that Thy handmaid, a far different kind of tears, flowing from a
spirit shaken by the thoughts of the dangers of every soul that dieth in
Adam. And although she having been quickened in Christ, even before her
release from the flesh, had lived to the praise of Thy name for her faith
and conversation; yet dare I not say that from what time Thou
regeneratedst her by baptism, no word issued from her mouth against Thy
Commandment. Thy Son, the Truth, hath said, Whosoever shall say unto his
brother, Thou fool, shall be in danger of hell fire. And woe be even unto
the commendable life of men, if, laying aside mercy, Thou shouldest
examine it. But because Thou art not extreme in enquiring after sins, we
confidently hope to find some place with Thee. But whosoever reckons up
his real merits to Thee, what reckons he up to Thee but Thine own gifts? O
that men would know themselves to be men; and that he that glorieth would
glory in the Lord.

I therefore, O my Praise and my Life, God of my heart, laying aside for a
while her good deeds, for which I give thanks to Thee with joy, do now
beseech Thee for the sins of my mother. Hearken unto me, I entreat Thee,
by the Medicine of our wounds, Who hung upon the tree, and now sitting at
Thy right hand maketh intercession to Thee for us. I know that she dealt
mercifully, and from her heart forgave her debtors their debts; do Thou
also forgive her debts, whatever she may have contracted in so many years,
since the water of salvation. Forgive her, Lord, forgive, I beseech Thee;
enter not into judgment with her. Let Thy mercy be exalted above Thy
justice, since Thy words are true, and Thou hast promised mercy unto the
merciful; which Thou gavest them to be, who wilt have mercy on whom Thou
wilt have mercy; and wilt have compassion on whom Thou hast had
compassion.

And, I believe, Thou hast already done what I ask; but accept, O Lord, the
free-will offerings of my mouth. For she, the day of her dissolution now
at hand, took no thought to have her body sumptuously wound up, or
embalmed with spices; nor desired she a choice monument, or to be buried
in her own land. These things she enjoined us not; but desired only to
have her name commemorated at Thy Altar, which she had served without
intermission of one day: whence she knew the holy Sacrifice to be
dispensed, by which the hand-writing that was against us is blotted out;
through which the enemy was triumphed over, who summing up our offences,
and seeking what to lay to our charge, found nothing in Him, in Whom we
conquer. Who shall restore to Him the innocent blood? Who repay Him the
price wherewith He bought us, and so take us from Him? Unto the Sacrament
of which our ransom, Thy handmaid bound her soul by the bond of faith. Let
none sever her from Thy protection: let neither the lion nor the dragon
interpose himself by force or fraud. For she will not answer that she owes
nothing, lest she be convicted and seized by the crafty accuser: but she
will answer that her sins are forgiven her by Him, to Whom none can repay
that price which He, Who owed nothing, paid for us.

May she rest then in peace with the husband before and after whom she had
never any; whom she obeyed, with patience bringing forth fruit unto Thee,
that she might win him also unto Thee. And inspire, O Lord my God, inspire
Thy servants my brethren, Thy sons my masters, whom with voice, and heart,
and pen I serve, that so many as shall read these Confessions, may at Thy
Altar remember Monnica Thy handmaid, with Patricius, her sometimes
husband, by whose bodies Thou broughtest me into this life, how I know
not. May they with devout affection remember my parents in this transitory
light, my brethren under Thee our Father in our Catholic Mother, and my
fellow-citizens in that eternal Jerusalem which Thy pilgrim people sigheth
after from their Exodus, even unto their return thither. That so my
mother’s last request of me, may through my confessions, more than through
my prayers, be, through the prayers of many, more abundantly fulfilled to
her.

BOOK X

Let me know Thee, O Lord, who knowest me: let me know Thee, as I am known.
Power of my soul, enter into it, and fit it for Thee, that Thou mayest
have and hold it without spot or wrinkle. This is my hope, therefore do I
speak; and in this hope do I rejoice, when I rejoice healthfully. Other
things of this life are the less to be sorrowed for, the more they are
sorrowed for; and the more to be sorrowed for, the less men sorrow for
them. For behold, Thou lovest the truth, and he that doth it, cometh to
the light. This would I do in my heart before Thee in confession: and in
my writing, before many witnesses.

And from Thee, O Lord, unto whose eyes the abyss of man’s conscience is
naked, what could be hidden in me though I would not confess it? For I
should hide Thee from me, not me from Thee. But now, for that my groaning
is witness, that I am displeased with myself, Thou shinest out, and art
pleasing, and beloved, and longed for; that I may be ashamed of myself,
and renounce myself, and choose Thee, and neither please Thee nor myself,
but in Thee. To Thee therefore, O Lord, am I open, whatever I am; and with
what fruit I confess unto Thee, I have said. Nor do I it with words and
sounds of the flesh, but with the words of my soul, and the cry of the
thought which Thy ear knoweth. For when I am evil, then to confess to Thee
is nothing else than to be displeased with myself; but when holy, nothing
else than not to ascribe it to myself: because Thou, O Lord, blessest the
godly, but first Thou justifieth him when ungodly. My confession then, O
my God, in Thy sight, is made silently, and not silently. For in sound, it
is silent; in affection, it cries aloud. For neither do I utter any thing
right unto men, which Thou hast not before heard from me; nor dost Thou
hear any such thing from me, which Thou hast not first said unto me.

What then have I to do with men, that they should hear my confessions—as
if they could heal all my infirmities—a race, curious to know the
lives of others, slothful to amend their own? Why seek they to hear from
me what I am; who will not hear from Thee what themselves are? And how
know they, when from myself they hear of myself, whether I say true;
seeing no man knows what is in man, but the spirit of man which is in him?
But if they hear from Thee of themselves, they cannot say, “The Lord
lieth.” For what is it to hear from Thee of themselves, but to know
themselves? and who knoweth and saith, “It is false,” unless himself
lieth? But because charity believeth all things (that is, among those whom
knitting unto itself it maketh one), I also, O Lord, will in such wise
confess unto Thee, that men may hear, to whom I cannot demonstrate whether
I confess truly; yet they believe me, whose ears charity openeth unto me.

But do Thou, my inmost Physician, make plain unto me what fruit I may reap
by doing it. For the confessions of my past sins, which Thou hast forgiven
and covered, that Thou mightest bless me in Thee, changing my soul by
Faith and Thy Sacrament, when read and heard, stir up the heart, that it
sleep not in despair and say “I cannot,” but awake in the love of Thy
mercy and the sweetness of Thy grace, whereby whoso is weak, is strong,
when by it he became conscious of his own weakness. And the good delight
to hear of the past evils of such as are now freed from them, not because
they are evils, but because they have been and are not. With what fruit
then, O Lord my God, to Whom my conscience daily confesseth, trusting more
in the hope of Thy mercy than in her own innocency, with what fruit, I
pray, do I by this book confess to men also in Thy presence what I now am,
not what I have been? For that other fruit I have seen and spoken of. But
what I now am, at the very time of making these confessions, divers desire
to know, who have or have not known me, who have heard from me or of me;
but their ear is not at my heart where I am, whatever I am. They wish then
to hear me confess what I am within; whither neither their eye, nor ear,
nor understanding can reach; they wish it, as ready to believe—but
will they know? For charity, whereby they are good, telleth them that in
my confessions I lie not; and she in them, believeth me.

But for what fruit would they hear this? Do they desire to joy with me,
when they hear how near, by Thy gift, I approach unto Thee? and to pray
for me, when they shall hear how much I am held back by my own weight? To
such will I discover myself. For it is no mean fruit, O Lord my God, that
by many thanks should be given to Thee on our behalf, and Thou be by many
entreated for us. Let the brotherly mind love in me what Thou teachest is
to be loved, and lament in me what Thou teachest is to be lamented. Let a
brotherly, not a stranger, mind, not that of the strange children, whose
mouth talketh of vanity, and their right hand is a right hand of iniquity,
but that brotherly mind which when it approveth, rejoiceth for me, and
when it disapproveth me, is sorry for me; because whether it approveth or
disapproveth, it loveth me. To such will I discover myself: they will
breathe freely at my good deeds, sigh for my ill. My good deeds are Thine
appointments, and Thy gifts; my evil ones are my offences, and Thy
judgments. Let them breathe freely at the one, sigh at the other; and let
hymns and weeping go up into Thy sight, out of the hearts of my brethren,
Thy censers. And do Thou, O Lord, be pleased with the incense of Thy holy
temple, have mercy upon me according to Thy great mercy for Thine own
name’s sake; and no ways forsaking what Thou hast begun, perfect my
imperfections.

This is the fruit of my confessions of what I am, not of what I have been,
to confess this, not before Thee only, in a secret exultation with
trembling, and a secret sorrow with hope; but in the ears also of the
believing sons of men, sharers of my joy, and partners in my mortality, my
fellow-citizens, and fellow-pilgrims, who are gone before, or are to
follow on, companions of my way. These are Thy servants, my brethren, whom
Thou willest to be Thy sons; my masters, whom Thou commandest me to serve,
if I would live with Thee, of Thee. But this Thy Word were little did it
only command by speaking, and not go before in performing. This then I do
in deed and word, this I do under Thy wings; in over great peril, were not
my soul subdued unto Thee under Thy wings, and my infirmity known unto
Thee. I am a little one, but my Father ever liveth, and my Guardian is
sufficient for me. For He is the same who begat me, and defends me: and
Thou Thyself art all my good; Thou, Almighty, Who are with me, yea, before
I am with Thee. To such then whom Thou commandest me to serve will I
discover, not what I have been, but what I now am and what I yet am. But
neither do I judge myself. Thus therefore I would be heard.

For Thou, Lord, dost judge me: because, although no man knoweth the things
of a man, but the spirit of a man which is in him, yet is there something
of man, which neither the spirit of man that is in him, itself knoweth.
But Thou, Lord, knowest all of him, Who hast made him. Yet I, though in
Thy sight I despise myself, and account myself dust and ashes; yet know I
something of Thee, which I know not of myself. And truly, now we see
through a glass darkly, not face to face as yet. So long therefore as I be
absent from Thee, I am more present with myself than with Thee; and yet
know I Thee that Thou art in no ways passible; but I, what temptations I
can resist, what I cannot, I know not. And there is hope, because Thou art
faithful, Who wilt not suffer us to be tempted above that we are able; but
wilt with the temptation also make a way to escape, that we may be able to
bear it. I will confess then what I know of myself, I will confess also
what I know not of myself. And that because what I do know of myself, I
know by Thy shining upon me; and what I know not of myself, so long know I
not it, until my darkness be made as the noon-day in Thy countenance.

Not with doubting, but with assured consciousness, do I love Thee, Lord.
Thou hast stricken my heart with Thy word, and I loved Thee. Yea also
heaven, and earth, and all that therein is, behold, on every side they bid
me love Thee; nor cease to say so unto all, that they may be without
excuse. But more deeply wilt Thou have mercy on whom Thou wilt have mercy,
and wilt have compassion on whom Thou hast had compassion: else in deaf
ears do the heaven and the earth speak Thy praises. But what do I love,
when I love Thee? not beauty of bodies, nor the fair harmony of time, nor
the brightness of the light, so gladsome to our eyes, nor sweet melodies
of varied songs, nor the fragrant smell of flowers, and ointments, and
spices, not manna and honey, not limbs acceptable to embracements of
flesh. None of these I love, when I love my God; and yet I love a kind of
light, and melody, and fragrance, and meat, and embracement when I love my
God, the light, melody, fragrance, meat, embracement of my inner man:
where there shineth unto my soul what space cannot contain, and there
soundeth what time beareth not away, and there smelleth what breathing
disperseth not, and there tasteth what eating diminisheth not, and there
clingeth what satiety divorceth not. This is it which I love when I love
my God.

And what is this? I asked the earth, and it answered me, “I am not He”;
and whatsoever are in it confessed the same. I asked the sea and the
deeps, and the living creeping things, and they answered, “We are not thy
God, seek above us.” I asked the moving air; and the whole air with his
inhabitants answered, “Anaximenes was deceived, I am not God.” I asked the
heavens, sun, moon, stars, “Nor (say they) are we the God whom thou
seekest.” And I replied unto all the things which encompass the door of my
flesh: “Ye have told me of my God, that ye are not He; tell me something
of Him.” And they cried out with a loud voice, “He made us.” My
questioning them, was my thoughts on them: and their form of beauty gave
the answer. And I turned myself unto myself, and said to myself, “Who art
thou?” And I answered, “A man.” And behold, in me there present themselves
to me soul, and body, one without, the other within. By which of these
ought I to seek my God? I had sought Him in the body from earth to heaven,
so far as I could send messengers, the beams of mine eyes. But the better
is the inner, for to it as presiding and judging, all the bodily
messengers reported the answers of heaven and earth, and all things
therein, who said, “We are not God, but He made us.” These things did my
inner man know by the ministry of the outer: I the inner knew them; I, the
mind, through the senses of my body. I asked the whole frame of the world
about my God; and it answered me, “I am not He, but He made me.”

Is not this corporeal figure apparent to all whose senses are perfect? why
then speaks it not the same to all? Animals small and great see it, but
they cannot ask it: because no reason is set over their senses to judge on
what they report. But men can ask, so that the invisible things of God are
clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made; but by love of
them, they are made subject unto them: and subjects cannot judge. Nor yet
do the creatures answer such as ask, unless they can judge; nor yet do
they change their voice (i.e., their appearance), if one man only sees,
another seeing asks, so as to appear one way to this man, another way to
that, but appearing the same way to both, it is dumb to this, speaks to
that; yea rather it speaks to all; but they only understand, who compare
its voice received from without, with the truth within. For truth saith
unto me, “Neither heaven, nor earth, nor any other body is thy God.” This,
their very nature saith to him that seeth them: “They are a mass; a mass
is less in a part thereof than in the whole.” Now to thee I speak, O my
soul, thou art my better part: for thou quickenest the mass of my body,
giving it life, which no body can give to a body: but thy God is even unto
thee the Life of thy life.

What then do I love, when I love my God? who is He above the head of my
soul? By my very soul will I ascend to Him. I will pass beyond that power
whereby I am united to my body, and fill its whole frame with life. Nor
can I by that power find my God; for so horse and mule that have no
understanding might find Him; seeing it is the same power, whereby even
their bodies live. But another power there is, not that only whereby I
animate, but that too whereby I imbue with sense my flesh, which the Lord
hath framed for me: commanding the eye not to hear, and the ear not to
see; but the eye, that through it I should see, and the ear, that through
it I should hear; and to the other senses severally, what is to each their
own peculiar seats and offices; which, being divers, I the one mind, do
through them enact. I will pass beyond this power of mine also; for this
also have the horse, and mule, for they also perceive through the body.

I will pass then beyond this power of my nature also, rising by degrees
unto Him Who made me. And I come to the fields and spacious palaces of my
memory, where are the treasures of innumerable images, brought into it
from things of all sorts perceived by the senses. There is stored up,
whatsoever besides we think, either by enlarging or diminishing, or any
other way varying those things which the sense hath come to; and whatever
else hath been committed and laid up, which forgetfulness hath not yet
swallowed up and buried. When I enter there, I require what I will to be
brought forth, and something instantly comes; others must be longer sought
after, which are fetched, as it were, out of some inner receptacle; others
rush out in troops, and while one thing is desired and required, they
start forth, as who should say, “Is it perchance I?” These I drive away
with the hand of my heart, from the face of my remembrance; until what I
wish for be unveiled, and appear in sight, out of its secret place. Other
things come up readily, in unbroken order, as they are called for; those
in front making way for the following; and as they make way, they are
hidden from sight, ready to come when I will. All which takes place when I
repeat a thing by heart.

There are all things preserved distinctly and under general heads, each
having entered by its own avenue: as light, and all colours and forms of
bodies by the eyes; by the ears all sorts of sounds; all smells by the
avenue of the nostrils; all tastes by the mouth; and by the sensation of
the whole body, what is hard or soft; hot or cold; or rugged; heavy or
light; either outwardly or inwardly to the body. All these doth that great
harbour of the memory receive in her numberless secret and inexpressible
windings, to be forthcoming, and brought out at need; each entering in by
his own gate, and there laid up. Nor yet do the things themselves enter
in; only the images of the things perceived are there in readiness, for
thought to recall. Which images, how they are formed, who can tell, though
it doth plainly appear by which sense each hath been brought in and stored
up? For even while I dwell in darkness and silence, in my memory I can
produce colours, if I will, and discern betwixt black and white, and what
others I will: nor yet do sounds break in and disturb the image drawn in
by my eyes, which I am reviewing, though they also are there, lying
dormant, and laid up, as it were, apart. For these too I call for, and
forthwith they appear. And though my tongue be still, and my throat mute,
so can I sing as much as I will; nor do those images of colours, which
notwithstanding be there, intrude themselves and interrupt, when another
store is called for, which flowed in by the ears. So the other things,
piled in and up by the other senses, I recall at my pleasure. Yea, I
discern the breath of lilies from violets, though smelling nothing; and I
prefer honey to sweet wine, smooth before rugged, at the time neither
tasting nor handling, but remembering only.

These things do I within, in that vast court of my memory. For there are
present with me, heaven, earth, sea, and whatever I could think on
therein, besides what I have forgotten. There also meet I with myself, and
recall myself, and when, where, and what I have done, and under what
feelings. There be all which I remember, either on my own experience, or
other’s credit. Out of the same store do I myself with the past
continually combine fresh and fresh likenesses of things which I have
experienced, or, from what I have experienced, have believed: and thence
again infer future actions, events and hopes, and all these again I
reflect on, as present. “I will do this or that,” say I to myself, in that
great receptacle of my mind, stored with the images of things so many and
so great, “and this or that will follow.” “O that this or that might be!”
“God avert this or that!” So speak I to myself: and when I speak, the
images of all I speak of are present, out of the same treasury of memory;
nor would I speak of any thereof, were the images wanting.

Great is this force of memory, excessive great, O my God; a large and
boundless chamber! who ever sounded the bottom thereof? yet is this a
power of mine, and belongs unto my nature; nor do I myself comprehend all
that I am. Therefore is the mind too strait to contain itself. And where
should that be, which it containeth not of itself? Is it without it, and
not within? how then doth it not comprehend itself? A wonderful admiration
surprises me, amazement seizes me upon this. And men go abroad to admire
the heights of mountains, the mighty billows of the sea, the broad tides
of rivers, the compass of the ocean, and the circuits of the stars, and
pass themselves by; nor wonder that when I spake of all these things, I
did not see them with mine eyes, yet could not have spoken of them, unless
I then actually saw the mountains, billows, rivers, stars which I had
seen, and that ocean which I believe to be, inwardly in my memory, and
that, with the same vast spaces between, as if I saw them abroad. Yet did
not I by seeing draw them into myself, when with mine eyes I beheld them;
nor are they themselves with me, but their images only. And I know by what
sense of the body each was impressed upon me.

Yet not these alone does the unmeasurable capacity of my memory retain.
Here also is all, learnt of the liberal sciences and as yet unforgotten;
removed as it were to some inner place, which is yet no place: nor are
they the images thereof, but the things themselves. For, what is
literature, what the art of disputing, how many kinds of questions there
be, whatsoever of these I know, in such manner exists in my memory, as
that I have not taken in the image, and left out the thing, or that it
should have sounded and passed away like a voice fixed on the ear by that
impress, whereby it might be recalled, as if it sounded, when it no longer
sounded; or as a smell while it passes and evaporates into air affects the
sense of smell, whence it conveys into the memory an image of itself,
which remembering, we renew, or as meat, which verily in the belly hath
now no taste, and yet in the memory still in a manner tasteth; or as any
thing which the body by touch perceiveth, and which when removed from us,
the memory still conceives. For those things are not transmitted into the
memory, but their images only are with an admirable swiftness caught up,
and stored as it were in wondrous cabinets, and thence wonderfully by the
act of remembering, brought forth.

But now when I hear that there be three kinds of questions, “Whether the
thing be? what it is? of what kind it is?” I do indeed hold the images of
the sounds of which those words be composed, and that those sounds, with a
noise passed through the air, and now are not. But the things themselves
which are signified by those sounds, I never reached with any sense of my
body, nor ever discerned them otherwise than in my mind; yet in my memory
have I laid up not their images, but themselves. Which how they entered
into me, let them say if they can; for I have gone over all the avenues of
my flesh, but cannot find by which they entered. For the eyes say, “If
those images were coloured, we reported of them.” The ears say, “If they
sound, we gave knowledge of them.” The nostrils say, “If they smell, they
passed by us.” The taste says, “Unless they have a savour, ask me not.”
The touch says, “If it have not size, I handled it not; if I handled it
not, I gave no notice of it.” Whence and how entered these things into my
memory? I know not how. For when I learned them, I gave not credit to
another man’s mind, but recognised them in mine; and approving them for
true, I commended them to it, laying them up as it were, whence I might
bring them forth when I willed. In my heart then they were, even before I
learned them, but in my memory they were not. Where then? or wherefore,
when they were spoken, did I acknowledge them, and said, “So is it, it is
true,” unless that they were already in the memory, but so thrown back and
buried as it were in deeper recesses, that had not the suggestion of
another drawn them forth I had perchance been unable to conceive of them?

Wherefore we find, that to learn these things whereof we imbibe not the
images by our senses, but perceive within by themselves, without images,
as they are, is nothing else, but by conception, to receive, and by
marking to take heed that those things which the memory did before contain
at random and unarranged, be laid up at hand as it were in that same
memory where before they lay unknown, scattered and neglected, and so
readily occur to the mind familiarised to them. And how many things of
this kind does my memory bear which have been already found out, and as I
said, placed as it were at hand, which we are said to have learned and
come to know which were I for some short space of time to cease to call to
mind, they are again so buried, and glide back, as it were, into the
deeper recesses, that they must again, as if new, be thought out thence,
for other abode they have none: but they must be drawn together again,
that they may be known; that is to say, they must as it were be collected
together from their dispersion: whence the word “cogitation” is derived.
For cogo (collect) and cogito (re-collect) have the same relation to each
other as ago and agito, facio and factito. But the mind hath appropriated
to itself this word (cogitation), so that, not what is “collected” any
how, but what is “recollected,” i.e., brought together, in the mind, is
properly said to be cogitated, or thought upon.

The memory containeth also reasons and laws innumerable of numbers and
dimensions, none of which hath any bodily sense impressed; seeing they
have neither colour, nor sound, nor taste, nor smell, nor touch. I have
heard the sound of the words whereby when discussed they are denoted: but
the sounds are other than the things. For the sounds are other in Greek
than in Latin; but the things are neither Greek, nor Latin, nor any other
language. I have seen the lines of architects, the very finest, like a
spider’s thread; but those are still different, they are not the images of
those lines which the eye of flesh showed me: he knoweth them, whosoever
without any conception whatsoever of a body, recognises them within
himself. I have perceived also the numbers of the things with which we
number all the senses of my body; but those numbers wherewith we number
are different, nor are they the images of these, and therefore they indeed
are. Let him who seeth them not, deride me for saying these things, and I
will pity him, while he derides me.

All these things I remember, and how I learnt them I remember. Many things
also most falsely objected against them have I heard, and remember; which
though they be false, yet is it not false that I remember them; and I
remember also that I have discerned betwixt those truths and these
falsehoods objected to them. And I perceive that the present discerning of
these things is different from remembering that I oftentimes discerned
them, when I often thought upon them. I both remember then to have often
understood these things; and what I now discern and understand, I lay up
in my memory, that hereafter I may remember that I understand it now. So
then I remember also to have remembered; as if hereafter I shall call to
remembrance, that I have now been able to remember these things, by the
force of memory shall I call it to remembrance.

The same memory contains also the affections of my mind, not in the same
manner that my mind itself contains them, when it feels them; but far
otherwise, according to a power of its own. For without rejoicing I
remember myself to have joyed; and without sorrow do I recollect my past
sorrow. And that I once feared, I review without fear; and without desire
call to mind a past desire. Sometimes, on the contrary, with joy do I
remember my fore-past sorrow, and with sorrow, joy. Which is not
wonderful, as to the body; for mind is one thing, body another. If I
therefore with joy remember some past pain of body, it is not so
wonderful. But now seeing this very memory itself is mind (for when we
give a thing in charge, to be kept in memory, we say, “See that you keep
it in mind”; and when we forget, we say, “It did not come to my mind,”
and, “It slipped out of my mind,” calling the memory itself the mind);
this being so, how is it that when with joy I remember my past sorrow, the
mind hath joy, the memory hath sorrow; the mind upon the joyfulness which
is in it, is joyful, yet the memory upon the sadness which is in it, is
not sad? Does the memory perchance not belong to the mind? Who will say
so? The memory then is, as it were, the belly of the mind, and joy and
sadness, like sweet and bitter food; which, when committed to the memory,
are as it were passed into the belly, where they may be stowed, but cannot
taste. Ridiculous it is to imagine these to be alike; and yet are they not
utterly unlike.

But, behold, out of my memory I bring it, when I say there be four
perturbations of the mind, desire, joy, fear, sorrow; and whatsoever I can
dispute thereon, by dividing each into its subordinate species, and by
defining it, in my memory find I what to say, and thence do I bring it:
yet am I not disturbed by any of these perturbations, when by calling them
to mind, I remember them; yea, and before I recalled and brought them
back, they were there; and therefore could they, by recollection, thence
be brought. Perchance, then, as meat is by chewing the cud brought up out
of the belly, so by recollection these out of the memory. Why then does
not the disputer, thus recollecting, taste in the mouth of his musing the
sweetness of joy, or the bitterness of sorrow? Is the comparison unlike in
this, because not in all respects like? For who would willingly speak
thereof, if so oft as we name grief or fear, we should be compelled to be
sad or fearful? And yet could we not speak of them, did we not find in our
memory, not only the sounds of the names according to the images impressed
by the senses of the body, but notions of the very things themselves which
we never received by any avenue of the body, but which the mind itself
perceiving by the experience of its own passions, committed to the memory,
or the memory of itself retained, without being committed unto it.

But whether by images or no, who can readily say? Thus, I name a stone, I
name the sun, the things themselves not being present to my senses, but
their images to my memory. I name a bodily pain, yet it is not present
with me, when nothing aches: yet unless its image were present to my
memory, I should not know what to say thereof, nor in discoursing discern
pain from pleasure. I name bodily health; being sound in body, the thing
itself is present with me; yet, unless its image also were present in my
memory, I could by no means recall what the sound of this name should
signify. Nor would the sick, when health were named, recognise what were
spoken, unless the same image were by the force of memory retained,
although the thing itself were absent from the body. I name numbers
whereby we number; and not their images, but themselves are present in my
memory. I name the image of the sun, and that image is present in my
memory. For I recall not the image of its image, but the image itself is
present to me, calling it to mind. I name memory, and I recognise what I
name. And where do I recognise it, but in the memory itself? Is it also
present to itself by its image, and not by itself?

What, when I name forgetfulness, and withal recognise what I name? whence
should I recognise it, did I not remember it? I speak not of the sound of
the name, but of the thing which it signifies: which if I had forgotten, I
could not recognise what that sound signifies. When then I remember
memory, memory itself is, through itself, present with itself: but when I
remember forgetfulness, there are present both memory and forgetfulness;
memory whereby I remember, forgetfulness which I remember. But what is
forgetfulness, but the privation of memory? How then is it present that I
remember it, since when present I cannot remember? But if what we remember
we hold it in memory, yet, unless we did remember forgetfulness, we could
never at the hearing of the name recognise the thing thereby signified,
then forgetfulness is retained by memory. Present then it is, that we
forget not, and being so, we forget. It is to be understood from this that
forgetfulness when we remember it, is not present to the memory by itself
but by its image: because if it were present by itself, it would not cause
us to remember, but to forget. Who now shall search out this? who shall
comprehend how it is?

Lord, I, truly, toil therein, yea and toil in myself; I am become a heavy
soil requiring over much sweat of the brow. For we are not now searching
out the regions of heaven, or measuring the distances of the stars, or
enquiring the balancings of the earth. It is I myself who remember, I the
mind. It is not so wonderful, if what I myself am not, be far from me. But
what is nearer to me than myself? And lo, the force of mine own memory is
not understood by me; though I cannot so much as name myself without it.
For what shall I say, when it is clear to me that I remember
forgetfulness? Shall I say that that is not in my memory, which I
remember? or shall I say that forgetfulness is for this purpose in my
memory, that I might not forget? Both were most absurd. What third way is
there? How can I say that the image of forgetfulness is retained by my
memory, not forgetfulness itself, when I remember it? How could I say this
either, seeing that when the image of any thing is impressed on the
memory, the thing itself must needs be first present, whence that image
may be impressed? For thus do I remember Carthage, thus all places where I
have been, thus men’s faces whom I have seen, and things reported by the
other senses; thus the health or sickness of the body. For when these
things were present, my memory received from them images, which being
present with me, I might look on and bring back in my mind, when I
remembered them in their absence. If then this forgetfulness is retained
in the memory through its image, not through itself, then plainly itself
was once present, that its image might be taken. But when it was present,
how did it write its image in the memory, seeing that forgetfulness by its
presence effaces even what it finds already noted? And yet, in whatever
way, although that way be past conceiving and explaining, yet certain am I
that I remember forgetfulness itself also, whereby what we remember is
effaced.

Great is the power of memory, a fearful thing, O my God, a deep and
boundless manifoldness; and this thing is the mind, and this am I myself.
What am I then, O my God? What nature am I? A life various and manifold,
and exceeding immense. Behold in the plains, and caves, and caverns of my
memory, innumerable and innumerably full of innumerable kinds of things,
either through images, as all bodies; or by actual presence, as the arts;
or by certain notions or impressions, as the affections of the mind,
which, even when the mind doth not feel, the memory retaineth, while yet
whatsoever is in the memory is also in the mind—over all these do I
run, I fly; I dive on this side and on that, as far as I can, and there is
no end. So great is the force of memory, so great the force of life, even
in the mortal life of man. What shall I do then, O Thou my true life, my
God? I will pass even beyond this power of mine which is called memory:
yea, I will pass beyond it, that I may approach unto Thee, O sweet Light.
What sayest Thou to me? See, I am mounting up through my mind towards Thee
who abidest above me. Yea, I now will pass beyond this power of mine which
is called memory, desirous to arrive at Thee, whence Thou mayest be
arrived at; and to cleave unto Thee, whence one may cleave unto Thee. For
even beasts and birds have memory; else could they not return to their
dens and nests, nor many other things they are used unto: nor indeed could
they be used to any thing, but by memory. I will pass then beyond memory
also, that I may arrive at Him who hath separated me from the four-footed
beasts and made me wiser than the fowls of the air, I will pass beyond
memory also, and where shall I find Thee, Thou truly good and certain
sweetness? And where shall I find Thee? If I find Thee without my memory,
then do I not retain Thee in my memory. And how shall I find Thee, if I
remember Thee not?

For the woman that had lost her groat, and sought it with a light; unless
she had remembered it, she had never found it. For when it was found,
whence should she know whether it were the same, unless she remembered it?
I remember to have sought and found many a thing; and this I thereby know,
that when I was seeking any of them, and was asked, “Is this it?” “Is that
it?” so long said I “No,” until that were offered me which I sought. Which
had I not remembered (whatever it were) though it were offered me, yet
should I not find it, because I could not recognise it. And so it ever is,
when we seek and find any lost thing. Notwithstanding, when any thing is
by chance lost from the sight, not from the memory (as any visible body),
yet its image is still retained within, and it is sought until it be
restored to sight; and when it is found, it is recognised by the image
which is within: nor do we say that we have found what was lost, unless we
recognise it; nor can we recognise it, unless we remember it. But this was
lost to the eyes, but retained in the memory.

But what when the memory itself loses any thing, as falls out when we
forget and seek that we may recollect? Where in the end do we search, but
in the memory itself? and there, if one thing be perchance offered instead
of another, we reject it, until what we seek meets us; and when it doth,
we say, “This is it”; which we should not unless we recognised it, nor
recognise it unless we remembered it. Certainly then we had forgotten it.
Or, had not the whole escaped us, but by the part whereof we had hold, was
the lost part sought for; in that the memory felt that it did not carry on
together all which it was wont, and maimed, as it were, by the curtailment
of its ancient habit, demanded the restoration of what it missed? For
instance, if we see or think of some one known to us, and having forgotten
his name, try to recover it; whatever else occurs, connects itself not
therewith; because it was not wont to be thought upon together with him,
and therefore is rejected, until that present itself, whereon the
knowledge reposes equably as its wonted object. And whence does that
present itself, but out of the memory itself? for even when we recognise
it, on being reminded by another, it is thence it comes. For we do not
believe it as something new, but, upon recollection, allow what was named
to be right. But were it utterly blotted out of the mind, we should not
remember it, even when reminded. For we have not as yet utterly forgotten
that, which we remember ourselves to have forgotten. What then we have
utterly forgotten, though lost, we cannot even seek after.

How then do I seek Thee, O Lord? For when I seek Thee, my God, I seek a
happy life. I will seek Thee, that my soul may live. For my body liveth by
my soul; and my soul by Thee. How then do I seek a happy life, seeing I
have it not, until I can say, where I ought to say it, “It is enough”? How
seek I it? By remembrance, as though I had forgotten it, remembering that
I had forgotten it? Or, desiring to learn it as a thing unknown, either
never having known, or so forgotten it, as not even to remember that I had
forgotten it? is not a happy life what all will, and no one altogether
wills it not? where have they known it, that they so will it? where seen
it, that they so love it? Truly we have it, how, I know not. Yea, there is
another way, wherein when one hath it, then is he happy; and there are,
who are blessed, in hope. These have it in a lower kind, than they who
have it in very deed; yet are they better off than such as are happy
neither in deed nor in hope. Yet even these, had they it not in some sort,
would not so will to be happy, which that they do will, is most certain.
They have known it then, I know not how, and so have it by some sort of
knowledge, what, I know not, and am perplexed whether it be in the memory,
which if it be, then we have been happy once; whether all severally, or in
that man who first sinned, in whom also we all died, and from whom we are
all born with misery, I now enquire not; but only, whether the happy life
be in the memory? For neither should we love it, did we not know it. We
hear the name, and we all confess that we desire the thing; for we are not
delighted with the mere sound. For when a Greek hears it in Latin, he is
not delighted, not knowing what is spoken; but we Latins are delighted, as
would he too, if he heard it in Greek; because the thing itself is neither
Greek nor Latin, which Greeks and Latins, and men of all other tongues,
long for so earnestly. Known therefore it is to all, for they with one
voice be asked, “would they be happy?” they would answer without doubt,
“they would.” And this could not be, unless the thing itself whereof it is
the name were retained in their memory.

But is it so, as one remembers Carthage who hath seen it? No. For a happy
life is not seen with the eye, because it is not a body. As we remember
numbers then? No. For these, he that hath in his knowledge, seeks not
further to attain unto; but a happy life we have in our knowledge, and
therefore love it, and yet still desire to attain it, that we may be
happy. As we remember eloquence then? No. For although upon hearing this
name also, some call to mind the thing, who still are not yet eloquent,
and many who desire to be so, whence it appears that it is in their
knowledge; yet these have by their bodily senses observed others to be
eloquent, and been delighted, and desire to be the like (though indeed
they would not be delighted but for some inward knowledge thereof, nor
wish to be the like, unless they were thus delighted); whereas a happy
life, we do by no bodily sense experience in others. As then we remember
joy? Perchance; for my joy I remember, even when sad, as a happy life,
when unhappy; nor did I ever with bodily sense see, hear, smell, taste, or
touch my joy; but I experienced it in my mind, when I rejoiced; and the
knowledge of it clave to my memory, so that I can recall it with disgust
sometimes, at others with longing, according to the nature of the things,
wherein I remember myself to have joyed. For even from foul things have I
been immersed in a sort of joy; which now recalling, I detest and
execrate; otherwhiles in good and honest things, which I recall with
longing, although perchance no longer present; and therefore with sadness
I recall former joy.

Where then and when did I experience my happy life, that I should
remember, and love, and long for it? Nor is it I alone, or some few
besides, but we all would fain be happy; which, unless by some certain
knowledge we knew, we should not with so certain a will desire. But how is
this, that if two men be asked whether they would go to the wars, one,
perchance, would answer that he would, the other, that he would not; but
if they were asked whether they would be happy, both would instantly
without any doubting say they would; and for no other reason would the one
go to the wars, and the other not, but to be happy. Is it perchance that
as one looks for his joy in this thing, another in that, all agree in
their desire of being happy, as they would (if they were asked) that they
wished to have joy, and this joy they call a happy life? Although then one
obtains this joy by one means, another by another, all have one end, which
they strive to attain, namely, joy. Which being a thing which all must say
they have experienced, it is therefore found in the memory, and recognised
whenever the name of a happy life is mentioned.

Far be it, Lord, far be it from the heart of Thy servant who here
confesseth unto Thee, far be it, that, be the joy what it may, I should
therefore think myself happy. For there is a joy which is not given to the
ungodly, but to those who love Thee for Thine own sake, whose joy Thou
Thyself art. And this is the happy life, to rejoice to Thee, of Thee, for
Thee; this is it, and there is no other. For they who think there is
another, pursue some other and not the true joy. Yet is not their will
turned away from some semblance of joy.

It is not certain then that all wish to be happy, inasmuch as they who
wish not to joy in Thee, which is the only happy life, do not truly desire
the happy life. Or do all men desire this, but because the flesh lusteth
against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh, that they cannot do
what they would, they fall upon that which they can, and are content
therewith; because, what they are not able to do, they do not will so
strongly as would suffice to make them able? For I ask any one, had he
rather joy in truth, or in falsehood? They will as little hesitate to say
“in the truth,” as to say “that they desire to be happy,” for a happy life
is joy in the truth: for this is a joying in Thee, Who art the Truth, O
God my light, health of my countenance, my God. This is the happy life
which all desire; this life which alone is happy, all desire; to joy in
the truth all desire. I have met with many that would deceive; who would
be deceived, no one. Where then did they know this happy life, save where
they know the truth also? For they love it also, since they would not be
deceived. And when they love a happy life, which is no other than joying
in the truth, then also do they love the truth; which yet they would not
love, were there not some notice of it in their memory. Why then joy they
not in it? why are they not happy? because they are more strongly taken up
with other things which have more power to make them miserable, than that
which they so faintly remember to make them happy. For there is yet a
little light in men; let them walk, let them walk, that the darkness
overtake them not.

But why doth “truth generate hatred,” and the man of Thine, preaching the
truth, become an enemy to them? whereas a happy life is loved, which is
nothing else but joying in the truth; unless that truth is in that kind
loved, that they who love anything else would gladly have that which they
love to be the truth: and because they would not be deceived, would not be
convinced that they are so? Therefore do they hate the truth for that
thing’s sake which they loved instead of the truth. They love truth when
she enlightens, they hate her when she reproves. For since they would not
be deceived, and would deceive, they love her when she discovers herself
unto them, and hate her when she discovers them. Whence she shall so repay
them, that they who would not be made manifest by her, she both against
their will makes manifest, and herself becometh not manifest unto them.
Thus, thus, yea thus doth the mind of man, thus blind and sick, foul and
ill-favoured, wish to be hidden, but that aught should be hidden from it,
it wills not. But the contrary is requited it, that itself should not be
hidden from the Truth; but the Truth is hid from it. Yet even thus
miserable, it had rather joy in truths than in falsehoods. Happy then will
it be, when, no distraction interposing, it shall joy in that only Truth,
by Whom all things are true.

See what a space I have gone over in my memory seeking Thee, O Lord; and I
have not found Thee, without it. Nor have I found any thing concerning
Thee, but what I have kept in memory, ever since I learnt Thee. For since
I learnt Thee, I have not forgotten Thee. For where I found Truth, there
found I my God, the Truth itself; which since I learnt, I have not
forgotten. Since then I learnt Thee, Thou residest in my memory; and there
do I find Thee, when I call Thee to remembrance, and delight in Thee.
These be my holy delights, which Thou hast given me in Thy mercy, having
regard to my poverty.

But where in my memory residest Thou, O Lord, where residest Thou there?
what manner of lodging hast Thou framed for Thee? what manner of sanctuary
hast Thou builded for Thee? Thou hast given this honour to my memory, to
reside in it; but in what quarter of it Thou residest, that am I
considering. For in thinking on Thee, I passed beyond such parts of it as
the beasts also have, for I found Thee not there among the images of
corporeal things: and I came to those parts to which I committed the
affections of my mind, nor found Thee there. And I entered into the very
seat of my mind (which it hath in my memory, inasmuch as the mind
remembers itself also), neither wert Thou there: for as Thou art not a
corporeal image, nor the affection of a living being (as when we rejoice,
condole, desire, fear, remember, forget, or the like); so neither art Thou
the mind itself; because Thou art the Lord God of the mind; and all these
are changed, but Thou remainest unchangeable over all, and yet hast
vouchsafed to dwell in my memory, since I learnt Thee. And why seek I now
in what place thereof Thou dwellest, as if there were places therein? Sure
I am, that in it Thou dwellest, since I have remembered Thee ever since I
learnt Thee, and there I find Thee, when I call Thee to remembrance.

Where then did I find Thee, that I might learn Thee? For in my memory Thou
wert not, before I learned Thee. Where then did I find Thee, that I might
learn Thee, but in Thee above me? Place there is none; we go backward and
forward, and there is no place. Every where, O Truth, dost Thou give
audience to all who ask counsel of Thee, and at once answerest all, though
on manifold matters they ask Thy counsel. Clearly dost Thou answer, though
all do not clearly hear. All consult Thee on what they will, though they
hear not always what they will. He is Thy best servant who looks not so
much to hear that from Thee which himself willeth, as rather to will that,
which from Thee he heareth.

Too late loved I Thee, O Thou Beauty of ancient days, yet ever new! too
late I loved Thee! And behold, Thou wert within, and I abroad, and there I
searched for Thee; deformed I, plunging amid those fair forms which Thou
hadst made. Thou wert with me, but I was not with Thee. Things held me far
from Thee, which, unless they were in Thee, were not at all. Thou
calledst, and shoutedst, and burstest my deafness. Thou flashedst,
shonest, and scatteredst my blindness. Thou breathedst odours, and I drew
in breath and panted for Thee. I tasted, and hunger and thirst. Thou
touchedst me, and I burned for Thy peace.

When I shall with my whole self cleave to Thee, I shall no where have
sorrow or labour; and my life shall wholly live, as wholly full of Thee.
But now since whom Thou fillest, Thou liftest up, because I am not full of
Thee I am a burden to myself. Lamentable joys strive with joyous sorrows:
and on which side is the victory, I know not. Woe is me! Lord, have pity
on me. My evil sorrows strive with my good joys; and on which side is the
victory, I know not. Woe is me! Lord, have pity on me. Woe is me! lo! I
hide not my wounds; Thou art the Physician, I the sick; Thou merciful, I
miserable. Is not the life of man upon earth all trial? Who wishes for
troubles and difficulties? Thou commandest them to be endured, not to be
loved. No man loves what he endures, though he love to endure. For though
he rejoices that he endures, he had rather there were nothing for him to
endure. In adversity I long for prosperity, in prosperity I fear
adversity. What middle place is there betwixt these two, where the life of
man is not all trial? Woe to the prosperities of the world, once and
again, through fear of adversity, and corruption of joy! Woe to the
adversities of the world, once and again, and the third time, from the
longing for prosperity, and because adversity itself is a hard thing, and
lest it shatter endurance. Is not the life of man upon earth all trial:
without any interval?

And all my hope is no where but in Thy exceeding great mercy. Give what
Thou enjoinest, and enjoin what Thou wilt. Thou enjoinest us continency;
and when I knew, saith one, that no man can be continent, unless God give
it, this also was a part of wisdom to know whose gift she is. By
continency verily are we bound up and brought back into One, whence we
were dissipated into many. For too little doth he love Thee, who loves any
thing with Thee, which he loveth not for Thee. O love, who ever burnest
and never consumest! O charity, my God, kindle me. Thou enjoinest
continency: give me what Thou enjoinest, and enjoin what Thou wilt.

Verily Thou enjoinest me continency from the lust of the flesh, the lust
of the eyes, and the ambition of the world. Thou enjoinest continency from
concubinage; and for wedlock itself, Thou hast counselled something better
than what Thou hast permitted. And since Thou gavest it, it was done, even
before I became a dispenser of Thy Sacrament. But there yet live in my
memory (whereof I have much spoken) the images of such things as my ill
custom there fixed; which haunt me, strengthless when I am awake: but in
sleep, not only so as to give pleasure, but even to obtain assent, and
what is very like reality. Yea, so far prevails the illusion of the image,
in my soul and in my flesh, that, when asleep, false visions persuade to
that which when waking, the true cannot. Am I not then myself, O Lord my
God? And yet there is so much difference betwixt myself and myself, within
that moment wherein I pass from waking to sleeping, or return from
sleeping to waking! Where is reason then, which, awake, resisteth such
suggestions? And should the things themselves be urged on it, it remaineth
unshaken. Is it clasped up with the eyes? is it lulled asleep with the
senses of the body? And whence is it that often even in sleep we resist,
and mindful of our purpose, and abiding most chastely in it, yield no
assent to such enticements? And yet so much difference there is, that when
it happeneth otherwise, upon waking we return to peace of conscience: and
by this very difference discover that we did not, what yet we be sorry
that in some way it was done in us.

Art Thou not mighty, God Almighty, so as to heal all the diseases of my
soul, and by Thy more abundant grace to quench even the impure motions of
my sleep! Thou wilt increase, Lord, Thy gifts more and more in me, that my
soul may follow me to Thee, disentangled from the birdlime of
concupiscence; that it rebel not against itself, and even in dreams not
only not, through images of sense, commit those debasing corruptions, even
to pollution of the flesh, but not even to consent unto them. For that
nothing of this sort should have, over the pure affections even of a
sleeper, the very least influence, not even such as a thought would
restrain,—to work this, not only during life, but even at my present
age, is not hard for the Almighty, Who art able to do above all that we
ask or think. But what I yet am in this kind of my evil, have I confessed
unto my good Lord; rejoicing with trembling, in that which Thou hast given
me, and bemoaning that wherein I am still imperfect; hoping that Thou wilt
perfect Thy mercies in me, even to perfect peace, which my outward and
inward man shall have with Thee, when death shall be swallowed up in
victory.

There is another evil of the day, which I would were sufficient for it.
For by eating and drinking we repair the daily decays of our body, until
Thou destroy both belly and meat, when Thou shalt slay my emptiness with a
wonderful fulness, and clothe this incorruptible with an eternal
incorruption. But now the necessity is sweet unto me, against which
sweetness I fight, that I be not taken captive; and carry on a daily war
by fastings; often bringing my body into subjection; and my pains are
removed by pleasure. For hunger and thirst are in a manner pains; they
burn and kill like a fever, unless the medicine of nourishments come to
our aid. Which since it is at hand through the consolations of Thy gifts,
with which land, and water, and air serve our weakness, our calamity is
termed gratification.

This hast Thou taught me, that I should set myself to take food as physic.
But while I am passing from the discomfort of emptiness to the content of
replenishing, in the very passage the snare of concupiscence besets me.
For that passing, is pleasure, nor is there any other way to pass thither,
whither we needs must pass. And health being the cause of eating and
drinking, there joineth itself as an attendant a dangerous pleasure, which
mostly endeavours to go before it, so that I may for her sake do what I
say I do, or wish to do, for health’s sake. Nor have each the same
measure; for what is enough for health, is too little for pleasure. And
oft it is uncertain, whether it be the necessary care of the body which is
yet asking for sustenance, or whether a voluptuous deceivableness of
greediness is proffering its services. In this uncertainty the unhappy
soul rejoiceth, and therein prepares an excuse to shield itself, glad that
it appeareth not what sufficeth for the moderation of health, that under
the cloak of health, it may disguise the matter of gratification. These
temptations I daily endeavour to resist, and I call on Thy right hand, and
to Thee do I refer my perplexities; because I have as yet no settled
counsel herein.

I hear the voice of my God commanding, Let not your hearts be overcharged
with surfeiting and drunkenness. Drunkenness is far from me; Thou wilt
have mercy, that it come not near me. But full feeding sometimes creepeth
upon Thy servant; Thou wilt have mercy, that it may be far from me. For no
one can be continent unless Thou give it. Many things Thou givest us,
praying for them; and what good soever we have received before we prayed,
from Thee we received it; yea to the end we might afterwards know this,
did we before receive it. Drunkard was I never, but drunkards have I known
made sober by Thee. From Thee then it was, that they who never were such,
should not so be, as from Thee it was, that they who have been, should not
ever so be; and from Thee it was, that both might know from Whom it was. I
heard another voice of Thine, Go not after thy lusts, and from thy
pleasure turn away. Yea by Thy favour have I heard that which I have much
loved; neither if we eat, shall we abound; neither if we eat not, shall we
lack; which is to say, neither shall the one make me plenteous, nor the
other miserable. I heard also another, for I have learned in whatsoever
state I am, therewith to be content; I know how to abound, and how to
suffer need. I can do all things through Christ that strengtheneth me.
Behold a soldier of the heavenly camp, not the dust which we are. But
remember, Lord, that we are dust, and that of dust Thou hast made man; and
he was lost and is found. Nor could he of himself do this, because he whom
I so loved, saying this through the in-breathing of Thy inspiration, was
of the same dust. I can do all things (saith he) through Him that
strengtheneth me. Strengthen me, that I can. Give what Thou enjoinest, and
enjoin what Thou wilt. He confesses to have received, and when he
glorieth, in the Lord he glorieth. Another have I heard begging that he
might receive. Take from me (saith he) the desires of the belly; whence it
appeareth, O my holy God, that Thou givest, when that is done which Thou
commandest to be done.

Thou hast taught me, good Father, that to the pure, all things are pure;
but that it is evil unto the man that eateth with offence; and, that every
creature of Thine is good, and nothing to be refused, which is received
with thanksgiving; and that meat commendeth us not to God; and, that no
man should judge us in meat or drink; and, that he which eateth, let him
not despise him that eateth not; and let not him that eateth not, judge
him that eateth. These things have I learned, thanks be to Thee, praise to
Thee, my God, my Master, knocking at my ears, enlightening my heart;
deliver me out of all temptation. I fear not uncleanness of meat, but the
uncleanness of lusting. I know; that Noah was permitted to eat all kind of
flesh that was good for food; that Elijah was fed with flesh; that endued
with an admirable abstinence, was not polluted by feeding on living
creatures, locusts. I know also that Esau was deceived by lusting for
lentiles; and that David blamed himself for desiring a draught of water;
and that our King was tempted, not concerning flesh, but bread. And
therefore the people in the wilderness also deserved to be reproved, not
for desiring flesh, but because, in the desire of food, they murmured
against the Lord.

Placed then amid these temptations, I strive daily against concupiscence
in eating and drinking. For it is not of such nature that I can settle on
cutting it off once for all, and never touching it afterward, as I could
of concubinage. The bridle of the throat then is to be held attempered
between slackness and stiffness. And who is he, O Lord, who is not some
whit transported beyond the limits of necessity? whoever he is, he is a
great one; let him make Thy Name great. But I am not such, for I am a
sinful man. Yet do I too magnify Thy name; and He maketh intercession to
Thee for my sins who hath overcome the world; numbering me among the weak
members of His body; because Thine eyes have seen that of Him which is
imperfect, and in Thy book shall all be written.

With the allurements of smells, I am not much concerned. When absent, I do
not miss them; when present, I do not refuse them; yet ever ready to be
without them. So I seem to myself; perchance I am deceived. For that also
is a mournful darkness whereby my abilities within me are hidden from me;
so that my mind making enquiry into herself of her own powers, ventures
not readily to believe herself; because even what is in it is mostly
hidden, unless experience reveal it. And no one ought to be secure in that
life, the whole whereof is called a trial, that he who hath been capable
of worse to be made better, may not likewise of better be made worse. Our
only hope, only confidence, only assured promise is Thy mercy.

The delights of the ear had more firmly entangled and subdued me; but Thou
didst loosen and free me. Now, in those melodies which Thy words breathe
soul into, when sung with a sweet and attuned voice, I do a little repose;
yet not so as to be held thereby, but that I can disengage myself when I
will. But with the words which are their life and whereby they find
admission into me, themselves seek in my affections a place of some
estimation, and I can scarcely assign them one suitable. For at one time I
seem to myself to give them more honour than is seemly, feeling our minds
to be more holily and fervently raised unto a flame of devotion, by the
holy words themselves when thus sung, than when not; and that the several
affections of our spirit, by a sweet variety, have their own proper
measures in the voice and singing, by some hidden correspondence wherewith
they are stirred up. But this contentment of the flesh, to which the soul
must not be given over to be enervated, doth oft beguile me, the sense not
so waiting upon reason as patiently to follow her; but having been
admitted merely for her sake, it strives even to run before her, and lead
her. Thus in these things I unawares sin, but afterwards am aware of it.

At other times, shunning over-anxiously this very deception, I err in too
great strictness; and sometimes to that degree, as to wish the whole
melody of sweet music which is used to David’s Psalter, banished from my
ears, and the Church’s too; and that mode seems to me safer, which I
remember to have been often told me of Athanasius, Bishop of Alexandria,
who made the reader of the psalm utter it with so slight inflection of
voice, that it was nearer speaking than singing. Yet again, when I
remember the tears I shed at the Psalmody of Thy Church, in the beginning
of my recovered faith; and how at this time I am moved, not with the
singing, but with the things sung, when they are sung with a clear voice
and modulation most suitable, I acknowledge the great use of this
institution. Thus I fluctuate between peril of pleasure and approved
wholesomeness; inclined the rather (though not as pronouncing an
irrevocable opinion) to approve of the usage of singing in the church;
that so by the delight of the ears the weaker minds may rise to the
feeling of devotion. Yet when it befalls me to be more moved with the
voice than the words sung, I confess to have sinned penally, and then had
rather not hear music. See now my state; weep with me, and weep for me,
ye, whoso regulate your feelings within, as that good action ensues. For
you who do not act, these things touch not you. But Thou, O Lord my God,
hearken; behold, and see, and have mercy and heal me, Thou, in whose
presence I have become a problem to myself; and that is my infirmity.

There remains the pleasure of these eyes of my flesh, on which to make my
confessions in the hearing of the ears of Thy temple, those brotherly and
devout ears; and so to conclude the temptations of the lust of the flesh,
which yet assail me, groaning earnestly, and desiring to be clothed upon
with my house from heaven. The eyes love fair and varied forms, and bright
and soft colours. Let not these occupy my soul; let God rather occupy it,
who made these things, very good indeed, yet is He my good, not they. And
these affect me, waking, the whole day, nor is any rest given me from
them, as there is from musical, sometimes in silence, from all voices. For
this queen of colours, the light, bathing all which we behold, wherever I
am through the day, gliding by me in varied forms, soothes me when engaged
on other things, and not observing it. And so strongly doth it entwine
itself, that if it be suddenly withdrawn, it is with longing sought for,
and if absent long, saddeneth the mind.

O Thou Light, which Tobias saw, when, these eyes closed, he taught his son
the way of life; and himself went before with the feet of charity, never
swerving. Or which Isaac saw, when his fleshly eyes being heavy and closed
by old age, it was vouchsafed him, not knowingly, to bless his sons, but
by blessing to know them. Or which Jacob saw, when he also, blind through
great age, with illumined heart, in the persons of his sons shed light on
the different races of the future people, in them foresignified; and laid
his hands, mystically crossed, upon his grandchildren by Joseph, not as
their father by his outward eye corrected them, but as himself inwardly
discerned. This is the light, it is one, and all are one, who see and love
it. But that corporeal light whereof I spake, it seasoneth the life of
this world for her blind lovers, with an enticing and dangerous sweetness.
But they who know how to praise Thee for it, “O all-creating Lord,” take
it up in Thy hymns, and are not taken up with it in their sleep. Such
would I be. These seductions of the eyes I resist, lest my feet wherewith
I walk upon Thy way be ensnared; and I lift up mine invisible eyes to
Thee, that Thou wouldest pluck my feet out of the snare. Thou dost ever
and anon pluck them out, for they are ensnared. Thou ceasest not to pluck
them out, while I often entangle myself in the snares on all sides laid;
because Thou that keepest Israel shalt neither slumber nor sleep.

What innumerable toys, made by divers arts and manufactures, in our
apparel, shoes, utensils and all sorts of works, in pictures also and
divers images, and these far exceeding all necessary and moderate use and
all pious meaning, have men added to tempt their own eyes withal;
outwardly following what themselves make, inwardly forsaking Him by whom
themselves were made, and destroying that which themselves have been made!
But I, my God and my Glory, do hence also sing a hymn to Thee, and do
consecrate praise to Him who consecrateth me, because those beautiful
patterns which through men’s souls are conveyed into their cunning hands,
come from that Beauty, which is above our souls, which my soul day and
night sigheth after. But the framers and followers of the outward beauties
derive thence the rule of judging of them, but not of using them. And He
is there, though they perceive Him not, that so they might not wander, but
keep their strength for Thee, and not scatter it abroad upon pleasurable
weariness. And I, though I speak and see this, entangle my steps with
these outward beauties; but Thou pluckest me out, O Lord, Thou pluckest me
out; because Thy loving-kindness is before my eyes. For I am taken
miserably, and Thou pluckest me out mercifully; sometimes not perceiving
it, when I had but lightly lighted upon them; otherwhiles with pain,
because I had stuck fast in them.

To this is added another form of temptation more manifoldly dangerous. For
besides that concupiscence of the flesh which consisteth in the delight of
all senses and pleasures, wherein its slaves, who go far from Thee, waste
and perish, the soul hath, through the same senses of the body, a certain
vain and curious desire, veiled under the title of knowledge and learning,
not of delighting in the flesh, but of making experiments through the
flesh. The seat whereof being in the appetite of knowledge, and sight
being the sense chiefly used for attaining knowledge, it is in Divine
language called The lust of the eyes. For, to see, belongeth properly to
the eyes; yet we use this word of the other senses also, when we employ
them in seeking knowledge. For we do not say, hark how it flashes, or
smell how it glows, or taste how it shines, or feel how it gleams; for all
these are said to be seen. And yet we say not only, see how it shineth,
which the eyes alone can perceive; but also, see how it soundeth, see how
it smelleth, see how it tasteth, see how hard it is. And so the general
experience of the senses, as was said, is called The lust of the eyes,
because the office of seeing, wherein the eyes hold the prerogative, the
other senses by way of similitude take to themselves, when they make
search after any knowledge.

But by this may more evidently be discerned, wherein pleasure and wherein
curiosity is the object of the senses; for pleasure seeketh objects
beautiful, melodious, fragrant, savoury, soft; but curiosity, for trial’s
sake, the contrary as well, not for the sake of suffering annoyance, but
out of the lust of making trial and knowing them. For what pleasure hath
it, to see in a mangled carcase what will make you shudder? and yet if it
be lying near, they flock thither, to be made sad, and to turn pale. Even
in sleep they are afraid to see it. As if when awake, any one forced them
to see it, or any report of its beauty drew them thither! Thus also in the
other senses, which it were long to go through. From this disease of
curiosity are all those strange sights exhibited in the theatre. Hence men
go on to search out the hidden powers of nature (which is besides our
end), which to know profits not, and wherein men desire nothing but to
know. Hence also, if with that same end of perverted knowledge magical
arts be enquired by. Hence also in religion itself, is God tempted, when
signs and wonders are demanded of Him, not desired for any good end, but
merely to make trial of.

In this so vast wilderness, full of snares and dangers, behold many of
them I have cut off, and thrust out of my heart, as Thou hast given me, O
God of my salvation. And yet when dare I say, since so many things of this
kind buzz on all sides about our daily life—when dare I say that nothing
of this sort engages my attention, or causes in me an idle interest? True,
the theatres do not now carry me away, nor care I to know the courses of
the stars, nor did my soul ever consult ghosts departed; all sacrilegious
mysteries I detest. From Thee, O Lord my God, to whom I owe humble and
single-hearted service, by what artifices and suggestions doth the enemy
deal with me to desire some sign! But I beseech Thee by our King, and by
our pure and holy country, Jerusalem, that as any consenting thereto is
far from me, so may it ever be further and further. But when I pray Thee
for the salvation of any, my end and intention is far different. Thou
givest and wilt give me to follow Thee willingly, doing what Thou wilt.

Notwithstanding, in how many most petty and contemptible things is our
curiosity daily tempted, and how often we give way, who can recount? How
often do we begin as if we were tolerating people telling vain stories,
lest we offend the weak; then by degrees we take interest therein! I go
not now to the circus to see a dog coursing a hare; but in the field, if
passing, that coursing peradventure will distract me even from some
weighty thought, and draw me after it: not that I turn aside the body of
my beast, yet still incline my mind thither. And unless Thou, having made
me see my infirmity didst speedily admonish me either through the sight
itself by some contemplation to rise towards Thee, or altogether to
despise and pass it by, I dully stand fixed therein. What, when sitting at
home, a lizard catching flies, or a spider entangling them rushing into
her nets, oft-times takes my attention? Is the thing different, because
they are but small creatures? I go on from them to praise Thee the
wonderful Creator and Orderer of all, but this does not first draw my
attention. It is one thing to rise quickly, another not to fall. And of
such things is my life full; and my one hope is Thy wonderful great mercy.
For when our heart becomes the receptacle of such things, and is
overcharged with throngs of this abundant vanity, then are our prayers
also thereby often interrupted and distracted, and whilst in Thy presence
we direct the voice of our heart to Thine ears, this so great concern is
broken off by the rushing in of I know not what idle thoughts. Shall we
then account this also among things of slight concernment, or shall aught
bring us back to hope, save Thy complete mercy, since Thou hast begun to
change us?

And Thou knowest how far Thou hast already changed me, who first healedst
me of the lust of vindicating myself, that so Thou mightest forgive all
the rest of my iniquities, and heal all my infirmities, and redeem life
from corruption, and crown me with mercy and pity, and satisfy my desire
with good things: who didst curb my pride with Thy fear, and tame my neck
to Thy yoke. And now I bear it and it is light unto me, because so hast
Thou promised, and hast made it; and verily so it was, and I knew it not,
when I feared to take it.

But, O Lord, Thou alone Lord without pride, because Thou art the only true
Lord, who hast no lord; hath this third kind of temptation also ceased
from me, or can it cease through this whole life? To wish, namely, to be
feared and loved of men, for no other end, but that we may have a joy
therein which is no joy? A miserable life this and a foul boastfulness!
Hence especially it comes that men do neither purely love nor fear Thee.
And therefore dost Thou resist the proud, and givest grace to the humble:
yea, Thou thunderest down upon the ambitions of the world, and the
foundations of the mountains tremble. Because now certain offices of human
society make it necessary to be loved and feared of men, the adversary of
our true blessedness layeth hard at us, every where spreading his snares
of “well-done, well-done”; that greedily catching at them, we may be taken
unawares, and sever our joy from Thy truth, and set it in the
deceivingness of men; and be pleased at being loved and feared, not for
Thy sake, but in Thy stead: and thus having been made like him, he may
have them for his own, not in the bands of charity, but in the bonds of
punishment: who purposed to set his throne in the north, that dark and
chilled they might serve him, pervertedly and crookedly imitating Thee.
But we, O Lord, behold we are Thy little flock; possess us as Thine,
stretch Thy wings over us, and let us fly under them. Be Thou our glory;
let us be loved for Thee, and Thy word feared in us. Who would be praised
of men when Thou blamest, will not be defended of men when Thou judgest;
nor delivered when Thou condemnest. But when—not the sinner is
praised in the desires of his soul, nor he blessed who doth ungodlily, but—a
man is praised for some gift which Thou hast given him, and he rejoices
more at the praise for himself than that he hath the gift for which he is
praised, he also is praised, while Thou dispraisest; better is he who
praised than he who is praised. For the one took pleasure in the gift of
God in man; the other was better pleased with the gift of man, than of
God.

By these temptations we are assailed daily, O Lord; without ceasing are we
assailed. Our daily furnace is the tongue of men. And in this way also
Thou commandest us continence. Give what Thou enjoinest, and enjoin what
Thou wilt. Thou knowest on this matter the groans of my heart, and the
floods of mine eyes. For I cannot learn how far I am more cleansed from
this plague, and I much fear my secret sins, which Thine eyes know, mine
do not. For in other kinds of temptations I have some sort of means of
examining myself; in this, scarce any. For, in refraining my mind from the
pleasures of the flesh and idle curiosity, I see how much I have attained
to, when I do without them; foregoing, or not having them. For then I ask
myself how much more or less troublesome it is to me not to have them?
Then, riches, which are desired, that they may serve to some one or two or
all of the three concupiscences, if the soul cannot discern whether, when
it hath them, it despiseth them, they may be cast aside, that so it may
prove itself. But to be without praise, and therein essay our powers, must
we live ill, yea so abandonedly and atrociously, that no one should know
without detesting us? What greater madness can be said or thought of? But
if praise useth and ought to accompany a good life and good works, we
ought as little to forego its company, as good life itself. Yet I know not
whether I can well or ill be without anything, unless it be absent.

What then do I confess unto Thee in this kind of temptation, O Lord? What,
but that I am delighted with praise, but with truth itself, more than with
praise? For were it proposed to me, whether I would, being frenzied in
error on all things, be praised by all men, or being consistent and most
settled in the truth be blamed by all, I see which I should choose. Yet
fain would I that the approbation of another should not even increase my
joy for any good in me. Yet I own, it doth increase it, and not so only,
but dispraise doth diminish it. And when I am troubled at this my misery,
an excuse occurs to me, which of what value it is, Thou God knowest, for
it leaves me uncertain. For since Thou hast commanded us not continency
alone, that is, from what things to refrain our love, but righteousness
also, that is, whereon to bestow it, and hast willed us to love not Thee
only, but our neighbour also; often, when pleased with intelligent praise,
I seem to myself to be pleased with the proficiency or towardliness of my
neighbour, or to be grieved for evil in him, when I hear him dispraise
either what he understands not, or is good. For sometimes I am grieved at
my own praise, either when those things be praised in me, in which I
mislike myself, or even lesser and slight goods are more esteemed than
they ought. But again how know I whether I am therefore thus affected,
because I would not have him who praiseth me differ from me about myself;
not as being influenced by concern for him, but because those same good
things which please me in myself, please me more when they please another
also? For some how I am not praised when my judgment of myself is not
praised; forasmuch as either those things are praised, which displease me;
or those more, which please me less. Am I then doubtful of myself in this
matter?

Behold, in Thee, O Truth, I see that I ought not to be moved at my own
praises, for my own sake, but for the good of my neighbour. And whether it
be so with me, I know not. For herein I know less of myself than of Thee.
I beseech now, O my God, discover to me myself also, that I may confess
unto my brethren, who are to pray for me, wherein I find myself maimed.
Let me examine myself again more diligently. If in my praise I am moved
with the good of my neighbour, why am I less moved if another be unjustly
dispraised than if it be myself? Why am I more stung by reproach cast upon
myself, than at that cast upon another, with the same injustice, before
me? Know I not this also? or is it at last that I deceive myself, and do
not the truth before Thee in my heart and tongue? This madness put far
from me, O Lord, lest mine own mouth be to me the sinner’s oil to make fat
my head. I am poor and needy; yet best, while in hidden groanings I
displease myself, and seek Thy mercy, until what is lacking in my
defective state be renewed and perfected, on to that peace which the eye
of the proud knoweth not.

Yet the word which cometh out of the mouth, and deeds known to men, bring
with them a most dangerous temptation through the love of praise: which,
to establish a certain excellency of our own, solicits and collects men’s
suffrages. It tempts, even when it is reproved by myself in myself, on the
very ground that it is reproved; and often glories more vainly of the very
contempt of vain-glory; and so it is no longer contempt of vain-glory,
whereof it glories; for it doth not contemn when it glorieth.

Within also, within is another evil, arising out of a like temptation;
whereby men become vain, pleasing themselves in themselves, though they
please not, or displease or care not to please others. But pleasing
themselves, they much displease Thee, not only taking pleasure in things
not good, as if good, but in Thy good things, as though their own; or even
if as Thine, yet as though for their own merits; or even if as though from
Thy grace, yet not with brotherly rejoicing, but envying that grace to
others. In all these and the like perils and travails, Thou seest the
trembling of my heart; and I rather feel my wounds to be cured by Thee,
than not inflicted by me.

Where hast Thou not walked with me, O Truth, teaching me what to beware,
and what to desire; when I referred to Thee what I could discover here
below, and consulted Thee? With my outward senses, as I might, I surveyed
the world, and observed the life, which my body hath from me, and these my
senses. Thence entered I the recesses of my memory, those manifold and
spacious chambers, wonderfully furnished with innumerable stores; and I
considered, and stood aghast; being able to discern nothing of these
things without Thee, and finding none of them to be Thee. Nor was I
myself, who found out these things, who went over them all, and laboured
to distinguish and to value every thing according to its dignity, taking
some things upon the report of my senses, questioning about others which I
felt to be mingled with myself, numbering and distinguishing the reporters
themselves, and in the large treasure-house of my memory revolving some
things, storing up others, drawing out others. Nor yet was I myself when I
did this, i.e., that my power whereby I did it, neither was it Thou, for
Thou art the abiding light, which I consulted concerning all these,
whether they were, what they were, and how to be valued; and I heard Thee
directing and commanding me; and this I often do, this delights me, and as
far as I may be freed from necessary duties, unto this pleasure have I
recourse. Nor in all these which I run over consulting Thee can I find any
safe place for my soul, but in Thee; whither my scattered members may be
gathered, and nothing of me depart from Thee. And sometimes Thou admittest
me to an affection, very unusual, in my inmost soul; rising to a strange
sweetness, which if it were perfected in me, I know not what in it would
not belong to the life to come. But through my miserable encumbrances I
sink down again into these lower things, and am swept back by former
custom, and am held, and greatly weep, but am greatly held. So much doth
the burden of a bad custom weigh us down. Here I can stay, but would not;
there I would, but cannot; both ways, miserable.

Thus then have I considered the sicknesses of my sins in that threefold
concupiscence, and have called Thy right hand to my help. For with a
wounded heart have I beheld Thy brightness, and stricken back I said, “Who
can attain thither? I am cast away from the sight of Thine eyes.” Thou art
the Truth who presidest over all, but I through my covetousness would not
indeed forego Thee, but would with Thee possess a lie; as no man would in
such wise speak falsely, as himself to be ignorant of the truth. So then I
lost Thee, because Thou vouchsafest not to be possessed with a lie.

Whom could I find to reconcile me to Thee? was I to have recourse to
Angels? by what prayers? by what sacraments? Many endeavouring to return
unto Thee, and of themselves unable, have, as I hear, tried this, and
fallen into the desire of curious visions, and been accounted worthy to be
deluded. For they, being high minded, sought Thee by the pride of
learning, swelling out rather than smiting upon their breasts, and so by
the agreement of their heart, drew unto themselves the princes of the air,
the fellow-conspirators of their pride, by whom, through magical
influences, they were deceived, seeking a mediator, by whom they might be
purged, and there was none. For the devil it was, transforming himself
into an Angel of light. And it much enticed proud flesh, that he had no
body of flesh. For they were mortal, and sinners; but thou, Lord, to whom
they proudly sought to be reconciled, art immortal, and without sin. But a
mediator between God and man must have something like to God, something
like to men; lest being in both like to man, he should be far from God: or
if in both like God, too unlike man: and so not be a mediator. That
deceitful mediator then, by whom in Thy secret judgments pride deserved to
be deluded, hath one thing in common with man, that is sin; another he
would seem to have in common with God; and not being clothed with the
mortality of flesh, would vaunt himself to be immortal. But since the
wages of sin is death, this hath he in common with men, that with them he
should be condemned to death.

But the true Mediator, Whom in Thy secret mercy Thou hast showed to the
humble, and sentest, that by His example also they might learn that same
humility, that Mediator between God and man, the Man Christ Jesus,
appeared betwixt mortal sinners and the immortal just One; mortal with
men, just with God: that because the wages of righteousness is life and
peace, He might by a righteousness conjoined with God make void that death
of sinners, now made righteous, which He willed to have in common with
them. Hence He was showed forth to holy men of old; that so they, through
faith in His Passion to come, as we through faith of it passed, might be
saved. For as Man, He was a Mediator; but as the Word, not in the middle
between God and man, because equal to God, and God with God, and together
one God.

How hast Thou loved us, good Father, who sparedst not Thine only Son, but
deliveredst Him up for us ungodly! How hast Thou loved us, for whom He
that thought it no robbery to be equal with Thee, was made subject even to
the death of the cross, He alone, free among the dead, having power to lay
down His life, and power to take it again: for us to Thee both Victor and
Victim, and therefore Victor, because the Victim; for us to Thee Priest
and Sacrifice, and therefore Priest because the Sacrifice; making us to
Thee, of servants, sons by being born of Thee, and serving us. Well then
is my hope strong in Him, that Thou wilt heal all my infirmities, by Him
Who sitteth at Thy right hand and maketh intercession for us; else should
I despair. For many and great are my infirmities, many they are, and
great; but Thy medicine is mightier. We might imagine that Thy Word was
far from any union with man, and despair of ourselves, unless He had been
made flesh and dwelt among us.

Affrighted with my sins and the burden of my misery, I had cast in my
heart, and had purposed to flee to the wilderness: but Thou forbadest me,
and strengthenedst me, saying, Therefore Christ died for all, that they
which live may now no longer live unto themselves, but unto Him that died
for them. See, Lord, I cast my care upon Thee, that I may live, and
consider wondrous things out of Thy law. Thou knowest my unskilfulness,
and my infirmities; teach me, and heal me. He, Thine only Son, in Whom are
hid all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge, hath redeemed me with His
blood. Let not the proud speak evil of me; because I meditate on my
ransom, and eat and drink, and communicate it; and poor, desired to be
satisfied from Him, amongst those that eat and are satisfied, and they
shall praise the Lord who seek Him.

BOOK XI

Lord, since eternity is Thine, art Thou ignorant of what I say to Thee? or
dost Thou see in time, what passeth in time? Why then do I lay in order
before Thee so many relations? Not, of a truth, that Thou mightest learn
them through me, but to stir up mine own and my readers’ devotions towards
Thee, that we may all say, Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised. I
have said already; and again will say, for love of Thy love do I this. For
we pray also, and yet Truth hath said, Your Father knoweth what you have
need of, before you ask. It is then our affections which we lay open unto
Thee, confessing our own miseries, and Thy mercies upon us, that Thou
mayest free us wholly, since Thou hast begun, that we may cease to be
wretched in ourselves, and be blessed in Thee; seeing Thou hast called us,
to become poor in spirit, and meek, and mourners, and hungering and
athirst after righteousness, and merciful, and pure in heart, and
peace-makers. See, I have told Thee many things, as I could and as I
would, because Thou first wouldest that I should confess unto Thee, my
Lord God. For Thou art good, for Thy mercy endureth for ever.

But how shall I suffice with the tongue of my pen to utter all Thy
exhortations, and all Thy terrors, and comforts, and guidances, whereby
Thou broughtest me to preach Thy Word, and dispense Thy Sacrament to Thy
people? And if I suffice to utter them in order, the drops of time are
precious with me; and long have I burned to meditate in Thy law, and
therein to confess to Thee my skill and unskilfulness, the day-break of Thy
enlightening, and the remnants of my darkness, until infirmity be
swallowed up by strength. And I would not have aught besides steal away
those hours which I find free from the necessities of refreshing my body
and the powers of my mind, and of the service which we owe to men, or
which though we owe not, we yet pay.

O Lord my God, give ear unto my prayer, and let Thy mercy hearken unto my
desire: because it is anxious not for myself alone, but would serve
brotherly charity; and Thou seest my heart, that so it is. I would
sacrifice to Thee the service of my thought and tongue; do Thou give me,
what I may offer Thee. For I am poor and needy, Thou rich to all that call
upon Thee; Who, inaccessible to care, carest for us. Circumcise from all
rashness and all lying both my inward and outward lips: let Thy Scriptures
be my pure delights: let me not be deceived in them, nor deceive out of
them. Lord, hearken and pity, O Lord my God, Light of the blind, and
Strength of the weak; yea also Light of those that see, and Strength of
the strong; hearken unto my soul, and hear it crying out of the depths.
For if Thine ears be not with us in the depths also, whither shall we go?
whither cry? The day is Thine, and the night is Thine; at Thy beck the
moments flee by. Grant thereof a space for our meditations in the hidden
things of Thy law, and close it not against us who knock. For not in vain
wouldest Thou have the darksome secrets of so many pages written; nor are
those forests without their harts which retire therein and range and walk;
feed, lie down, and ruminate. Perfect me, O Lord, and reveal them unto me.
Behold, Thy voice is my joy; Thy voice exceedeth the abundance of
pleasures. Give what I love: for I do love; and this hast Thou given:
forsake not Thy own gifts, nor despise Thy green herb that thirsteth. Let
me confess unto Thee whatsoever I shall find in Thy books, and hear the
voice of praise, and drink in Thee, and meditate on the wonderful things
out of Thy law; even from the beginning, wherein Thou madest the heaven
and the earth, unto the everlasting reigning of Thy holy city with Thee.

Lord, have mercy on me, and hear my desire. For it is not, I deem, of the
earth, not of gold and silver, and precious stones, or gorgeous apparel,
or honours and offices, or the pleasures of the flesh, or necessaries for
the body and for this life of our pilgrimage: all which shall be added
unto those that seek Thy kingdom and Thy righteousness. Behold, O Lord my
God, wherein is my desire. The wicked have told me of delights, but not
such as Thy law, O Lord. Behold, wherein is my desire. Behold, Father,
behold, and see and approve; and be it pleasing in the sight of Thy mercy,
that I may find grace before Thee, that the inward parts of Thy words be
opened to me knocking. I beseech by our Lord Jesus Christ Thy Son, the Man
of Thy right hand, the Son of man, whom Thou hast established for Thyself,
as Thy Mediator and ours, through Whom Thou soughtest us, not seeking
Thee, but soughtest us, that we might seek Thee,—Thy Word, through
Whom Thou madest all things, and among them, me also;—Thy
Only-Begotten, through Whom Thou calledst to adoption the believing
people, and therein me also;—I beseech Thee by Him, who sitteth at
Thy right hand, and intercedeth with Thee for us, in Whom are hidden all
the treasures of wisdom and knowledge. These do I seek in Thy books. Of
Him did Moses write; this saith Himself; this saith the Truth.

I would hear and understand, how “In the Beginning Thou madest the heaven
and earth.” Moses wrote this, wrote and departed, passed hence from Thee
to Thee; nor is he now before me. For if he were, I would hold him and ask
him, and beseech him by Thee to open these things unto me, and would lay
the ears of my body to the sounds bursting out of his mouth. And should he
speak Hebrew, in vain will it strike on my senses, nor would aught of it
touch my mind; but if Latin, I should know what he said. But whence should
I know, whether he spake truth? Yea, and if I knew this also, should I
know it from him? Truly within me, within, in the chamber of my thoughts,
Truth, neither Hebrew, nor Greek, nor Latin, nor barbarian, without organs
of voice or tongue, or sound of syllables, would say, “It is truth,” and I
forthwith should say confidently to that man of Thine, “thou sayest
truly.” Whereas then I cannot enquire of him, Thee, Thee I beseech, O
Truth, full of Whom he spake truth, Thee, my God, I beseech, forgive my
sins; and Thou, who gavest him Thy servant to speak these things, give to
me also to understand them.

Behold, the heavens and the earth are; they proclaim that they were
created; for they change and vary. Whereas whatsoever hath not been made,
and yet is, hath nothing in it, which before it had not; and this it is,
to change and vary. They proclaim also, that they made not themselves;
“therefore we are, because we have been made; we were not therefore,
before we were, so as to make ourselves.” Now the evidence of the thing,
is the voice of the speakers. Thou therefore, Lord, madest them; who art
beautiful, for they are beautiful; who art good, for they are good; who
art, for they are; yet are they not beautiful nor good, nor are they, as
Thou their Creator art; compared with Whom, they are neither beautiful,
nor good, nor are. This we know, thanks be to Thee. And our knowledge,
compared with Thy knowledge, is ignorance.

But how didst Thou make the heaven and the earth? and what the engine of
Thy so mighty fabric? For it was not as a human artificer, forming one
body from another, according to the discretion of his mind, which can in
some way invest with such a form, as it seeth in itself by its inward eye.
And whence should he be able to do this, unless Thou hadst made that mind?
and he invests with a form what already existeth, and hath a being, as
clay, or stone, or wood, or gold, or the like. And whence should they be,
hadst not Thou appointed them? Thou madest the artificer his body, Thou
the mind commanding the limbs, Thou the matter whereof he makes any thing;
Thou the apprehension whereby to take in his art, and see within what he
doth without; Thou the sense of his body, whereby, as by an interpreter,
he may from mind to matter, convey that which he doth, and report to his
mind what is done; that it within may consult the truth, which presideth
over itself, whether it be well done or no. All these praise Thee, the
Creator of all. But how dost Thou make them? how, O God, didst Thou make
heaven and earth? Verily, neither in the heaven, nor in the earth, didst
Thou make heaven and earth; nor in the air, or waters, seeing these also
belong to the heaven and the earth; nor in the whole world didst Thou make
the whole world; because there was no place where to make it, before it
was made, that it might be. Nor didst Thou hold any thing in Thy hand,
whereof to make heaven and earth. For whence shouldest Thou have this,
which Thou hadst not made, thereof to make any thing? For what is, but
because Thou art? Therefore Thou spokest, and they were made, and in Thy
Word Thou madest them.

But how didst Thou speak? In the way that the voice came out of the cloud,
saying, This is my beloved Son? For that voice passed by and passed away,
began and ended; the syllables sounded and passed away, the second after
the first, the third after the second, and so forth in order, until the
last after the rest, and silence after the last. Whence it is abundantly
clear and plain that the motion of a creature expressed it, itself
temporal, serving Thy eternal will. And these Thy words, created for a
time, the outward ear reported to the intelligent soul, whose inward ear
lay listening to Thy Eternal Word. But she compared these words sounding
in time, with that Thy Eternal Word in silence, and said “It is different,
far different. These words are far beneath me, nor are they, because they
flee and pass away; but the Word of my Lord abideth above me for ever.” If
then in sounding and passing words Thou saidst that heaven and earth
should be made, and so madest heaven and earth, there was a corporeal
creature before heaven and earth, by whose motions in time that voice
might take his course in time. But there was nought corporeal before
heaven and earth; or if there were, surely Thou hadst, without such a
passing voice, created that, whereof to make this passing voice, by which
to say, Let the heaven and the earth be made. For whatsoever that were,
whereof such a voice were made, unless by Thee it were made, it could not
be at all. By what Word then didst Thou speak, that a body might be made,
whereby these words again might be made?

Thou callest us then to understand the Word, God, with Thee God, Which is
spoken eternally, and by It are all things spoken eternally. For what was
spoken was not spoken successively, one thing concluded that the next
might be spoken, but all things together and eternally. Else have we time
and change; and not a true eternity nor true immortality. This I know, O
my God, and give thanks. I know, I confess to Thee, O Lord, and with me
there knows and blesses Thee, whoso is not unthankful to assure Truth. We
know, Lord, we know; since inasmuch as anything is not which was, and is,
which was not, so far forth it dieth and ariseth. Nothing then of Thy Word
doth give place or replace, because It is truly immortal and eternal. And
therefore unto the Word coeternal with Thee Thou dost at once and
eternally say all that Thou dost say; and whatever Thou sayest shall be
made is made; nor dost Thou make, otherwise than by saying; and yet are
not all things made together, or everlasting, which Thou makest by saying.

Why, I beseech Thee, O Lord my God? I see it in a way; but how to express
it, I know not, unless it be, that whatsoever begins to be, and leaves off
to be, begins then, and leaves off then, when in Thy eternal Reason it is
known, that it ought to begin or leave off; in which Reason nothing
beginneth or leaveth off. This is Thy Word, which is also “the Beginning,
because also It speaketh unto us.” Thus in the Gospel He speaketh through
the flesh; and this sounded outwardly in the ears of men; that it might be
believed and sought inwardly, and found in the eternal Verity; where the
good and only Master teacheth all His disciples. There, Lord, hear I Thy
voice speaking unto me; because He speaketh us, who teacheth us; but He
that teacheth us not, though He speaketh, to us He speaketh not. Who now
teacheth us, but the unchangeable Truth? for even when we are admonished
through a changeable creature; we are but led to the unchangeable Truth;
where we learn truly, while we stand and hear Him, and rejoice greatly
because of the Bridegroom’s voice, restoring us to Him, from Whom we are.
And therefore the Beginning, because unless It abided, there should not,
when we went astray, be whither to return. But when we return from error,
it is through knowing; and that we may know, He teacheth us, because He is
the Beginning, and speaking unto us.

In this Beginning, O God, hast Thou made heaven and earth, in Thy Word, in
Thy Son, in Thy Power, in Thy Wisdom, in Thy Truth; wondrously speaking,
and wondrously making. Who shall comprehend? Who declare it? What is that
which gleams through me, and strikes my heart without hurting it; and I
shudder and kindle? I shudder, inasmuch as I am unlike it; I kindle,
inasmuch as I am like it. It is Wisdom, Wisdom’s self which gleameth
through me; severing my cloudiness which yet again mantles over me,
fainting from it, through the darkness which for my punishment gathers
upon me. For my strength is brought down in need, so that I cannot support
my blessings, till Thou, Lord, Who hast been gracious to all mine
iniquities, shalt heal all my infirmities. For Thou shalt also redeem my
life from corruption, and crown me with loving kindness and tender
mercies, and shalt satisfy my desire with good things, because my youth
shall be renewed like an eagle’s. For in hope we are saved, wherefore we
through patience wait for Thy promises. Let him that is able, hear Thee
inwardly discoursing out of Thy oracle: I will boldly cry out, How
wonderful are Thy works, O Lord, in Wisdom hast Thou made them all; and
this Wisdom is the Beginning, and in that Beginning didst Thou make heaven
and earth.

Lo, are they not full of their old leaven, who say to us, “What was God
doing before He made heaven and earth? For if (say they) He were
unemployed and wrought not, why does He not also henceforth, and for ever,
as He did heretofore? For did any new motion arise in God, and a new will
to make a creature, which He had never before made, how then would that be
a true eternity, where there ariseth a will, which was not? For the will
of God is not a creature, but before the creature; seeing nothing could be
created, unless the will of the Creator had preceded. The will of God then
belongeth to His very Substance. And if aught have arisen in God’s
Substance, which before was not, that Substance cannot be truly called
eternal. But if the will of God has been from eternity that the creature
should be, why was not the creature also from eternity?”

Who speak thus, do not yet understand Thee, O Wisdom of God, Light of
souls, understand not yet how the things be made, which by Thee, and in
Thee are made: yet they strive to comprehend things eternal, whilst their
heart fluttereth between the motions of things past and to come, and is
still unstable. Who shall hold it, and fix it, that it be settled awhile,
and awhile catch the glory of that ever-fixed Eternity, and compare it
with the times which are never fixed, and see that it cannot be compared;
and that a long time cannot become long, but out of many motions passing
by, which cannot be prolonged altogether; but that in the Eternal nothing
passeth, but the whole is present; whereas no time is all at once present:
and that all time past, is driven on by time to come, and all to come
followeth upon the past; and all past and to come, is created, and flows
out of that which is ever present? Who shall hold the heart of man, that
it may stand still, and see how eternity ever still-standing, neither past
nor to come, uttereth the times past and to come? Can my hand do this, or
the hand of my mouth by speech bring about a thing so great?

See, I answer him that asketh, “What did God before He made heaven and
earth?” I answer not as one is said to have done merrily (eluding the
pressure of the question), “He was preparing hell (saith he) for pryers
into mysteries.” It is one thing to answer enquiries, another to make
sport of enquirers. So I answer not; for rather had I answer, “I know
not,” what I know not, than so as to raise a laugh at him who asketh deep
things and gain praise for one who answereth false things. But I say that
Thou, our God, art the Creator of every creature: and if by the name
“heaven and earth,” every creature be understood; I boldly say, “that
before God made heaven and earth, He did not make any thing.” For if He
made, what did He make but a creature? And would I knew whatsoever I
desire to know to my profit, as I know, that no creature was made, before
there was made any creature.

But if any excursive brain rove over the images of forepassed times, and
wonder that Thou the God Almighty and All-creating and All-supporting,
Maker of heaven and earth, didst for innumerable ages forbear from so
great a work, before Thou wouldest make it; let him awake and consider,
that he wonders at false conceits. For whence could innumerable ages pass
by, which Thou madest not, Thou the Author and Creator of all ages? or
what times should there be, which were not made by Thee? or how should
they pass by, if they never were? Seeing then Thou art the Creator of all
times, if any time was before Thou madest heaven and earth, why say they
that Thou didst forego working? For that very time didst Thou make, nor
could times pass by, before Thou madest those times. But if before heaven
and earth there was no time, why is it demanded, what Thou then didst? For
there was no “then,” when there was no time.

Nor dost Thou by time, precede time: else shouldest Thou not precede all
times. But Thou precedest all things past, by the sublimity of an
ever-present eternity; and surpassest all future because they are future,
and when they come, they shall be past; but Thou art the Same, and Thy
years fail not. Thy years neither come nor go; whereas ours both come and
go, that they all may come. Thy years stand together, because they do
stand; nor are departing thrust out by coming years, for they pass not
away; but ours shall all be, when they shall no more be. Thy years are one
day; and Thy day is not daily, but To-day, seeing Thy To-day gives not
place unto tomorrow, for neither doth it replace yesterday. Thy To-day,
is Eternity; therefore didst Thou beget The Coeternal, to whom Thou
saidst, This day have I begotten Thee. Thou hast made all things; and
before all times Thou art: neither in any time was time not.

At no time then hadst Thou not made any thing, because time itself Thou
madest. And no times are coeternal with Thee, because Thou abidest; but if
they abode, they should not be times. For what is time? Who can readily
and briefly explain this? Who can even in thought comprehend it, so as to
utter a word about it? But what in discourse do we mention more familiarly
and knowingly, than time? And, we understand, when we speak of it; we
understand also, when we hear it spoken of by another. What then is time?
If no one asks me, I know: if I wish to explain it to one that asketh, I
know not: yet I say boldly that I know, that if nothing passed away, time
past were not; and if nothing were coming, a time to come were not; and if
nothing were, time present were not. Those two times then, past and to
come, how are they, seeing the past now is not, and that to come is not
yet? But the present, should it always be present, and never pass into
time past, verily it should not be time, but eternity. If time present (if
it is to be time) only cometh into existence, because it passeth into time
past, how can we say that either this is, whose cause of being is, that it
shall not be; so, namely, that we cannot truly say that time is, but
because it is tending not to be?

And yet we say, “a long time” and “a short time”; still, only of time past
or to come. A long time past (for example) we call an hundred years since;
and a long time to come, an hundred years hence. But a short time past, we
call (suppose) often days since; and a short time to come, often days
hence. But in what sense is that long or short, which is not? For the
past, is not now; and the future, is not yet. Let us not then say, “it is
long”; but of the past, “it hath been long”; and of the future, “it will
be long.” O my Lord, my Light, shall not here also Thy Truth mock at man?
For that past time which was long, was it long when it was now past, or
when it was yet present? For then might it be long, when there was, what
could be long; but when past, it was no longer; wherefore neither could
that be long, which was not at all. Let us not then say, “time past hath
been long”: for we shall not find, what hath been long, seeing that since
it was past, it is no more, but let us say, “that present time was long”;
because, when it was present, it was long. For it had not yet passed away,
so as not to be; and therefore there was, what could be long; but after it
was past, that ceased also to be long, which ceased to be.

Let us see then, thou soul of man, whether present time can be long: for
to thee it is given to feel and to measure length of time. What wilt thou
answer me? Are an hundred years, when present, a long time? See first,
whether an hundred years can be present. For if the first of these years
be now current, it is present, but the other ninety and nine are to come,
and therefore are not yet, but if the second year be current, one is now
past, another present, the rest to come. And so if we assume any middle
year of this hundred to be present, all before it, are past; all after it,
to come; wherefore an hundred years cannot be present. But see at least
whether that one which is now current, itself is present; for if the
current month be its first, the rest are to come; if the second, the first
is already past, and the rest are not yet. Therefore, neither is the year
now current present; and if not present as a whole, then is not the year
present. For twelve months are a year; of which whatever by the current
month is present; the rest past, or to come. Although neither is that
current month present; but one day only; the rest being to come, if it be
the first; past, if the last; if any of the middle, then amid past and to
come.

See how the present time, which alone we found could be called long, is
abridged to the length scarce of one day. But let us examine that also;
because neither is one day present as a whole. For it is made up of four
and twenty hours of night and day: of which, the first hath the rest to
come; the last hath them past; and any of the middle hath those before it
past, those behind it to come. Yea, that one hour passeth away in flying
particles. Whatsoever of it hath flown away, is past; whatsoever
remaineth, is to come. If an instant of time be conceived, which cannot be
divided into the smallest particles of moments, that alone is it, which
may be called present. Which yet flies with such speed from future to
past, as not to be lengthened out with the least stay. For if it be, it is
divided into past and future. The present hath no space. Where then is the
time, which we may call long? Is it to come? Of it we do not say, “it is
long”; because it is not yet, so as to be long; but we say, “it will be
long.” When therefore will it be? For if even then, when it is yet to
come, it shall not be long (because what can be long, as yet is not), and
so it shall then be long, when from future which as yet is not, it shall
begin now to be, and have become present, that so there should exist what
may be long; then does time present cry out in the words above, that it
cannot be long.

And yet, Lord, we perceive intervals of times, and compare them, and say,
some are shorter, and others longer. We measure also, how much longer or
shorter this time is than that; and we answer, “This is double, or treble;
and that, but once, or only just so much as that.” But we measure times as
they are passing, by perceiving them; but past, which now are not, or the
future, which are not yet, who can measure? unless a man shall presume to
say, that can be measured, which is not. When then time is passing, it may
be perceived and measured; but when it is past, it cannot, because it is
not.

I ask, Father, I affirm not: O my God, rule and guide me. “Who will tell
me that there are not three times (as we learned when boys, and taught
boys), past, present, and future; but present only, because those two are
not? Or are they also; and when from future it becometh present, doth it
come out of some secret place; and so, when retiring, from present it
becometh past? For where did they, who foretold things to come, see them,
if as yet they be not? For that which is not, cannot be seen. And they who
relate things past, could not relate them, if in mind they did not discern
them, and if they were not, they could no way be discerned. Things then
past and to come, are.”

Permit me, Lord, to seek further. O my hope, let not my purpose be
confounded. For if times past and to come be, I would know where they be.
Which yet if I cannot, yet I know, wherever they be, they are not there as
future, or past, but present. For if there also they be future, they are
not yet there; if there also they be past, they are no longer there.
Wheresoever then is whatsoever is, it is only as present. Although when
past facts are related, there are drawn out of the memory, not the things
themselves which are past, but words which, conceived by the images of the
things, they, in passing, have through the senses left as traces in the
mind. Thus my childhood, which now is not, is in time past, which now is
not: but now when I recall its image, and tell of it, I behold it in the
present, because it is still in my memory. Whether there be a like cause
of foretelling things to come also; that of things which as yet are not,
the images may be perceived before, already existing, I confess, O my God,
I know not. This indeed I know, that we generally think before on our
future actions, and that that forethinking is present, but the action
whereof we forethink is not yet, because it is to come. Which, when we
have set upon, and have begun to do what we were forethinking, then shall
that action be; because then it is no longer future, but present.

Which way soever then this secret fore-perceiving of things to come be;
that only can be seen, which is. But what now is, is not future, but
present. When then things to come are said to be seen, it is not
themselves which as yet are not (that is, which are to be), but their
causes perchance or signs are seen, which already are. Therefore they are
not future but present to those who now see that, from which the future,
being foreconceived in the mind, is foretold. Which fore-conceptions again
now are; and those who foretell those things, do behold the conceptions
present before them. Let now the numerous variety of things furnish me
some example. I behold the day-break, I foreshow, that the sun, is about
to rise. What I behold, is present; what I foresignify, to come; not the
sun, which already is; but the sun-rising, which is not yet. And yet did I
not in my mind imagine the sun-rising itself (as now while I speak of it),
I could not foretell it. But neither is that day-break which I discern in
the sky, the sun-rising, although it goes before it; nor that imagination
of my mind; which two are seen now present, that the other which is to be
may be foretold. Future things then are not yet: and if they be not yet,
they are not: and if they are not, they cannot be seen; yet foretold they
may be from things present, which are already, and are seen.

Thou then, Ruler of Thy creation, by what way dost Thou teach souls things
to come? For Thou didst teach Thy Prophets. By what way dost Thou, to whom
nothing is to come, teach things to come; or rather of the future, dost
teach things present? For, what is not, neither can it be taught. Too far
is this way of my ken: it is too mighty for me, I cannot attain unto it;
but from Thee I can, when Thou shalt vouchsafe it, O sweet light of my
hidden eyes.

What now is clear and plain is, that neither things to come nor past are.
Nor is it properly said, “there be three times, past, present, and to
come”: yet perchance it might be properly said, “there be three times; a
present of things past, a present of things present, and a present of
things future.” For these three do exist in some sort, in the soul, but
otherwhere do I not see them; present of things past, memory; present of
things present, sight; present of things future, expectation. If thus we
be permitted to speak, I see three times, and I confess there are three.
Let it be said too, “there be three times, past, present, and to come”: in
our incorrect way. See, I object not, nor gainsay, nor find fault, if what
is so said be but understood, that neither what is to be, now is, nor what
is past. For but few things are there, which we speak properly, most
things improperly; still the things intended are understood.

I said then even now, we measure times as they pass, in order to be able
to say, this time is twice so much as that one; or, this is just so much
as that; and so of any other parts of time, which be measurable.
Wherefore, as I said, we measure times as they pass. And if any should ask
me, “How knowest thou?” I might answer, “I know, that we do measure, nor
can we measure things that are not; and things past and to come, are not.”
But time present how do we measure, seeing it hath no space? It is
measured while passing, but when it shall have passed, it is not measured;
for there will be nothing to be measured. But whence, by what way, and
whither passes it while it is a measuring? whence, but from the future?
Which way, but through the present? whither, but into the past? From that
therefore, which is not yet, through that, which hath no space, into that,
which now is not. Yet what do we measure, if not time in some space? For
we do not say, single, and double, and triple, and equal, or any other
like way that we speak of time, except of spaces of times. In what space
then do we measure time passing? In the future, whence it passeth through?
But what is not yet, we measure not. Or in the present, by which it
passes? but no space, we do not measure: or in the past, to which it
passes? But neither do we measure that, which now is not.

My soul is on fire to know this most intricate enigma. Shut it not up, O
Lord my God, good Father; through Christ I beseech Thee, do not shut up
these usual, yet hidden things, from my desire, that it be hindered from
piercing into them; but let them dawn through Thy enlightening mercy, O
Lord. Whom shall I enquire of concerning these things? and to whom shall I
more fruitfully confess my ignorance, than to Thee, to Whom these my
studies, so vehemently kindled toward Thy Scriptures, are not troublesome?
Give what I love; for I do love, and this hast Thou given me. Give,
Father, Who truly knowest to give good gifts unto Thy children. Give,
because I have taken upon me to know, and trouble is before me until Thou
openest it. By Christ I beseech Thee, in His Name, Holy of holies, let no
man disturb me. For I believed, and therefore do I speak. This is my hope,
for this do I live, that I may contemplate the delights of the Lord.
Behold, Thou hast made my days old, and they pass away, and how, I know
not. And we talk of time, and time, and times, and times, “How long time
is it since he said this”; “how long time since he did this”; and “how
long time since I saw that”; and “this syllable hath double time to that
single short syllable.” These words we speak, and these we hear, and are
understood, and understand. Most manifest and ordinary they are, and the
self-same things again are but too deeply hidden, and the discovery of
them were new.

I heard once from a learned man, that the motions of the sun, moon, and
stars, constituted time, and I assented not. For why should not the
motions of all bodies rather be times? Or, if the lights of heaven should
cease, and a potter’s wheel run round, should there be no time by which we
might measure those whirlings, and say, that either it moved with equal
pauses, or if it turned sometimes slower, otherwhiles quicker, that some
rounds were longer, other shorter? Or, while we were saying this, should
we not also be speaking in time? Or, should there in our words be some
syllables short, others long, but because those sounded in a shorter time,
these in a longer? God, grant to men to see in a small thing notices
common to things great and small. The stars and lights of heaven, are also
for signs, and for seasons, and for years, and for days; they are; yet
neither should I say, that the going round of that wooden wheel was a day,
nor yet he, that it was therefore no time.

I desire to know the force and nature of time, by which we measure the
motions of bodies, and say (for example) this motion is twice as long as
that. For I ask, Seeing “day” denotes not the stay only of the sun upon
the earth (according to which day is one thing, night another); but also
its whole circuit from east to east again; according to which we say,
“there passed so many days,” the night being included when we say, “so
many days,” and the nights not reckoned apart;—seeing then a day is
completed by the motion of the sun and by his circuit from east to east
again, I ask, does the motion alone make the day, or the stay in which
that motion is completed, or both? For if the first be the day; then
should we have a day, although the sun should finish that course in so
small a space of time, as one hour comes to. If the second, then should
not that make a day, if between one sun-rise and another there were but so
short a stay, as one hour comes to; but the sun must go four and twenty
times about, to complete one day. If both, then neither could that be
called a day; if the sun should run his whole round in the space of one
hour; nor that, if, while the sun stood still, so much time should
overpass, as the sun usually makes his whole course in, from morning to
morning. I will not therefore now ask, what that is which is called day;
but, what time is, whereby we, measuring the circuit of the sun, should
say that it was finished in half the time it was wont, if so be it was
finished in so small a space as twelve hours; and comparing both times,
should call this a single time, that a double time; even supposing the sun
to run his round from east to east, sometimes in that single, sometimes in
that double time. Let no man then tell me, that the motions of the
heavenly bodies constitute times, because, when at the prayer of one, the
sun had stood still, till he could achieve his victorious battle, the sun
stood still, but time went on. For in its own allotted space of time was
that battle waged and ended. I perceive time then to be a certain
extension. But do I perceive it, or seem to perceive it? Thou, Light and
Truth, wilt show me.

Dost Thou bid me assent, if any define time to be “motion of a body?” Thou
dost not bid me. For that no body is moved, but in time, I hear; this Thou
sayest; but that the motion of a body is time, I hear not; Thou sayest it
not. For when a body is moved, I by time measure, how long it moveth, from
the time it began to move until it left off? And if I did not see whence
it began; and it continue to move so that I see not when it ends, I cannot
measure, save perchance from the time I began, until I cease to see. And
if I look long, I can only pronounce it to be a long time, but not how
long; because when we say “how long,” we do it by comparison; as, “this is
as long as that,” or “twice so long as that,” or the like. But when we can
mark the distances of the places, whence and whither goeth the body moved,
or his parts, if it moved as in a lathe, then can we say precisely, in how
much time the motion of that body or his part, from this place unto that,
was finished. Seeing therefore the motion of a body is one thing, that by
which we measure how long it is, another; who sees not, which of the two
is rather to be called time? For and if a body be sometimes moved,
sometimes stands still, then we measure, not his motion only, but his
standing still too by time; and we say, “it stood still, as much as it
moved”; or “it stood still twice or thrice so long as it moved”; or any
other space which our measuring hath either ascertained, or guessed; more
or less, as we use to say. Time then is not the motion of a body.

And I confess to Thee, O Lord, that I yet know not what time is, and again
I confess unto Thee, O Lord, that I know that I speak this in time, and
that having long spoken of time, that very “long” is not long, but by the
pause of time. How then know I this, seeing I know not what time is? or is
it perchance that I know not how to express what I know? Woe is me, that
do not even know, what I know not. Behold, O my God, before Thee I lie
not; but as I speak, so is my heart. Thou shalt light my candle; Thou, O
Lord my God, wilt enlighten my darkness.

Does not my soul most truly confess unto Thee, that I do measure times? Do
I then measure, O my God, and know not what I measure? I measure the
motion of a body in time; and the time itself do I not measure? Or could I
indeed measure the motion of a body how long it were, and in how long
space it could come from this place to that, without measuring the time in
which it is moved? This same time then, how do I measure? do we by a
shorter time measure a longer, as by the space of a cubit, the space of a
rood? for so indeed we seem by the space of a short syllable, to measure
the space of a long syllable, and to say that this is double the other.
Thus measure we the spaces of stanzas, by the spaces of the verses, and
the spaces of the verses, by the spaces of the feet, and the spaces of the
feet, by the spaces of the syllables, and the spaces of long, by the space
of short syllables; not measuring by pages (for then we measure spaces,
not times); but when we utter the words and they pass by, and we say “it
is a long stanza, because composed of so many verses; long verses,
because consisting of so many feet; long feet, because prolonged by so
many syllables; a long syllable because double to a short one.” But neither
do we this way obtain any certain measure of time; because it may be, that
a shorter verse, pronounced more fully, may take up more time than a
longer, pronounced hurriedly. And so for a verse, a foot, a syllable.
Whence it seemed to me, that time is nothing else than protraction; but of
what, I know not; and I marvel, if it be not of the mind itself? For what,
I beseech Thee, O my God, do I measure, when I say, either indefinitely
“this is a longer time than that,” or definitely “this is double that”?
That I measure time, I know; and yet I measure not time to come, for it is
not yet; nor present, because it is not protracted by any space; nor past,
because it now is not. What then do I measure? Times passing, not past?
for so I said.

Courage, my mind, and press on mightily. God is our helper, He made us,
and not we ourselves. Press on where truth begins to dawn. Suppose, now,
the voice of a body begins to sound, and does sound, and sounds on, and
list, it ceases; it is silence now, and that voice is past, and is no more
a voice. Before it sounded, it was to come, and could not be measured,
because as yet it was not, and now it cannot, because it is no longer.
Then therefore while it sounded, it might; because there then was what
might be measured. But yet even then it was not at a stay; for it was
passing on, and passing away. Could it be measured the rather, for that?
For while passing, it was being extended into some space of time, so that
it might be measured, since the present hath no space. If therefore then
it might, then, lo, suppose another voice hath begun to sound, and still
soundeth in one continued tenor without any interruption; let us measure
it while it sounds; seeing when it hath left sounding, it will then be
past, and nothing left to be measured; let us measure it verily, and tell
how much it is. But it sounds still, nor can it be measured but from the
instant it began in, unto the end it left in. For the very space between
is the thing we measure, namely, from some beginning unto some end.
Wherefore, a voice that is not yet ended, cannot be measured, so that it
may be said how long, or short it is; nor can it be called equal to
another, or double to a single, or the like. But when ended, it no longer
is. How may it then be measured? And yet we measure times; but yet neither
those which are not yet, nor those which no longer are, nor those which
are not lengthened out by some pause, nor those which have no bounds. We
measure neither times to come, nor past, nor present, nor passing; and yet
we do measure times.

“Deus Creator omnium,” this verse of eight syllables alternates between
short and long syllables. The four short then, the first, third, fifth,
and seventh, are but single, in respect of the four long, the second,
fourth, sixth, and eighth. Every one of these to every one of those, hath
a double time: I pronounce them, report on them, and find it so, as one’s
plain sense perceives. By plain sense then, I measure a long syllable by a
short, and I sensibly find it to have twice so much; but when one sounds
after the other, if the former be short, the latter long, how shall I
detain the short one, and how, measuring, shall I apply it to the long,
that I may find this to have twice so much; seeing the long does not begin
to sound, unless the short leaves sounding? And that very long one do I
measure as present, seeing I measure it not till it be ended? Now his
ending is his passing away. What then is it I measure? where is the short
syllable by which I measure? where the long which I measure? Both have
sounded, have flown, passed away, are no more; and yet I measure, and
confidently answer (so far as is presumed on a practised sense) that as to
space of time this syllable is but single, that double. And yet I could
not do this, unless they were already past and ended. It is not then
themselves, which now are not, that I measure, but something in my memory,
which there remains fixed.

It is in thee, my mind, that I measure times. Interrupt me not, that is,
interrupt not thyself with the tumults of thy impressions. In thee I
measure times; the impression, which things as they pass by cause in thee,
remains even when they are gone; this it is which still present, I
measure, not the things which pass by to make this impression. This I
measure, when I measure times. Either then this is time, or I do not
measure times. What when we measure silence, and say that this silence
hath held as long time as did that voice? do we not stretch out our
thought to the measure of a voice, as if it sounded, that so we may be
able to report of the intervals of silence in a given space of time? For
though both voice and tongue be still, yet in thought we go over poems,
and verses, and any other discourse, or dimensions of motions, and report
as to the spaces of times, how much this is in respect of that, no
otherwise than if vocally we did pronounce them. If a man would utter a
lengthened sound, and had settled in thought how long it should be, he
hath in silence already gone through a space of time, and committing it to
memory, begins to utter that speech, which sounds on, until it be brought
unto the end proposed. Yea it hath sounded, and will sound; for so much of
it as is finished, hath sounded already, and the rest will sound. And thus
passeth it on, until the present intent conveys over the future into the
past; the past increasing by the diminution of the future, until by the
consumption of the future, all is past.

But how is that future diminished or consumed, which as yet is not? or how
that past increased, which is now no longer, save that in the mind which
enacteth this, there be three things done? For it expects, it considers,
it remembers; that so that which it expecteth, through that which it
considereth, passeth into that which it remembereth. Who therefore
denieth, that things to come are not as yet? and yet, there is in the mind
an expectation of things to come. And who denies past things to be now no
longer? and yet is there still in the mind a memory of things past. And
who denieth the present time hath no space, because it passeth away in a
moment? and yet our consideration continueth, through which that which
shall be present proceedeth to become absent. It is not then future time,
that is long, for as yet it is not: but a long future, is “a long
expectation of the future,” nor is it time past, which now is not, that is
long; but a long past, is “a long memory of the past.”

I am about to repeat a Psalm that I know. Before I begin, my expectation
is extended over the whole; but when I have begun, how much soever of it I
shall separate off into the past, is extended along my memory; thus the
life of this action of mine is divided between my memory as to what I have
repeated, and expectation as to what I am about to repeat; but
“consideration” is present with me, that through it what was future, may
be conveyed over, so as to become past. Which the more it is done again
and again, so much the more the expectation being shortened, is the memory
enlarged: till the whole expectation be at length exhausted, when that
whole action being ended, shall have passed into memory. And this which
takes place in the whole Psalm, the same takes place in each several
portion of it, and each several syllable; the same holds in that longer
action, whereof this Psalm may be part; the same holds in the whole life
of man, whereof all the actions of man are parts; the same holds through
the whole age of the sons of men, whereof all the lives of men are parts.

But because Thy loving-kindness is better than all lives, behold, my life
is but a distraction, and Thy right hand upheld me, in my Lord the Son of
man, the Mediator betwixt Thee, The One, and us many, many also through
our manifold distractions amid many things, that by Him I may apprehend in
Whom I have been apprehended, and may be re-collected from my old
conversation, to follow The One, forgetting what is behind, and not
distended but extended, not to things which shall be and shall pass away,
but to those things which are before, not distractedly but intently, I
follow on for the prize of my heavenly calling, where I may hear the voice
of Thy praise, and contemplate Thy delights, neither to come, nor to pass
away. But now are my years spent in mourning. And Thou, O Lord, art my
comfort, my Father everlasting, but I have been severed amid times, whose
order I know not; and my thoughts, even the inmost bowels of my soul, are
rent and mangled with tumultuous varieties, until I flow together into
Thee, purified and molten by the fire of Thy love.

And now will I stand, and become firm in Thee, in my mould, Thy truth; nor
will I endure the questions of men, who by a penal disease thirst for more
than they can contain, and say, “what did God before He made heaven and
earth?” Or, “How came it into His mind to make any thing, having never
before made any thing?” Give them, O Lord, well to bethink themselves what
they say, and to find, that “never” cannot be predicated, when “time” is
not. This then that He is said “never to have made”; what else is it to
say, than “in ‘no time’ to have made?” Let them see therefore, that time
cannot be without created being, and cease to speak that vanity. May they
also be extended towards those things which are before; and understand
Thee before all times, the eternal Creator of all times, and that no times
be coeternal with Thee, nor any creature, even if there be any creature
before all times.

O Lord my God, what a depth is that recess of Thy mysteries, and how far
from it have the consequences of my transgressions cast me! Heal mine
eyes, that I may share the joy of Thy light. Certainly, if there be mind
gifted with such vast knowledge and foreknowledge, as to know all things
past and to come, as I know one well-known Psalm, truly that mind is
passing wonderful, and fearfully amazing; in that nothing past, nothing to
come in after-ages, is any more hidden from him, than when I sung that
Psalm, was hidden from me what, and how much of it had passed away from
the beginning, what, and how much there remained unto the end. But far be
it that Thou the Creator of the Universe, the Creator of souls and bodies,
far be it, that Thou shouldest in such wise know all things past and to
come. Far, far more wonderfully, and far more mysteriously, dost Thou know
them. For not, as the feelings of one who singeth what he knoweth, or
heareth some well-known song, are through expectation of the words to
come, and the remembering of those that are past, varied, and his senses
divided,—not so doth any thing happen unto Thee, unchangeably
eternal, that is, the eternal Creator of minds. Like then as Thou in the
Beginning knewest the heaven and the earth, without any variety of Thy
knowledge, so madest Thou in the Beginning heaven and earth, without any
distraction of Thy action. Whoso understandeth, let him confess unto Thee;
and whoso understandeth not, let him confess unto Thee. Oh how high art
Thou, and yet the humble in heart are Thy dwelling-place; for Thou raisest
up those that are bowed down, and they fall not, whose elevation Thou art.

BOOK XII

My heart, O Lord, touched with the words of Thy Holy Scripture, is much
busied, amid this poverty of my life. And therefore most times, is the
poverty of human understanding copious in words, because enquiring hath
more to say than discovering, and demanding is longer than obtaining, and
our hand that knocks, hath more work to do, than our hand that receives.
We hold the promise, who shall make it null? If God be for us, who can be
against us? Ask, and ye shall have; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it
shall be opened unto you. For every one that asketh, receiveth; and he
that seeketh, findeth; and to him that knocketh, shall it be opened. These
be Thine own promises: and who need fear to be deceived, when the Truth
promiseth?

The lowliness of my tongue confesseth unto Thy Highness, that Thou madest
heaven and earth; this heaven which I see, and this earth that I tread
upon, whence is this earth that I bear about me; Thou madest it. But where
is that heaven of heavens, O Lord, which we hear of in the words of the
Psalm. The heaven of heavens are the Lord’s; but the earth hath He given
to the children of men? Where is that heaven which we see not, to which
all this which we see is earth? For this corporeal whole, not being wholly
every where, hath in such wise received its portion of beauty in these
lower parts, whereof the lowest is this our earth; but to that heaven of
heavens, even the heaven of our earth, is but earth: yea both these great
bodies, may not absurdly be called earth, to that unknown heaven, which is
the Lord’s, not the sons’ of men.

And now this earth was invisible and without form, and there was I know
not what depth of abyss, upon which there was no light, because it had no
shape. Therefore didst Thou command it to be written, that darkness was
upon the face of the deep; what else than the absence of light? For had
there been light, where should it have been but by being over all, aloft,
and enlightening? Where then light was not, what was the presence of
darkness, but the absence of light? Darkness therefore was upon it,
because light was not upon it; as where sound is not, there is silence.
And what is it to have silence there, but to have no sound there? Hast not
Thou, O Lord, taught his soul, which confesseth unto Thee? Hast not Thou
taught me, Lord, that before Thou formedst and diversifiedst this formless
matter, there was nothing, neither colour, nor figure, nor body, nor
spirit? and yet not altogether nothing; for there was a certain
formlessness, without any beauty.

How then should it be called, that it might be in some measure conveyed to
those of duller mind, but by some ordinary word? And what, among all parts
of the world can be found nearer to an absolute formlessness, than earth
and deep? For, occupying the lowest stage, they are less beautiful than
the other higher parts are, transparent all and shining. Wherefore then
may I not conceive the formlessness of matter (which Thou hadst created
without beauty, whereof to make this beautiful world) to be suitably
intimated unto men, by the name of earth invisible and without form.

So that when thought seeketh what the sense may conceive under this, and
saith to itself, “It is no intellectual form, as life, or justice; because
it is the matter of bodies; nor object of sense, because being invisible,
and without form, there was in it no object of sight or sense”;—while
man’s thought thus saith to itself, it may endeavour either to know it, by
being ignorant of it; or to be ignorant, by knowing it.

But I, Lord, if I would, by my tongue and my pen, confess unto Thee the
whole, whatever Thyself hath taught me of that matter,—the name
whereof hearing before, and not understanding, when they who understood it
not, told me of it, so I conceived of it as having innumerable forms and
diverse, and therefore did not conceive it at all, my mind tossed up and
down foul and horrible “forms” out of all order, but yet “forms” and I
called it without form not that it wanted all form, but because it had
such as my mind would, if presented to it, turn from, as unwonted and
jarring, and human frailness would be troubled at. And still that which I
conceived, was without form, not as being deprived of all form, but in
comparison of more beautiful forms; and true reason did persuade me, that
I must utterly uncase it of all remnants of form whatsoever, if I would
conceive matter absolutely without form; and I could not; for sooner could
I imagine that not to be at all, which should be deprived of all form,
than conceive a thing betwixt form and nothing, neither formed, nor
nothing, a formless almost nothing. So my mind gave over to question
thereupon with my spirit, it being filled with the images of formed
bodies, and changing and varying them, as it willed; and I bent myself to
the bodies themselves, and looked more deeply into their changeableness,
by which they cease to be what they have been, and begin to be what they
were not; and this same shifting from form to form, I suspected to be
through a certain formless state, not through a mere nothing; yet this I
longed to know, not to suspect only.-If then my voice and pen would
confess unto Thee the whole, whatsoever knots Thou didst open for me in
this question, what reader would hold out to take in the whole? Nor shall
my heart for all this cease to give Thee honour, and a song of praise, for
those things which it is not able to express. For the changeableness of
changeable things, is itself capable of all those forms, into which these
changeable things are changed. And this changeableness, what is it? Is it
soul? Is it body? Is it that which constituteth soul or body? Might one
say, “a nothing something”, an “is, is not,” I would say, this were it:
and yet in some way was it even then, as being capable of receiving these
visible and compound figures.

But whence had it this degree of being, but from Thee, from Whom are all
things, so far forth as they are? But so much the further from Thee, as
the unliker Thee; for it is not farness of place. Thou therefore, Lord,
Who art not one in one place, and otherwise in another, but the Self-same,
and the Self-same, and the Self-same, Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty,
didst in the Beginning, which is of Thee, in Thy Wisdom, which was born of
Thine own Substance, create something, and that out of nothing. For Thou
createdst heaven and earth; not out of Thyself, for so should they have
been equal to Thine Only Begotten Son, and thereby to Thee also; whereas
no way were it right that aught should be equal to Thee, which was not of
Thee. And aught else besides Thee was there not, whereof Thou mightest
create them, O God, One Trinity, and Trine Unity; and therefore out of
nothing didst Thou create heaven and earth; a great thing, and a small
thing; for Thou art Almighty and Good, to make all things good, even the
great heaven, and the petty earth. Thou wert, and nothing was there
besides, out of which Thou createdst heaven and earth; things of two
sorts; one near Thee, the other near to nothing; one to which Thou alone
shouldest be superior; the other, to which nothing should be inferior.

But that heaven of heavens was for Thyself, O Lord; but the earth which
Thou gavest to the sons of men, to be seen and felt, was not such as we
now see and feel. For it was invisible, without form, and there was a
deep, upon which there was no light; or, darkness was above the deep, that
is, more than in the deep. Because this deep of waters, visible now, hath
even in his depths, a light proper for its nature; perceivable in whatever
degree unto the fishes, and creeping things in the bottom of it. But that
whole deep was almost nothing, because hitherto it was altogether without
form; yet there was already that which could be formed. For Thou, Lord,
madest the world of a matter without form, which out of nothing, Thou
madest next to nothing, thereof to make those great things, which we sons
of men wonder at. For very wonderful is this corporeal heaven; of which
firmament between water and water, the second day, after the creation of
light, Thou saidst, Let it be made, and it was made. Which firmament Thou
calledst heaven; the heaven, that is, to this earth and sea, which Thou
madest the third day, by giving a visible figure to the formless matter,
which Thou madest before all days. For already hadst Thou made both an
heaven, before all days; but that was the heaven of this heaven; because
In the beginning Thou hadst made heaven and earth. But this same earth
which Thou madest was formless matter, because it was invisible and
without form, and darkness was upon the deep, of which invisible earth and
without form, of which formlessness, of which almost nothing, Thou
mightest make all these things of which this changeable world consists,
but subsists not; whose very changeableness appears therein, that times
can be observed and numbered in it. For times are made by the alterations
of things, while the figures, the matter whereof is the invisible earth
aforesaid, are varied and turned.

And therefore the Spirit, the Teacher of Thy servant, when It recounts
Thee to have In the Beginning created heaven and earth, speaks nothing of
times, nothing of days. For verily that heaven of heavens which Thou
createdst in the Beginning, is some intellectual creature, which, although
no ways coeternal unto Thee, the Trinity, yet partaketh of Thy eternity,
and doth through the sweetness of that most happy contemplation of
Thyself, strongly restrain its own changeableness; and without any fall
since its first creation, cleaving close unto Thee, is placed beyond all
the rolling vicissitude of times. Yea, neither is this very formlessness
of the earth, invisible, and without form, numbered among the days. For
where no figure nor order is, there does nothing come, or go; and where
this is not, there plainly are no days, nor any vicissitude of spaces of
times.

O let the Light, the Truth, the Light of my heart, not mine own darkness,
speak unto me. I fell off into that, and became darkened; but even thence,
even thence I loved Thee. I went astray, and remembered Thee. I heard Thy
voice behind me, calling to me to return, and scarcely heard it, through
the tumultuousness of the enemies of peace. And now, behold, I return in
distress and panting after Thy fountain. Let no man forbid me! of this
will I drink, and so live. Let me not be mine own life; from myself I
lived ill, death was I to myself; and I revive in Thee. Do Thou speak unto
me, do Thou discourse unto me. I have believed Thy Books, and their words
be most full of mystery.

Already Thou hast told me with a strong voice, O Lord, in my inner ear,
that Thou art eternal, Who only hast immortality; since Thou canst not be
changed as to figure or motion, nor is Thy will altered by times: seeing
no will which varies is immortal. This is in Thy sight clear to me, and
let it be more and more cleared to me, I beseech Thee; and in the
manifestation thereof, let me with sobriety abide under Thy wings. Thou
hast told me also with a strong voice, O Lord, in my inner ear, that Thou
hast made all natures and substances, which are not what Thyself is, and
yet are; and that only is not from Thee, which is not, and the motion of
the will from Thee who art, unto that which in a less degree is, because
such motion is transgression and sin; and that no man’s sin doth either
hurt Thee, or disturb the order of Thy government, first or last. This is
in Thy sight clear unto me, and let it be more and more cleared to me, I
beseech Thee: and in the manifestation thereof, let me with sobriety abide
under Thy wings.

Thou hast told me also with a strong voice, in my inner ear, that neither
is that creature coeternal unto Thyself, whose happiness Thou only art,
and which with a most persevering purity, drawing its nourishment from
Thee, doth in no place and at no time put forth its natural mutability;
and, Thyself being ever present with it, unto Whom with its whole
affection it keeps itself, having neither future to expect, nor conveying
into the past what it remembereth, is neither altered by any change, nor
distracted into any times. O blessed creature, if such there be, for
cleaving unto Thy Blessedness; blest in Thee, its eternal Inhabitant and
its Enlightener! Nor do I find by what name I may the rather call the
heaven of heavens which is the Lord’s, than Thine house, which
contemplateth Thy delights without any defection of going forth to
another; one pure mind, most harmoniously one, by that settled estate of
peace of holy spirits, the citizens of Thy city in heavenly places; far
above those heavenly places that we see.

By this may the soul, whose pilgrimage is made long and far away, by this
may she understand, if she now thirsts for Thee, if her tears be now
become her bread, while they daily say unto her, Where is Thy God? if she
now seeks of Thee one thing, and desireth it, that she may dwell in Thy
house all the days of her life (and what is her life, but Thou? and what
Thy days, but Thy eternity, as Thy years which fail not, because Thou art
ever the same?); by this then may the soul that is able, understand how
far Thou art, above all times, eternal; seeing Thy house which at no time
went into a far country, although it be not coeternal with Thee, yet by
continually and unfailingly cleaving unto Thee, suffers no changeableness
of times. This is in Thy sight clear unto me, and let it be more and more
cleared unto me, I beseech Thee, and in the manifestation thereof, let me
with sobriety abide under Thy wings.

There is, behold, I know not what formlessness in those changes of these
last and lowest creatures; and who shall tell me (unless such a one as
through the emptiness of his own heart, wonders and tosses himself up and
down amid his own fancies?), who but such a one would tell me, that if all
figure be so wasted and consumed away, that there should only remain that
formlessness, through which the thing was changed and turned from one
figure to another, that that could exhibit the vicissitudes of times? For
plainly it could not, because, without the variety of motions, there are
no times: and no variety, where there is no figure.

These things considered, as much as Thou givest, O my God, as much as Thou
stirrest me up to knock, and as much as Thou openest to me knocking, two
things I find that Thou hast made, not within the compass of time, neither
of which is coeternal with Thee. One, which is so formed, that without any
ceasing of contemplation, without any interval of change, though
changeable, yet not changed, it may thoroughly enjoy Thy eternity and
unchangeableness; the other which was so formless, that it had not that,
which could be changed from one form into another, whether of motion, or
of repose, so as to become subject unto time. But this Thou didst not
leave thus formless, because before all days, Thou in the Beginning didst
create Heaven and Earth; the two things that I spake of. But the Earth was
invisible and without form, and darkness was upon the deep. In which
words, is the formlessness conveyed unto us (that such capacities may
hereby be drawn on by degrees, as are not able to conceive an utter
privation of all form, without yet coming to nothing), out of which
another Heaven might be created, together with a visible and well-formed
earth: and the waters diversly ordered, and whatsoever further is in the
formation of the world, recorded to have been, not without days, created;
and that, as being of such nature, that the successive changes of times
may take place in them, as being subject to appointed alterations of
motions and of forms.

This then is what I conceive, O my God, when I hear Thy Scripture saying,
In the beginning God made Heaven and Earth: and the Earth was invisible
and without form, and darkness was upon the deep, and not mentioning what
day Thou createdst them; this is what I conceive, that because of the
Heaven of heavens,—that intellectual Heaven, whose Intelligences
know all at once, not in part, not darkly, not through a glass, but as a
whole, in manifestation, face to face; not, this thing now, and that thing
anon; but (as I said) know all at once, without any succession of times;—and
because of the earth invisible and without form, without any succession of
times, which succession presents “this thing now, that thing anon”;
because where is no form, there is no distinction of things:—it is,
then, on account of these two, a primitive formed, and a primitive
formless; the one, heaven but the Heaven of heaven, the other earth but
the earth invisible and without form; because of these two do I conceive,
did Thy Scripture say without mention of days, In the Beginning God
created Heaven and Earth. For forthwith it subjoined what earth it spake
of; and also, in that the Firmament is recorded to be created the second
day, and called Heaven, it conveys to us of which Heaven He before spake,
without mention of days.

Wondrous depth of Thy words! whose surface, behold! is before us, inviting
to little ones; yet are they a wondrous depth. O my God, a wondrous depth!
It is awful to look therein; an awfulness of honour, and a trembling of
love. The enemies thereof I hate vehemently; oh that Thou wouldest slay
them with Thy two-edged sword, that they might no longer be enemies unto
it: for so do I love to have them slain unto themselves, that they may
live unto Thee. But behold others not faultfinders, but extollers of the
book of Genesis; “The Spirit of God,” say they, “Who by His servant Moses
wrote these things, would not have those words thus understood; He would
not have it understood, as thou sayest, but otherwise, as we say.” Unto
Whom Thyself, O Thou God all, being judge, do I thus answer.

“Will you affirm that to be false, which with a strong voice Truth tells
me in my inner ear, concerning the Eternity of the Creator, that His
substance is no ways changed by time, nor His will separate from His
substance? Wherefore He willeth not one thing now, another anon, but once,
and at once, and always, He willeth all things that He willeth; not again
and again, nor now this, now that; nor willeth afterwards, what before He
willed not, nor willeth not, what before He willed; because such a will is
and no mutable thing is eternal: but our God is eternal. Again, what He
tells me in my inner ear, the expectation of things to come becomes sight,
when they are come, and this same sight becomes memory, when they be past.
Now all thought which thus varies is mutable; and no mutable thing is
eternal: but our God is eternal.” These things I infer, and put together,
and find that my God, the eternal God, hath not upon any new will made any
creature, nor doth His knowledge admit of any thing transitory. “What will
ye say then, O ye gainsayers? Are these things false?” “No,” they say;
“What then? Is it false, that every nature already formed, or matter
capable of form, is not, but from Him Who is supremely good, because He is
supremely?” “Neither do we deny this,” say they. “What then? do you deny
this, that there is a certain sublime creature, with so chaste a love
cleaving unto the true and truly eternal God, that although not coeternal
with Him, yet is it not detached from Him, nor dissolved into the variety
and vicissitude of times, but reposeth in the most true contemplation of
Him only?” Because Thou, O God, unto him that loveth Thee so much as Thou
commandest, dost show Thyself, and sufficest him; and therefore doth he
not decline from Thee, nor toward himself. This is the house of God, not
of earthly mould, nor of celestial bulk corporeal but spiritual, and
partaker of Thy eternity, because without defection for ever. For Thou
hast made it fast for ever and ever, Thou hast given it a law which it
shall not pass. Nor yet is it coeternal with Thee, O God, because not
without beginning; for it was made.

For although we find no time before it, for wisdom was created before all
things; not that Wisdom which is altogether equal and coeternal unto Thee,
our God, His Father, and by Whom all things were created, and in Whom, as
the Beginning, Thou createdst heaven and earth; but that wisdom which is
created, that is, the intellectual nature, which by contemplating the
light, is light. For this, though created, is also called wisdom. But what
difference there is betwixt the Light which enlighteneth, and which is
enlightened, so much is there betwixt the Wisdom that createth, and that
created; as betwixt the Righteousness which justifieth, and the
righteousness which is made by justification. For we also are called Thy
righteousness; for so saith a certain servant of Thine, That we might be
made the righteousness of God in Him. Therefore since a certain created
wisdom was created before all things, the rational and intellectual mind
of that chaste city of Thine, our mother which is above, and is free and
eternal in the heavens (in what heavens, if not in those that praise Thee,
the Heaven of heavens? Because this is also the Heaven of heavens for the
Lord);—though we find no time before it (because that which hath
been created before all things, precedeth also the creature of time), yet
is the Eternity of the Creator Himself before it, from Whom, being
created, it took the beginning, not indeed of time (for time itself was
not yet), but of its creation.

Hence it is so of Thee, our God, as to be altogether other than Thou, and
not the Self-same: because though we find time neither before it, nor even
in it (it being meet ever to behold Thy face, nor is ever drawn away from
it, wherefore it is not varied by any change), yet is there in it a
liability to change, whence it would wax dark, and chill, but that by a
strong affection cleaving unto Thee, like perpetual noon, it shineth and
gloweth from Thee. O house most lightsome and delightsome! I have loved
thy beauty, and the place of the habitation of the glory of my Lord, thy
builder and possessor. Let my wayfaring sigh after thee, and I say to Him
that made thee, let Him take possession of me also in thee, seeing He hath
made me likewise. I have gone astray like a lost sheep: yet upon the
shoulders of my Shepherd, thy builder, hope I to be brought back to thee.

“What say ye to me, O ye gainsayers that I was speaking unto, who yet
believe Moses to have been the holy servant of God, and his books the
oracles of the Holy Ghost? Is not this house of God, not coeternal indeed
with God, yet after its measure, eternal in the heavens, when you seek for
changes of times in vain, because you will not find them? For that, to
which it is ever good to cleave fast to God, surpasses all extension, and
all revolving periods of time.” “It is,” say they. “What then of all that
which my heart loudly uttered unto my God, when inwardly it heard the
voice of His praise, what part thereof do you affirm to be false? Is it
that the matter was without form, in which because there was no form,
there was no order? But where no order was, there could be no vicissitude
of times: and yet this ‘almost nothing,’ inasmuch as it was not altogether
nothing, was from Him certainly, from Whom is whatsoever is, in what
degree soever it is.” “This also,” say they, “do we not deny.”

With these I now parley a little in Thy presence, O my God, who grant all
these things to be true, which Thy Truth whispers unto my soul. For those
who deny these things, let them bark and deafen themselves as much as they
please; I will essay to persuade them to quiet, and to open in them a way
for Thy word. But if they refuse, and repel me; I beseech, O my God, be
not Thou silent to me. Speak Thou truly in my heart; for only Thou so
speakest: and I will let them alone blowing upon the dust without, and
raising it up into their own eyes: and myself will enter my chamber, and
sing there a song of loves unto Thee; groaning with groanings unutterable,
in my wayfaring, and remembering Jerusalem, with heart lifted up towards
it, Jerusalem my country, Jerusalem my mother, and Thyself that rulest
over it, the Enlightener, Father, Guardian, Husband, the pure and strong
delight, and solid joy, and all good things unspeakable, yea all at once,
because the One Sovereign and true Good. Nor will I be turned away, until
Thou gather all that I am, from this dispersed and disordered estate, into
the peace of that our most dear mother, where the first-fruits of my
spirit be already (whence I am ascertained of these things), and Thou
conform and confirm it for ever, O my God, my Mercy. But those who do not
affirm all these truths to be false, who honour Thy holy Scripture, set
forth by holy Moses, placing it, as we, on the summit of authority to be
followed, and do yet contradict me in some thing, I answer thus; By
Thyself judge, O our God, between my Confessions and these men’s
contradictions.

For they say, “Though these things be true, yet did not Moses intend those
two, when, by revelation of the Spirit, he said, In the beginning God
created heaven and earth. He did not under the name of heaven, signify
that spiritual or intellectual creature which always beholds the face of
God; nor under the name of earth, that formless matter.” “What then?”
“That man of God,” say they, “meant as we say, this declared he by those
words.” “What?” “By the name of heaven and earth would he first signify,”
say they, “universally and compendiously, all this visible world; so as
afterwards by the enumeration of the several days, to arrange in detail,
and, as it were, piece by piece, all those things, which it pleased the
Holy Ghost thus to enounce. For such were that rude and carnal people to
which he spake, that he thought them fit to be entrusted with the
knowledge of such works of God only as were visible.” They agree, however,
that under the words earth invisible and without form, and that darksome
deep (out of which it is subsequently shown, that all these visible things
which we all know, were made and arranged during those “days”) may, not
incongruously, be understood of this formless first matter.

What now if another should say that “this same formlessness and
confusedness of matter, was for this reason first conveyed under the name
of heaven and earth, because out of it was this visible world with all
those natures which most manifestly appear in it, which is ofttimes called
by the name of heaven and earth, created and perfected?” What again if
another say that “invisible and visible nature is not indeed
inappropriately called heaven and earth; and so, that the universal
creation, which God made in His Wisdom, that is, in the Beginning, was
comprehended under those two words? Notwithstanding, since all things be
made not of the substance of God, but out of nothing (because they are not
the same that God is, and there is a mutable nature in them all, whether
they abide, as doth the eternal house of God, or be changed, as the soul
and body of man are): therefore the common matter of all things visible
and invisible (as yet unformed though capable of form), out of which was
to be created both heaven and earth (i.e., the invisible and visible
creature when formed), was entitled by the same names given to the earth
invisible and without form and the darkness upon the deep, but with this
distinction, that by the earth invisible and without form is understood
corporeal matter, antecedent to its being qualified by any form; and by
the darkness upon the deep, spiritual matter, before it underwent any
restraint of its unlimited fluidness, or received any light from Wisdom?”

It yet remains for a man to say, if he will, that “the already perfected
and formed natures, visible and invisible, are not signified under the
name of heaven and earth, when we read, In the beginning God made heaven
and earth, but that the yet unformed commencement of things, the stuff apt
to receive form and making, was called by these names, because therein
were confusedly contained, not as yet distinguished by their qualities and
forms, all those things which being now digested into order, are called
Heaven and Earth, the one being the spiritual, the other the corporeal,
creation.”

All which things being heard and well considered, I will not strive about
words: for that is profitable to nothing, but the subversion of the
hearers. But the law is good to edify, if a man use it lawfully: for that
the end of it is charity, out of a pure heart and good conscience, and
faith unfeigned. And well did our Master know, upon which two commandments
He hung all the Law and the Prophets. And what doth it prejudice me, O my
God, Thou light of my eyes in secret, zealously confessing these things,
since divers things may be understood under these words which yet are all
true,—what, I say, doth it prejudice me, if I think otherwise than
another thinketh the writer thought? All we readers verily strive to trace
out and to understand his meaning whom we read; and seeing we believe him
to speak truly, we dare not imagine him to have said any thing, which
ourselves either know or think to be false. While every man endeavours
then to understand in the Holy Scriptures, the same as the writer
understood, what hurt is it, if a man understand what Thou, the light of
all true-speaking minds, dost show him to be true, although he whom he
reads, understood not this, seeing he also understood a Truth, though not
this truth?

For true it is, O Lord, that Thou madest heaven and earth; and it is true
too, that the Beginning is Thy Wisdom, in Which Thou createst all: and
true again, that this visible world hath for its greater part the heaven
and the earth, which briefly comprise all made and created natures. And
true too, that whatsoever is mutable, gives us to understand a certain
want of form, whereby it receiveth a form, or is changed, or turned. It is
true, that that is subject to no times, which so cleaveth to the
unchangeable Form, as though subject to change, never to be changed. It is
true, that that formlessness which is almost nothing, cannot be subject to
the alteration of times. It is true, that that whereof a thing is made,
may by a certain mode of speech, be called by the name of the thing made
of it; whence that formlessness, whereof heaven and earth were made, might
be called heaven and earth. It is true, that of things having form, there
is not any nearer to having no form, than the earth and the deep. It is
true, that not only every created and formed thing, but whatsoever is
capable of being created and formed, Thou madest, of Whom are all things.
It is true, that whatsoever is formed out of that which had no form, was
unformed before it was formed.

Out of these truths, of which they doubt not whose inward eye Thou hast
enabled to see such things, and who unshakenly believe Thy servant Moses
to have spoken in the Spirit of truth;—of all these then, he taketh
one, who saith, In the Beginning God made the heaven and the earth; that
is, “in His Word coeternal with Himself, God made the intelligible and the
sensible, or the spiritual and the corporeal creature.” He another, that
saith, In the Beginning God made heaven and earth; that is, “in His Word
coeternal with Himself, did God make the universal bulk of this corporeal
world, together with all those apparent and known creatures, which it
containeth.” He another, that saith, In the Beginning God made heaven and
earth; that is, “in His Word coeternal with Himself, did God make the
formless matter of creatures spiritual and corporeal.” He another, that
saith, In the Beginning God created heaven and earth; that is, “in His
Word coeternal with Himself, did God create the formless matter of the
creature corporeal, wherein heaven and earth lay as yet confused, which,
being now distinguished and formed, we at this day see in the bulk of this
world.” He another, who saith, In the Beginning God made heaven and earth;
that is, “in the very beginning of creating and working, did God make that
formless matter, confusedly containing in itself both heaven and earth;
out of which, being formed, do they now stand out, and are apparent, with
all that is in them.”

And with regard to the understanding of the words following, out of all
those truths, he chooses one to himself, who saith, But the earth was
invisible, and without form, and darkness was upon the deep; that is,
“that corporeal thing that God made, was as yet a formless matter of
corporeal things, without order, without light.” Another he who says, The
earth was invisible and without form, and darkness was upon the deep; that
is, “this all, which is called heaven and earth, was still a formless and
darksome matter, of which the corporeal heaven and the corporeal earth
were to be made, with all things in them, which are known to our corporeal
senses.” Another he who says, The earth was invisible and without form,
and darkness was upon the deep; that is, “this all, which is called heaven
and earth, was still a formless and a darksome matter; out of which was to
be made, both that intelligible heaven, otherwhere called the Heaven of
heavens, and the earth, that is, the whole corporeal nature, under which
name is comprised this corporeal heaven also; in a word, out of which
every visible and invisible creature was to be created.” Another he who
says, The earth was invisible and without form, and darkness was upon the
deep, “the Scripture did not call that formlessness by the name of heaven
and earth; but that formlessness, saith he, already was, which he called
the earth invisible without form, and darkness upon the deep; of which he
had before said, that God had made heaven and earth, namely, the spiritual
and corporeal creature.” Another he who says, The earth was invisible and
without form, and darkness was upon the deep; that is, “there already was
a certain formless matter, of which the Scripture said before, that God
made heaven and earth; namely, the whole corporeal bulk of the world,
divided into two great parts, upper and lower, with all the common and
known creatures in them.”

For should any attempt to dispute against these two last opinions, thus,
“If you will not allow, that this formlessness of matter seems to be
called by the name of heaven and earth; Ergo, there was something which
God had not made, out of which to make heaven and earth; for neither hath
Scripture told us, that God made this matter, unless we understand it to
be signified by the name of heaven and earth, or of earth alone, when it
is said, In the Beginning God made the heaven and earth; that so in what
follows, and the earth was invisible and without form (although it pleased
Him so to call the formless matter), we are to understand no other matter,
but that which God made, whereof is written above, God made heaven and
earth.” The maintainers of either of those two latter opinions will, upon
hearing this, return for answer, “we do not deny this formless matter to
be indeed created by God, that God of Whom are all things, very good; for
as we affirm that to be a greater good, which is created and formed, so we
confess that to be a lesser good which is made capable of creation and
form, yet still good. We say however that Scripture hath not set down,
that God made this formlessness, as also it hath not many others; as the
Cherubim, and Seraphim, and those which the Apostle distinctly speaks of,
Thrones, Dominions, Principalities, Powers. All which that God made, is
most apparent. Or if in that which is said, He made heaven and earth, all
things be comprehended, what shall we say of the waters, upon which the
Spirit of God moved? For if they be comprised in this word earth; how then
can formless matter be meant in that name of earth, when we see the waters
so beautiful? Or if it be so taken; why then is it written, that out of
the same formlessness, the firmament was made, and called heaven; and that
the waters were made, is not written? For the waters remain not formless
and invisible, seeing we behold them flowing in so comely a manner. But if
they then received that beauty, when God said, Let the waters under the
firmament be gathered together, that so the gathering together be itself
the forming of them; what will be said as to those waters above the
firmament? Seeing neither if formless would they have been worthy of so
honourable a seat, nor is it written, by what word they were formed. If
then Genesis is silent as to God’s making of any thing, which yet that God
did make neither sound faith nor well-grounded understanding doubteth, nor
again will any sober teaching dare to affirm these waters to be coeternal
with God, on the ground that we find them to be mentioned in the hook of
Genesis, but when they were created, we do not find; why (seeing truth
teaches us) should we not understand that formless matter (which this
Scripture calls the earth invisible and without form, and darksome deep)
to have been created of God out of nothing, and therefore not to be
coeternal to Him; notwithstanding this history hath omitted to show when
it was created?”

These things then being heard and perceived, according to the weakness of
my capacity (which I confess unto Thee, O Lord, that knowest it), two
sorts of disagreements I see may arise, when a thing is in words related
by true reporters; one, concerning the truth of the things, the other,
concerning the meaning of the relater. For we enquire one way about the
making of the creature, what is true; another way, what Moses, that
excellent minister of Thy Faith, would have his reader and hearer
understand by those words. For the first sort, away with all those who
imagine themselves to know as a truth, what is false; and for this other,
away with all them too, which imagine Moses to have written things that be
false. But let me be united in Thee, O Lord, with those and delight myself
in Thee, with them that feed on Thy truth, in the largeness of charity,
and let us approach together unto the words of Thy book, and seek in them
for Thy meaning, through the meaning of Thy servant, by whose pen Thou
hast dispensed them.

But which of us shall, among those so many truths, which occur to
enquirers in those words, as they are differently understood, so discover
that one meaning, as to affirm, “this Moses thought,” and “this would he
have understood in that history”; with the same confidence as he would,
“this is true,” whether Moses thought this or that? For behold, O my God,
I Thy servant, who have in this book vowed a sacrifice of confession unto
Thee, and pray, that by Thy mercy I may pay my vows unto Thee, can I, with
the same confidence wherewith I affirm, that in Thy incommutable world
Thou createdst all things visible and invisible, affirm also, that Moses
meant no other than this, when he wrote, In the Beginning God made heaven
and earth? No. Because I see not in his mind, that he thought of this when
he wrote these things, as I do see it in Thy truth to be certain. For he
might have his thoughts upon God’s commencement of creating, when he said
In the beginning; and by heaven and earth, in this place he might intend
no formed and perfected nature whether spiritual or corporeal, but both of
them inchoate and as yet formless. For I perceive, that whichsoever of the
two had been said, it might have been truly said; but which of the two he
thought of in these words, I do not so perceive. Although, whether it were
either of these, or any sense beside (that I have not here mentioned),
which this so great man saw in his mind, when he uttered these words, I
doubt not but that he saw it truly, and expressed it aptly.

Let no man harass me then, by saying, Moses thought not as you say, but as
I say: for if he should ask me, “How know you that Moses thought that
which you infer out of his words?” I ought to take it in good part, and
would answer perchance as I have above, or something more at large, if he
were unyielding. But when he saith, “Moses meant not what you say, but
what I say,” yet denieth not that what each of us say, may both be true, O
my God, life of the poor, in Whose bosom is no contradiction, pour down a
softening dew into my heart, that I may patiently bear with such as say
this to me, not because they have a divine Spirit, and have seen in the
heart of Thy servant what they speak, but because they be proud; not
knowing Moses’ opinion, but loving their own, not because it is truth, but
because it is theirs. Otherwise they would equally love another true
opinion, as I love what they say, when they say true: not because it is
theirs, but because it is true; and on that very ground not theirs because
it is true. But if they therefore love it, because it is true, then is it
both theirs, and mine; as being in common to all lovers of truth. But
whereas they contend that Moses did not mean what I say, but what they
say, this I like not, love not: for though it were so, yet that their
rashness belongs not to knowledge, but to overboldness, and not insight
but vanity was its parent. And therefore, O Lord, are Thy judgements
terrible; seeing Thy truth is neither mine, nor his, nor another’s; but
belonging to us all, whom Thou callest publicly to partake of it, warning
us terribly, not to account it private to ourselves, lest we be deprived
of it. For whosoever challenges that as proper to himself, which Thou
propoundest to all to enjoy, and would have that his own which belongs to
all, is driven from what is in common to his own; that is, from truth, to
a lie. For he that speaketh a lie, speaketh it of his own.

Hearken, O God, Thou best judge; Truth Itself, hearken to what I shall say
to this gainsayer, hearken, for before Thee do I speak, and before my
brethren, who employ Thy law lawfully, to the end of charity: hearken and
behold, if it please Thee, what I shall say to him. For this brotherly and
peaceful word do I return unto Him: “If we both see that to be true that
Thou sayest, and both see that to be true that I say, where, I pray Thee,
do we see it? Neither I in thee, nor thou in me; but both in the
unchangeable Truth itself, which is above our souls.” Seeing then we
strive not about the very light of the Lord God, why strive we about the
thoughts of our neighbour which we cannot so see, as the unchangeable
Truth is seen: for that, if Moses himself had appeared to us and said,
“This I meant”; neither so should we see it, but should believe it. Let us
not then be puffed up for one against another, above that which is
written: let us love the Lord our God with all our heart, with all our
soul, and with all our mind: and our neighbour as ourself. With a view to
which two precepts of charity, unless we believe that Moses meant,
whatsoever in those books he did mean, we shall make God a liar, imagining
otherwise of our fellow servant’s mind, than he hath taught us. Behold
now, how foolish it is, in such abundance of most true meanings, as may be
extracted out of those words, rashly to affirm, which of them Moses
principally meant; and with pernicious contentions to offend charity
itself, for whose sake he spake every thing, whose words we go about to
expound.

And yet I, O my God, Thou lifter up of my humility, and rest of my labour,
Who hearest my confessions, and forgivest my sins: seeing Thou commandest
me to love my neighbour as myself, I cannot believe that Thou gavest a
less gift unto Moses Thy faithful servant, than I would wish or desire
Thee to have given me, had I been born in the time he was, and hadst Thou
set me in that office, that by the service of my heart and tongue those
books might be dispensed, which for so long after were to profit all
nations, and through the whole world from such an eminence of authority,
were to surmount all sayings of false and proud teachings. I should have
desired verily, had I then been Moses (for we all come from the same lump,
and what is man, saving that Thou art mindful of him?), I would then, had
I been then what he was, and been enjoined by Thee to write the book of
Genesis, have desired such a power of expression and such a style to be
given me, that neither they who cannot yet understand how God created,
might reject the sayings, as beyond their capacity; and they who had
attained thereto, might find what true opinion soever they had by thought
arrived at, not passed over in those few words of that Thy servant: and
should another man by the light of truth have discovered another, neither
should that fail of being discoverable in those same words.

For as a fountain within a narrow compass, is more plentiful, and supplies
a tide for more streams over larger spaces, than any one of those streams,
which, after a wide interval, is derived from the same fountain; so the
relation of that dispenser of Thine, which was to benefit many who were to
discourse thereon, does out of a narrow scantling of language, overflow
into streams of clearest truth, whence every man may draw out for himself
such truth as he can upon these subjects, one, one truth, another,
another, by larger circumlocutions of discourse. For some, when they read,
or hear these words, conceive that God like a man or some mass endued with
unbounded power, by some new and sudden resolution, did, exterior to
itself, as it were at a certain distance, create heaven and earth, two
great bodies above and below, wherein all things were to be contained. And
when they hear, God said, Let it be made, and it was made; they conceive
of words begun and ended, sounding in time, and passing away; after whose
departure, that came into being, which was commanded so to do; and
whatever of the like sort, men’s acquaintance with the material world
would suggest. In whom, being yet little ones and carnal, while their
weakness is by this humble kind of speech, carried on, as in a mother’s
bosom, their faith is wholesomely built up, whereby they hold assured,
that God made all natures, which in admirable variety their eye beholdeth
around. Which words, if any despising, as too simple, with a proud
weakness, shall stretch himself beyond the guardian nest; he will, alas,
fall miserably. Have pity, O Lord God, lest they who go by the way trample
on the unfledged bird, and send Thine angel to replace it into the nest,
that it may live, till it can fly.

But others, unto whom these words are no longer a nest, but deep shady
fruit-bowers, see the fruits concealed therein, fly joyously around, and
with cheerful notes seek out, and pluck them. For reading or hearing these
words, they see that all times past and to come, are surpassed by Thy
eternal and stable abiding; and yet that there is no creature formed in
time, not of Thy making. Whose will, because it is the same that Thou art,
Thou madest all things, not by any change of will, nor by a will, which
before was not, and that these things were not out of Thyself, in Thine
own likeness, which is the form of all things; but out of nothing, a
formless unlikeness, which should be formed by Thy likeness (recurring to
Thy Unity, according to their appointed capacity, so far as is given to
each thing in his kind), and might all be made very good; whether they
abide around Thee, or being in gradation removed in time and place, made
or undergo the beautiful variations of the Universe. These things they
see, and rejoice, in the little degree they here may, in the light of Thy
truth.

Another bends his mind on that which is said, In the Beginning God made
heaven and earth; and beholdeth therein Wisdom, the Beginning because It
also speaketh unto us. Another likewise bends his mind on the same words,
and by Beginning understands the commencement of things created; In the
beginning He made, as if it were said, He at first made. And among them
that understand In the Beginning to mean, “In Thy Wisdom Thou createdst
heaven and earth,” one believes the matter out of which the heaven and
earth were to be created, to be there called heaven and earth; another,
natures already formed and distinguished; another, one formed nature, and
that a spiritual, under the name Heaven, the other formless, a corporeal
matter, under the name Earth. They again who by the names heaven and
earth, understand matter as yet formless, out of which heaven and earth
were to be formed, neither do they understand it in one way; but the one,
that matter out of which both the intelligible and the sensible creature
were to be perfected; another, that only, out of which this sensible
corporeal mass was to be made, containing in its vast bosom these visible
and ordinary natures. Neither do they, who believe the creatures already
ordered and arranged, to be in this place called heaven and earth,
understand the same; but the one, both the invisible and visible, the
other, the visible only, in which we behold this lightsome heaven, and
darksome earth, with the things in them contained.

But he that no otherwise understands In the Beginning He made, than if it
were said, At first He made, can only truly understand heaven and earth of
the matter of heaven and earth, that is, of the universal intelligible and
corporeal creation. For if he would understand thereby the universe, as
already formed, it may be rightly demanded of him, “If God made this
first, what made He afterwards?” and after the universe, he will find
nothing; whereupon must he against his will hear another question; “How
did God make this first, if nothing after?” But when he says, God made
matter first formless, then formed, there is no absurdity, if he be but
qualified to discern, what precedes by eternity, what by time, what by
choice, and what in original. By eternity, as God is before all things; by
time, as the flower before the fruit; by choice, as the fruit before the
flower; by original, as the sound before the tune. Of these four, the
first and last mentioned, are with extreme difficulty understood, the two
middle, easily. For a rare and too lofty a vision is it, to behold Thy
Eternity, O Lord, unchangeably making things changeable; and thereby
before them. And who, again, is of so sharp-sighted understanding, as to
be able without great pains to discern, how the sound is therefore before
the tune; because a tune is a formed sound; and a thing not formed, may
exist; whereas that which existeth not, cannot be formed. Thus is the
matter before the thing made; not because it maketh it, seeing itself is
rather made; nor is it before by interval of time; for we do not first in
time utter formless sounds without singing, and subsequently adapt or
fashion them into the form of a chant, as wood or silver, whereof a chest
or vessel is fashioned. For such materials do by time also precede the
forms of the things made of them, but in singing it is not so; for when it
is sung, its sound is heard; for there is not first a formless sound,
which is afterwards formed into a chant. For each sound, so soon as made,
passeth away, nor canst thou find ought to recall and by art to compose.
So then the chant is concentrated in its sound, which sound of his is his
matter. And this indeed is formed, that it may be a tune; and therefore
(as I said) the matter of the sound is before the form of the tune; not
before, through any power it hath to make it a tune; for a sound is no way
the workmaster of the tune; but is something corporeal, subjected to the
soul which singeth, whereof to make a tune. Nor is it first in time; for
it is given forth together with the tune; nor first in choice, for a sound
is not better than a tune, a tune being not only a sound, but a beautiful
sound. But it is first in original, because a tune receives not form to
become a sound, but a sound receives a form to become a tune. By this
example, let him that is able, understand how the matter of things was
first made, and called heaven and earth, because heaven and earth were
made out of it. Yet was it not made first in time; because the forms of
things give rise to time; but that was without form, but now is, in time,
an object of sense together with its form. And yet nothing can be related
of that matter, but as though prior in time, whereas in value it is last
(because things formed are superior to things without form) and is
preceded by the Eternity of the Creator: that so there might be out of
nothing, whereof somewhat might be created.

In this diversity of the true opinions, let Truth herself produce concord.
And our God have mercy upon us, that we may use the law lawfully, the end
of the commandment, pure charity. By this if man demands of me, “which of
these was the meaning of Thy servant Moses”; this were not the language of
my Confessions, should I not confess unto Thee, “I know not”; and yet I
know that those senses are true, those carnal ones excepted, of which I
have spoken what seemed necessary. And even those hopeful little ones who
so think, have this benefit, that the words of Thy Book affright them not,
delivering high things lowlily, and with few words a copious meaning. And
all we who, I confess, see and express the truth delivered in those words,
let us love one another, and jointly love Thee our God, the fountain of
truth, if we are athirst for it, and not for vanities; yea, let us so
honour this Thy servant, the dispenser of this Scripture, full of Thy
Spirit, as to believe that, when by Thy revelation he wrote these things,
he intended that, which among them chiefly excels both for light of truth,
and fruitfulness of profit.

So when one says, “Moses meant as I do”; and another, “Nay, but as I do,”
I suppose that I speak more reverently, “Why not rather as both, if both
be true?” And if there be a third, or a fourth, yea if any other seeth any
other truth in those words, why may not he be believed to have seen all
these, through whom the One God hath tempered the holy Scriptures to the
senses of many, who should see therein things true but divers? For I
certainly (and fearlessly I speak it from my heart), that were I to indite
any thing to have supreme authority, I should prefer so to write, that
whatever truth any could apprehend on those matters, might be conveyed in
my words, rather than set down my own meaning so clearly as to exclude the
rest, which not being false, could not offend me. I will not therefore, O
my God, be so rash, as not to believe, that Thou vouchsafedst as much to
that great man. He without doubt, when he wrote those words, perceived and
thought on what truth soever we have been able to find, yea and whatsoever
we have not been able, nor yet are, but which may be found in them.

Lastly, O Lord, who art God and not flesh and blood, if man did see less,
could any thing be concealed from Thy good Spirit (who shall lead me into
the land of uprightness), which Thou Thyself by those words wert about to
reveal to readers in times to come, though he through whom they were
spoken, perhaps among many true meanings, thought on some one? which if so
it be, let that which he thought on be of all the highest. But to us, O
Lord, do Thou, either reveal that same, or any other true one which Thou
pleasest; that so, whether Thou discoverest the same to us, as to that Thy
servant, or some other by occasion of those words, yet Thou mayest feed
us, not error deceive us. Behold, O Lord my God, how much we have written
upon a few words, how much I beseech Thee! What strength of ours, yea what
ages would suffice for all Thy books in this manner? Permit me then in
these more briefly to confess unto Thee, and to choose some one true,
certain, and good sense that Thou shalt inspire me, although many should
occur, where many may occur; this being the law my confession, that if I
should say that which Thy minister intended, that is right and best; for
this should I endeavour, which if I should not attain, yet I should say
that, which Thy Truth willed by his words to tell me, which revealed also
unto him, what It willed.

BOOK XIII

I call upon Thee, O my God, my mercy, Who createdst me, and forgottest not
me, forgetting Thee. I call Thee into my soul which, by the longing
Thyself inspirest into her, Thou preparest for Thee. Forsake me not now
calling upon Thee, whom Thou preventedst before I called, and urgedst me
with much variety of repeated calls, that I would hear Thee from afar, and
be converted, and call upon Thee, that calledst after me; for Thou, Lord,
blottedst out all my evil deservings, so as not to repay into my hands,
wherewith I fell from Thee; and Thou hast prevented all my well
deservings, so as to repay the work of Thy hands wherewith Thou madest me;
because before I was, Thou wert; nor was I any thing, to which Thou
mightest grant to be; and yet behold, I am, out of Thy goodness,
preventing all this which Thou hast made me, and whereof Thou hast made
me. For neither hadst Thou need of me, nor am I any such good, as to be
helpful unto Thee, my Lord and God; not in serving Thee, as though Thou
wouldest tire in working; or lest Thy power might be less, if lacking my
service: nor cultivating Thy service, as a land, that must remain
uncultivated, unless I cultivated Thee: but serving and worshipping Thee,
that I might receive a well-being from Thee, from whom it comes, that I
have a being capable of well-being.

For of the fulness of Thy goodness, doth Thy creature subsist, that so a
good, which could no ways profit Thee, nor was of Thee (lest so it should
be equal to Thee), might yet be since it could be made of Thee. For what
did heaven and earth, which Thou madest in the Beginning, deserve of Thee?
Let those spiritual and corporeal natures which Thou madest in Thy Wisdom,
say wherein they deserved of Thee, to depend thereon (even in that their
several inchoate and formless state, whether spiritual or corporeal, ready
to fall away into an immoderate liberty and far-distant unlikeliness unto
Thee;—the spiritual, though without form, superior to the corporeal
though formed, and the corporeal though without form, better than were it
altogether nothing), and so to depend upon Thy Word, as formless, unless
by the same Word they were brought back to Thy Unity, indued with form and
from Thee the One Sovereign Good were made all very good. How did they
deserve of Thee, to be even without form, since they had not been even
this, but from Thee?

How did corporeal matter deserve of Thee, to be even invisible and without
form? seeing it were not even this, but that Thou madest it, and therefore
because it was not, could not deserve of Thee to be made. Or how could the
inchoate spiritual creature deserve of Thee, even to ebb and flow
darksomely like the deep,—unlike Thee, unless it had been by the
same Word turned to that, by Whom it was created, and by Him so
enlightened, become light; though not equally, yet conformably to that
Form which is equal unto Thee? For as in a body, to be, is not one with
being beautiful, else could it not be deformed; so likewise to a created
spirit to live, is not one with living wisely; else should it be wise
unchangeably. But good it is for it always to hold fast to Thee; lest what
light it hath obtained by turning to Thee, it lose by turning from Thee,
and relapse into life resembling the darksome deep. For we ourselves also,
who as to the soul are a spiritual creature, turned away from Thee our
light, were in that life sometimes darkness; and still labour amidst the
relics of our darkness, until in Thy Only One we become Thy righteousness,
like the mountains of God. For we have been Thy judgments, which are like
the great deep.

That which Thou saidst in the beginning of the creation, Let there be
light, and there was light; I do, not unsuitably, understand of the
spiritual creature: because there was already a sort of life, which Thou
mightest illuminate. But as it had no claim on Thee for a life, which
could be enlightened, so neither now that it was, had it any, to be
enlightened. For neither could its formless estate be pleasing unto Thee,
unless it became light, and that not by existing simply, but by beholding
the illuminating light, and cleaving to it; so that, that it lived, and
lived happily, it owes to nothing but Thy grace, being turned by a better
change unto That which cannot be changed into worse or better; which Thou
alone art, because Thou alone simply art; unto Thee it being not one thing
to live, another to live blessedly, seeing Thyself art Thine own
Blessedness.

What then could be wanting unto Thy good, which Thou Thyself art, although
these things had either never been, or remained without form; which thou
madest, not out of any want, but out of the fulness of Thy goodness,
restraining them and converting them to form, not as though Thy joy were
fulfilled by them? For to Thee being perfect, is their imperfection
displeasing, and hence were they perfected by Thee, and please Thee; not
as wert Thou imperfect, and by their perfecting wert also to be perfected.
For Thy good Spirit indeed was borne over the waters, not borne up by
them, as if He rested upon them. For those, on whom Thy good Spirit is
said to rest, He causes to rest in Himself. But Thy incorruptible and
unchangeable will, in itself all-sufficient for itself, was borne upon
that life which Thou hadst created; to which, living is not one with happy
living, seeing it liveth also, ebbing and flowing in its own darkness: for
which it remaineth to be converted unto Him, by Whom it was made, and to
live more and more by the fountain of life, and in His light to see light,
and to be perfected, and enlightened, and beautified.

Lo, now the Trinity appears unto me in a glass darkly, which is Thou my
God, because Thou, O Father, in Him Who is the Beginning of our wisdom,
Which is Thy Wisdom, born of Thyself, equal unto Thee and coeternal, that
is, in Thy Son, createdst heaven and earth. Much now have we said of the
Heaven of heavens, and of the earth invisible and without form, and of the
darksome deep, in reference to the wandering instability of its spiritual
deformity, unless it had been converted unto Him, from Whom it had its
then degree of life, and by His enlightening became a beauteous life, and
the heaven of that heaven, which was afterwards set between water and
water. And under the name of God, I now held the Father, who made these
things, and under the name of Beginning, the Son, in whom He made these
things; and believing, as I did, my God as the Trinity, I searched further
in His holy words, and lo, Thy Spirit moved upon the waters. Behold the
Trinity, my God, Father, and Son, and Holy Ghost, Creator of all creation.

But what was the cause, O true-speaking Light?—unto Thee lift I up
my heart, let it not teach me vanities, dispel its darkness; and tell me,
I beseech Thee, by our mother charity, tell me the reason, I beseech Thee,
why after the mention of heaven, and of the earth invisible and without
form, and darkness upon the deep, Thy Scripture should then at length
mention Thy Spirit? Was it because it was meet that the knowledge of Him
should be conveyed, as being “borne above”; and this could not be said,
unless that were first mentioned, over which Thy Spirit may be understood
to have been borne. For neither was He borne above the Father, nor the
Son, nor could He rightly be said to be borne above, if He were borne over
nothing. First then was that to be spoken of, over which He might be
borne; and then He, whom it was meet not otherwise to be spoken of than as
being borne. But wherefore was it not meet that the knowledge of Him
should be conveyed otherwise, than as being borne above?

Hence let him that is able, follow with his understanding Thy Apostle,
where he thus speaks, Because Thy love is shed abroad in our hearts by the
Holy Ghost which is given unto us: and where concerning spiritual gifts,
he teacheth and showeth unto us a more excellent way of charity; and where
he bows his knee unto Thee for us, that we may know the supereminent
knowledge of the love of Christ. And therefore from the beginning, was He
borne supereminent above the waters. To whom shall I speak this? how speak
of the weight of evil desires, downwards to the steep abyss; and how
charity raises up again by Thy Spirit which was borne above the waters? to
whom shall I speak it? how speak it? For it is not in space that we are
merged and emerge. What can be more, and yet what less like? They be
affections, they be loves; the uncleanness of our spirit flowing away
downwards with the love of cares, and the holiness of Thine raising us
upward by love of unanxious repose; that we may lift our hearts unto Thee,
where Thy Spirit is borne above the waters; and come to that supereminent
repose, when our soul shall have passed through the waters which yield no
support.

Angels fell away, man’s soul fell away, and thereby pointed the abyss in
that dark depth, ready for the whole spiritual creation, hadst not Thou
said from the beginning, Let there be light, and there had been light, and
every obedient intelligence of Thy heavenly City had cleaved to Thee, and
rested in Thy Spirit, Which is borne unchangeably over every thing
changeable. Otherwise, had even the heaven of heavens been in itself a
darksome deep; but now it is light in the Lord. For even in that miserable
restlessness of the spirits, who fell away and discovered their own
darkness, when bared of the clothing of Thy light, dost Thou sufficiently
reveal how noble Thou madest the reasonable creature; to which nothing
will suffice to yield a happy rest, less than Thee; and so not even
herself. For Thou, O our God, shalt lighten our darkness: from Thee riseth
our garment of light; and then shall our darkness be as the noon day. Give
Thyself unto me, O my God, restore Thyself unto me: behold I love, and if
it be too little, I would love more strongly. I cannot measure so as to
know, how much love there yet lacketh to me, ere my life may run into Thy
embracements, nor turn away, until it be hidden in the hidden place of Thy
Presence. This only I know, that woe is me except in Thee: not only
without but within myself also; and all abundance, which is not my God, is
emptiness to me.

But was not either the Father, or the Son, borne above the waters? if this
means, in space, like a body, then neither was the Holy Spirit; but if the
unchangeable supereminence of Divinity above all things changeable, then
were both Father, and Son, and Holy Ghost borne upon the waters. Why then
is this said of Thy Spirit only, why is it said only of Him? As if He had
been in place, Who is not in place, of Whom only it is written, that He is
Thy gift? In Thy Gift we rest; there we enjoy Thee. Our rest is our place.
Love lifts us up thither, and Thy good Spirit lifts up our lowliness from
the gates of death. In Thy good pleasure is our peace. The body by its own
weight strives towards its own place. Weight makes not downward only, but
to his own place. Fire tends upward, a stone downward. They are urged by
their own weight, they seek their own places. Oil poured below water, is
raised above the water; water poured upon oil, sinks below the oil. They
are urged by their own weights to seek their own places. When out of their
order, they are restless; restored to order, they are at rest. My weight,
is my love; thereby am I borne, whithersoever I am borne. We are inflamed,
by Thy Gift we are kindled; and are carried upwards; we glow inwardly, and
go forwards. We ascend Thy ways that be in our heart, and sing a song of
degrees; we glow inwardly with Thy fire, with Thy good fire, and we go;
because we go upwards to the peace of Jerusalem: for gladdened was I in
those who said unto me, We will go up to the house of the Lord. There hath
Thy good pleasure placed us, that we may desire nothing else, but to abide
there for ever.

Blessed creature, which being itself other than Thou, has known no other
condition, than that, so soon as it was made, it was, without any
interval, by Thy Gift, Which is borne above every thing changeable, borne
aloft by that calling whereby Thou saidst, Let there be light, and there
was light. Whereas in us this took place at different times, in that we
were darkness, and are made light: but of that is only said, what it would
have been, had it not been enlightened. And, this is so spoken, as if it
had been unsettled and darksome before; that so the cause whereby it was
made otherwise, might appear, namely, that being turned to the Light
unfailing it became light. Whoso can, let him understand this; let him ask
of Thee. Why should he trouble me, as if I could enlighten any man that
cometh into this world?

Which of us comprehendeth the Almighty Trinity? and yet which speaks not
of It, if indeed it be It? Rare is the soul, which while it speaks of It,
knows what it speaks of. And they contend and strive, yet, without peace,
no man sees that vision. I would that men would consider these three, that
are in themselves. These three be indeed far other than the Trinity: I do
but tell, where they may practise themselves, and there prove and feel how
far they be. Now the three I spake of are, To Be, to Know, and to Will.
For I Am, and Know, and Will: I Am Knowing and Willing: and I Know myself
to Be, and to Will: and I Will to Be, and to Know. In these three then,
let him discern that can, how inseparable a life there is, yea one life,
mind, and one essence, yea lastly how inseparable a distinction there is,
and yet a distinction. Surely a man hath it before him; let him look into
himself, and see, and tell me. But when he discovers and can say any thing
of these, let him not therefore think that he has found that which is
above these Unchangeable, which Is unchangeably, and Knows unchangeably,
and Wills unchangeably; and whether because of these three, there is in
God also a Trinity, or whether all three be in Each, so that the three
belong to Each; or whether both ways at once, wondrously, simply and yet
manifoldly, Itself a bound unto Itself within Itself, yet unbounded;
whereby It is, and is Known unto Itself and sufficeth to itself,
unchangeably the Self-same, by the abundant greatness of its Unity,—who
can readily conceive this? who could any ways express it? who would, any
way, pronounce thereon rashly?

Proceed in thy confession, say to the Lord thy God, O my faith, Holy,
Holy, Holy, O Lord my God, in Thy Name have we been baptised, Father, Son,
and Holy Ghost; in Thy Name do we baptise, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
because among us also, in His Christ did God make heaven and earth,
namely, the spiritual and carnal people of His Church. Yea and our earth,
before it received the form of doctrine, was invisible and without form;
and we were covered with the darkness of ignorance. For Thou chastenedst
man for iniquity, and Thy judgments were like the great deep unto him. But
because Thy Spirit was borne above the waters, Thy mercy forsook not our
misery, and Thou saidst, Let there be light, Repent ye, for the kingdom of
heaven is at hand. Repent ye, let there be light. And because our soul was
troubled within us, we remembered Thee, O Lord, from the land of Jordan,
and that mountain equal unto Thyself, but little for our sakes: and our
darkness displeased us, we turned unto Thee and there was light. And,
behold, we were sometimes darkness, but now light in the Lord.

But as yet by faith and not by sight, for by hope we are saved; but hope
that is seen, is not hope. As yet doth deep call unto deep, but now in the
voice of Thy water-spouts. As yet doth he that saith, I could not speak
unto you as unto spiritual, but as unto carnal, even he as yet, doth not
think himself to have apprehended, and forgetteth those things which are
behind, and reacheth forth to those which are before, and groaneth being
burthened, and his soul thirsteth after the Living God, as the hart after
the water-brooks, and saith, When shall I come? desiring to be clothed
upon with his house which is from heaven, and calleth upon this lower
deep, saying, Be not conformed to this world, but be ye transformed by the
renewing of your mind. And, be not children in understanding, but in
malice, be ye children, that in understanding ye may be perfect; and O
foolish Galatians, who hath bewitched you? But now no longer in his own
voice; but in Thine who sentest Thy Spirit from above; through Him who
ascended up on high, and set open the flood-gates of His gifts, that the
force of His streams might make glad the city of God. Him doth this friend
of the Bridegroom sigh after, having now the first-fruits of the Spirit
laid up with Him, yet still groaning within himself, waiting for the
adoption, to wit, the redemption of his body; to Him he sighs, a member of
the Bride; for Him he is jealous, as being a friend of the Bridegroom; for
Him he is jealous, not for himself; because in the voice of Thy
water-spouts, not in his own voice, doth he call to that other depth, over
whom being jealous he feareth, lest as the serpent beguiled Eve through
his subtilty, so their minds should be corrupted from the purity that is
in our Bridegroom Thy only Son. O what a light of beauty will that be,
when we shall see Him as He is, and those tears be passed away, which have
been my meat day and night, whilst they daily say unto me, Where is now
Thy God?

Behold, I too say, O my God, Where art Thou? see, where Thou art! in Thee
I breathe a little, when I pour out my soul by myself in the voice of joy
and praise, the sound of him that keeps holy-day. And yet again it is sad,
because it relapseth, and becomes a deep, or rather perceives itself still
to be a deep. Unto it speaks my faith which Thou hast kindled to enlighten
my feet in the night, Why art thou sad, O my soul, and why dost thou
trouble me? Hope in the Lord; His word is a lanthorn unto thy feet: hope
and endure, until the night, the mother of the wicked, until the wrath of
the Lord, be overpast, whereof we also were once children, who were
sometimes darkness, relics whereof we bear about us in our body, dead
because of sin; until the day break, and the shadows fly away. Hope thou
in the Lord; in the morning I shall stand in Thy presence, and contemplate
Thee: I shall for ever confess unto Thee. In the morning I shall stand in
Thy presence, and shall see the health of my countenance, my God, who also
shall quicken our mortal bodies, by the Spirit that dwelleth in us,
because He hath in mercy been borne over our inner darksome and floating
deep: from Whom we have in this pilgrimage received an earnest, that we
should now be light: whilst we are saved by hope, and are the children of
light, and the children of the day, not the children of the night, nor of
the darkness, which yet sometimes we were. Betwixt whom and us, in this
uncertainty of human knowledge, Thou only dividest; Thou, who provest our
hearts, and callest the light, day, and the darkness, night. For who
discerneth us, but Thou? And what have we, that we have not received of
Thee? out of the same lump vessels are made unto honour, whereof others
also are made unto dishonour.

Or who, except Thou, our God, made for us that firmament of authority over
us in Thy Divine Scripture? as it is said, For heaven shall be folded up
like a scroll; and now is it stretched over us like a skin. For Thy Divine
Scripture is of more eminent authority, since those mortals by whom Thou
dispensest it unto us, underwent mortality. And Thou knowest, Lord, Thou
knowest, how Thou with skins didst clothe men, when they by sin became
mortal. Whence Thou hast like a skin stretched out the firmament of Thy
book, that is, Thy harmonizing words, which by the ministry of mortal men
Thou spreadest over us. For by their very death was that solid firmament
of authority, in Thy discourses set forth by them, more eminently extended
over all that be under it; which whilst they lived here, was not so
eminently extended. Thou hadst not as yet spread abroad the heaven like a
skin; Thou hadst not as yet enlarged in all directions the glory of their
deaths.

Let us look, O Lord, upon the heavens, the work of Thy fingers; clear from
our eyes that cloud, which Thou hast spread under them. There is Thy
testimony, which giveth wisdom unto the little ones: perfect, O my God,
Thy praise out of the mouth of babes and sucklings. For we know no other
books, which so destroy pride, which so destroy the enemy and the
defender, who resisteth Thy reconciliation by defending his own sins. I
know not, Lord, I know not any other such pure words, which so persuade me
to confess, and make my neck pliant to Thy yoke, and invite me to serve
Thee for nought. Let me understand them, good Father: grant this to me,
who am placed under them: because for those placed under them, hast Thou
established them.

Other waters there be above this firmament, I believe immortal, and
separated from earthly corruption. Let them praise Thy Name, let them
praise Thee, the supercelestial people, Thine angels, who have no need to
gaze up at this firmament, or by reading to know of Thy Word. For they
always behold Thy face, and there read without any syllables in time, what
willeth Thy eternal will; they read, they choose, they love. They are ever
reading; and that never passes away which they read; for by choosing, and
by loving, they read the very unchangeableness of Thy counsel. Their book
is never closed, nor their scroll folded up; seeing Thou Thyself art this
to them, and art eternally; because Thou hast ordained them above this
firmament, which Thou hast firmly settled over the infirmity of the lower
people, where they might gaze up and learn Thy mercy, announcing in time
Thee Who madest times. For Thy mercy, O Lord, is in the heavens, and Thy
truth reacheth unto the clouds. The clouds pass away, but the heaven
abideth. The preachers of Thy word pass out of this life into another; but
Thy Scripture is spread abroad over the people, even unto the end of the
world. Yet heaven and earth also shall pass away, but Thy words shall not
pass away. Because the scroll shall be rolled together: and the grass over
which it was spread, shall with the goodliness of it pass away; but Thy
Word remaineth for ever, which now appeareth unto us under the dark image
of the clouds, and through the glass of the heavens, not as it is: because
we also, though the well-beloved of Thy Son, yet it hath not yet appeared
what we shall be. He looketh through the lattice of our flesh, and He
spake us tenderly, and kindled us, and we ran after His odours. But when
He shall appear, then shall we be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is.
As He is, Lord, will our sight be.

For altogether, as Thou art, Thou only knowest; Who art unchangeably, and
knowest unchangeably, and willest unchangeably. And Thy Essence Knoweth,
and Willeth unchangeably; and Thy Knowledge Is, and Willeth unchangeably;
and Thy Will Is, and Knoweth unchangeably. Nor seemeth it right in Thine
eyes, that as the Unchangeable Light knoweth Itself, so should it be known
by the thing enlightened, and changeable. Therefore is my soul like a land
where no water is, because as it cannot of itself enlighten itself, so can
it not of itself satisfy itself. For so is the fountain of life with Thee,
like as in Thy light we shall see light.

Who gathered the embittered together into one society? For they have all
one end, a temporal and earthly felicity, for attaining whereof they do
all things, though they waver up and down with an innumerable variety of
cares. Who, Lord, but Thou, saidst, Let the waters be gathered together
into one place, and let the dry land appear, which thirsteth after Thee?
For the sea also is Thine, and Thou hast made it, and Thy hands prepared
the dry land. Nor is the bitterness of men’s wills, but the gathering
together of the waters, called sea; for Thou restrainest the wicked
desires of men’s souls, and settest them their bounds, how far they may be
allowed to pass, that their waves may break one against another: and thus
makest Thou it a sea, by the order of Thy dominion over all things.

But the souls that thirst after Thee, and that appear before Thee (being
by other bounds divided from the society of the sea), Thou waterest by a
sweet spring, that the earth may bring forth her fruit, and Thou, Lord
God, so commanding, our soul may bud forth works of mercy according to
their kind, loving our neighbour in the relief of his bodily necessities,
having seed in itself according to its likeness, when from feeling of our
infirmity, we compassionate so as to relieve the needy; helping them, as
we would be helped; if we were in like need; not only in things easy, as
in herb yielding seed, but also in the protection of our assistance, with
our best strength, like the tree yielding fruit: that is, well-doing in
rescuing him that suffers wrong, from the hand of the powerful, and giving
him the shelter of protection, by the mighty strength of just judgment.

So, Lord, so, I beseech Thee, let there spring up, as Thou doest, as Thou
givest cheerfulness and ability, let truth spring out of the earth, and
righteousness look down from heaven, and let there be lights in the
firmament. Let us break our bread to the hungry, and bring the houseless
poor to our house. Let us clothe the naked, and despise not those of our
own flesh. Which fruits having sprung out of the earth, see it is good:
and let our temporary light break forth; and ourselves, from this lower
fruitfulness of action, arriving at the delightfulness of contemplation,
obtaining the Word of Life above, appear like lights in the world,
cleaving to the firmament of Thy Scripture. For there Thou instructest us,
to divide between the things intellectual, and things of sense, as betwixt
the day and the night; or between souls, given either to things
intellectual, or things of sense, so that now not Thou only in the secret
of Thy judgment, as before the firmament was made, dividest between the
light and the darkness, but Thy spiritual children also set and ranked in
the same firmament (now that Thy grace is laid open throughout the world),
may give light upon the earth, and divide betwixt the day and the night,
and be for signs of times, that old things are passed away, and, behold,
all things are become new; and that our salvation is nearer than when we
believed: and that the night is far spent, and the day is at hand: and
that Thou wilt crown Thy year with blessing, sending the labourers of Thy
goodness into Thy harvest, in sowing whereof, others have laboured,
sending also into another field, whose harvest shall be in the end. Thus
grantest Thou the prayers of him that asketh, and blessest the years of
the just; but Thou art the same, and in Thy years which fail not, Thou
preparest a garner for our passing years. For Thou by an eternal counsel
dost in their proper seasons bestow heavenly blessings upon the earth. For
to one is given by the Spirit the word of wisdom, as it were the lesser
light: to another faith; to another the gift with the light of perspicuous
truth, as it were for the rule of the day. To another the word of
knowledge by the same Spirit, as it were the lesser light: to another
faith; to another the gift of healing; to another the working of miracles;
to another prophecy; to another discerning of spirits; to another divers
kinds of tongues. And all these as it were stars. For all these worketh
the one and self-same spirit, dividing to every man his own as He will;
and causing stars to appear manifestly, to profit withal. But the word of
knowledge, wherein are contained all Sacraments, which are varied in their
seasons as it were the moon, and those other notices of gifts, which are
reckoned up in order, as it were stars, inasmuch as they come short of
that brightness of wisdom, which gladdens the forementioned day, are only
for the rule of the night. For they are necessary to such, as that Thy
most prudent servant could not speak unto as unto spiritual, but as unto
carnal; even he, who speaketh wisdom among those that are perfect. But the
natural man, as it were a babe in Christ and fed on milk, until he be
strengthened for solid meat and his eye be enabled to behold the Sun, let
him not dwell in a night forsaken of all light, but be content with the
light of the moon and the stars. So dost Thou speak to us, our All-wise
God, in Thy Book, Thy firmament; that we may discern all things, in an
admirable contemplation; though as yet in signs and in times, and in days,
and in years.

But first, wash you, be clean; put away evil from your souls, and from
before mine eyes, that the dry land may appear. Learn to do good, judge
the fatherless, plead for the widow, that the earth may bring forth the
green herb for meat, and the tree bearing fruit; and come, let us reason
together, saith the Lord, that there may be lights in the firmament of the
heaven, and they may shine upon the earth. That rich man asked of the good
Master, what he should do to attain eternal life. Let the good Master tell
him (whom he thought no more than man; but He is good because He is God),
let Him tell him, if he would enter into life, he must keep the
commandments: let him put away from him the bitterness of malice and
wickedness; not kill, not commit adultery, not steal, not bear false
witness; that the dry land may appear, and bring forth the honouring of
father and mother, and the love of our neighbour. All these (saith he)
have I kept. Whence then so many thorns, if the earth be fruitful? Go,
root up the spreading thickets of covetousness; sell that thou hast, and
be filled with fruit, by giving to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure
in heaven; and follow the Lord if thou wilt be perfect, associated with
them, among whom He speaketh wisdom, Who knoweth what to distribute to the
day, and to the night, that thou also mayest know it, and for thee there
may be lights in the firmament of heaven; which will not be, unless thy
heart be there: nor will that either be, unless there thy treasure be; as
thou hast heard of the good Master. But that barren earth was grieved; and
the thorns choked the word.

But you, chosen generation, you weak things of the world, who have
forsaken all, that ye may follow the Lord; go after Him, and confound the
mighty; go after Him, ye beautiful feet, and shine ye in the firmament,
that the heavens may declare His glory, dividing between the light of the
perfect, though not as the angels, and the darkness of the little ones,
though not despised. Shine over the earth; and let the day, lightened by
the sun, utter unto day, speech of wisdom; and night, shining with the
moon, show unto night, the word of knowledge. The moon and stars shine for
the night; yet doth not the night obscure them, seeing they give it light
in its degree. For behold God saying, as it were, Let there be lights in
the firmament of heaven; there came suddenly a sound from heaven, as it
had been the rushing of a mighty wind, and there appeared cloven tongues
like as of fire, and it sat upon each of them. And there were made lights
in the firmament of heaven, having the word of life. Run ye to and fro
every where, ye holy fires, ye beauteous fires; for ye are the light of
the world, nor are ye put under a bushel; He whom you cleave unto, is
exalted, and hath exalted you. Run ye to and fro, and be known unto all
nations.

Let the sea also conceive and bring forth your works; and let the waters
bring forth the moving creature that hath life. For ye, separating the
precious from the vile, are made the mouth of God, by whom He saith, Let
the waters bring forth, not the living creature which the earth brings
forth, but the moving creature having life, and the fowls that fly above
the earth. For Thy Sacraments, O God, by the ministry of Thy holy ones,
have moved amid the waves of temptations of the world, to hallow the
Gentiles in Thy Name, in Thy Baptism. And amid these things, many great
wonders were wrought, as it were great whales: and the voices of Thy
messengers flying above the earth, in the open firmament of Thy Book; that
being set over them, as their authority under which they were to fly,
whithersoever they went. For there is no speech nor language, where their
voice is not heard: seeing their sound is gone through all the earth, and
their words to the end of the world, because Thou, Lord, multipliedst them
by blessing.

Speak I untruly, or do I mingle and confound, and not distinguish between
the lucid knowledge of these things in the firmament of heaven, and the
material works in the wavy sea, and under the firmament of heaven? For of
those things whereof the knowledge is substantial and defined, without any
increase by generation, as it were lights of wisdom and knowledge, yet
even of them, the material operations are many and divers; and one thing
growing out of another, they are multiplied by Thy blessing, O God, who
hast refreshed the fastidiousness of mortal senses; that so one thing in
the understanding of our mind, may, by the motions of the body, be many
ways set out, and expressed. These Sacraments have the waters brought
forth; but in Thy word. The necessities of the people estranged from the
eternity of Thy truth, have brought them forth, but in Thy Gospel; because
the waters themselves cast them forth, the diseased bitterness whereof was
the cause, why they were sent forth in Thy Word.

Now are all things fair that Thou hast made; but behold, Thyself art
unutterably fairer, that madest all; from whom had not Adam fallen, the
brackishness of the sea had never flowed out of him, that is, the human
race so profoundly curious, and tempestuously swelling, and restlessly
tumbling up and down; and then had there been no need of Thy dispensers to
work in many waters, after a corporeal and sensible manner, mysterious
doings and sayings. For such those moving and flying creatures now seem to
me to mean, whereby people being initiated and consecrated by corporeal
Sacraments, should not further profit, unless their soul had a spiritual
life, and unless after the word of admission, it looked forwards to
perfection.

And hereby, in Thy Word, not the deepness of the sea, but the earth
separated from the bitterness of the waters, brings forth, not the moving
creature that hath life, but the living soul. For now hath it no more need
of baptism, as the heathen have, and as itself had, when it was covered
with the waters; (for no other entrance is there into the kingdom of
heaven, since Thou hast appointed that this should be the entrance): nor
does it seek after wonderfulness of miracles to work belief; for it is not
such, that unless it sees signs and wonders, it will not believe, now that
the faithful earth is separated from the waters that were bitter with
infidelity; and tongues are for a sign, not to them that believe, but to
them that believe not. Neither then does that earth which Thou hast
founded upon the waters, need that flying kind, which at Thy word the
waters brought forth. Send Thou Thy word into it by Thy messengers: for we
speak of their working, yet it is Thou that workest in them that they may
work out a living soul in it. The earth brings it forth, because the earth
is the cause that they work this in the soul; as the sea was the cause
that they wrought upon the moving creatures that have life, and the fowls
that fly under the firmament of heaven, of whom the earth hath no need;
although it feeds upon that fish which was taken out of the deep, upon
that table which Thou hast prepared in the presence of them that believe.
For therefore was He taken out of the deep, that He might feed the dry
land; and the fowl, though bred in the sea, is yet multiplied upon the
earth. For of the first preachings of the Evangelists, man’s infidelity
was the cause; yet are the faithful also exhorted and blessed by them
manifoldly, from day to day. But the living soul takes his beginning from
the earth: for it profits only those already among the Faithful, to
contain themselves from the love of this world, that so their soul may
live unto Thee, which was dead while it lived in pleasures; in
death-bringing pleasures, Lord, for Thou, Lord, art the life-giving
delight of the pure heart.

Now then let Thy ministers work upon the earth,—not as upon the
waters of infidelity, by preaching and speaking by miracles, and
Sacraments, and mystic words; wherein ignorance, the mother of admiration,
might be intent upon them, out of a reverence towards those secret signs.
For such is the entrance unto the Faith for the sons of Adam forgetful of
Thee, while they hide themselves from Thy face, and become a darksome
deep. But—let Thy ministers work now as on the dry land, separated
from the whirlpools of the great deep: and let them be a pattern unto the
Faithful, by living before them, and stirring them up to imitation. For
thus do men hear, so as not to hear only, but to do also. Seek the Lord,
and your soul shall live, that the earth may bring forth the living soul.
Be not conformed to the world. Contain yourselves from it: the soul lives
by avoiding what it dies by affecting. Contain yourselves from the
ungoverned wildness of pride, the sluggish voluptuousness of luxury, and
the false name of knowledge: that so the wild beasts may be tamed, the
cattle broken to the yoke, the serpents, harmless. For these be the
motions of our mind under an allegory; that is to say, the haughtiness of
pride, the delight of lust, and the poison of curiosity, are the motions
of a dead soul; for the soul dies not so as to lose all motion; because it
dies by forsaking the fountain of life, and so is taken up by this
transitory world, and is conformed unto it.

But Thy word, O God, is the fountain of life eternal; and passeth not
away: wherefore this departure of the soul is restrained by Thy word, when
it is said unto us, Be not conformed unto this world; that so the earth
may in the fountain of life bring forth a living soul; that is, a soul
made continent in Thy Word, by Thy Evangelists, by following the followers
of Thy Christ. For this is after his kind; because a man is wont to
imitate his friend. Be ye (saith he) as I am, for I also am as you are.
Thus in this living soul shall there be good beasts, in meekness of action
(for Thou hast commanded, Go on with thy business in meekness, so shalt
thou be beloved by all men); and good cattle, which neither if they eat,
shall they over-abound, nor, if they eat not, have any lack; and good
serpents, not dangerous, to do hurt, but wise to take heed; and only
making so much search into this temporal nature, as may suffice that
eternity be clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made.
For these creatures are obedient unto reason, when being restrained from
deadly prevailing upon us, they live, and are good.

For behold, O Lord, our God, our Creator, when our affections have been
restrained from the love of the world, by which we died through
evil-living; and begun to be a living soul, through good living; and Thy
word which Thou spokest by Thy apostle, is made good in us, Be not
conformed to this world: there follows that also, which Thou presently
subjoinedst, saying, But be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind;
not now after your kind, as though following your neighbour who went
before you, nor as living after the example of some better man (for Thou
saidst not, “Let man be made after his kind,” but, Let us make man after
our own image and similitude), that we might prove what Thy will is. For
to this purpose said that dispenser of Thine (who begat children by the
Gospel), that he might not for ever have them babes, whom he must be fain
to feed with milk, and cherish as a nurse; be ye transformed (saith he) by
the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good and
acceptable and perfect will of God. Wherefore Thou sayest not, “Let man be
made,” but Let us make man. Nor saidst Thou, “according to his kind”; but,
after our image and likeness. For man being renewed in his mind, and
beholding and understanding Thy truth, needs not man as his director, so
as to follow after his kind; but by Thy direction proveth what is that
good, that acceptable, and perfect will of Thine: yea, Thou teachest him,
now made capable, to discern the Trinity of the Unity, and the Unity of
the Trinity. Wherefore to that said in the plural, Let us make man, is yet
subjoined in the singular, And God made man: and to that said in the
plural, After our likeness, is subjoined in the singular, After the image
of God. Thus is man renewed in the knowledge of God, after the image of
Him that created him: and being made spiritual, he judgeth all things (all
things which are to be judged), yet himself is judged of no man.

But that he judgeth all things, this answers to his having dominion over
the fish of the sea, and over the fowls of the air, and over all cattle
and wild beasts, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing
that creepeth upon the earth. For this he doth by the understanding of his
mind, whereby he perceiveth the things of the Spirit of God; whereas
otherwise, man being placed in honour, had no understanding, and is
compared unto the brute beasts, and is become like unto them. In Thy
Church therefore, O our God, according to Thy grace which Thou hast
bestowed upon it (for we are Thy workmanship created unto good works), not
those only who are spiritually set over, but they also who spiritually are
subject to those that are set over them,—for in this way didst Thou
make man male and female, in Thy grace spiritual, where, according to the
sex of body, there is neither male nor female, because neither Jew nor
Grecian, neither bond nor free.—Spiritual persons (whether such as
are set over, or such as obey); do judge spiritually; not of that
spiritual knowledge which shines in the firmament (for they ought not to
judge as to so supreme authority), nor may they judge of Thy Book itself,
even though something there shineth not clearly; for we submit our
understanding unto it, and hold for certain, that even what is closed to
our sight, is yet rightly and truly spoken. For so man, though now
spiritual and renewed in the knowledge of God after His image that created
him, ought to be a doer of the law, not a judge. Neither doth he judge of
that distinction of spiritual and carnal men, who are known unto Thine
eyes, O our God, and have not as yet discovered themselves unto us by
works, that by their fruits we might know them: but Thou, Lord, dost even
now know them, and hast divided and called them in secret, or ever the
firmament was made. Nor doth he, though spiritual, judge the unquiet
people of this world; for what hath he to do, to judge them that are
without, knowing not which of them shall hereafter come into the sweetness
of Thy grace; and which continue in the perpetual bitterness of
ungodliness?

Man therefore, whom Thou hast made after Thine own image, received not
dominion over the lights of heaven, nor over that hidden heaven itself,
nor over the day and the night, which Thou calledst before the foundation
of the heaven, nor over the gathering together of the waters, which is the
sea; but He received dominion over the fishes of the sea, and the fowls of
the air, and over all cattle, and over all the earth, and over all
creeping things which creep upon the earth. For He judgeth and approveth
what He findeth right, and He disalloweth what He findeth amiss, whether
in the celebration of those Sacraments by which such are initiated, as Thy
mercy searches out in many waters: or in that, in which that Fish is set
forth, which, taken out of the deep, the devout earth feedeth upon: or in
the expressions and signs of words, subject to the authority of Thy Book,—such
signs, as proceed out of the mouth, and sound forth, flying as it were
under the firmament, by interpreting, expounding, discoursing disputing,
consecrating, or praying unto Thee, so that the people may answer, Amen.
The vocal pronouncing of all which words, is occasioned by the deep of
this world, and the blindness of the flesh, which cannot see thoughts; So
that there is need to speak aloud into the ears; so that, although flying
fowls be multiplied upon the earth, yet they derive their beginning from
the waters. The spiritual man judgeth also by allowing of what is right,
and disallowing what he finds amiss, in the works and lives of the
faithful; their alms, as it were the earth bringing forth fruit, and of
the living soul, living by the taming of the affections, in chastity, in
fasting, in holy meditations; and of those things, which are perceived by
the senses of the body. Upon all these is he now said to judge, wherein he
hath also power of correction.

But what is this, and what kind of mystery? Behold, Thou blessest mankind,
O Lord, that they may increase and multiply, and replenish the earth; dost
Thou not thereby give us a hint to understand something? why didst Thou
not as well bless the light, which Thou calledst day; nor the firmament of
heaven, nor the lights, nor the stars, nor the earth, nor the sea? I might
say that Thou, O God, who created us after Thine Image, I might
say, that it had been Thy good pleasure to bestow this blessing peculiarly
upon man; hadst Thou not in like manner blessed the fishes and the whales,
that they should increase and multiply, and replenish the waters of the
sea, and that the fowls should be multiplied upon the earth. I might say
likewise, that this blessing pertained properly unto such creatures, as
are bred of their own kind, had I found it given to the fruit-trees, and
plants, and beasts of the earth. But now neither unto the herbs, nor the
trees, nor the beasts, nor serpents is it said, Increase and multiply;
notwithstanding all these as well as the fishes, fowls, or men, do by
generation increase and continue their kind.

What then shall I say, O Truth my Light? “that it was idly said, and
without meaning?” Not so, O Father of piety, far be it from a minister of
Thy word to say so. And if I understand not what Thou meanest by that
phrase, let my betters, that is, those of more understanding than myself,
make better use of it, according as Thou, my God, hast given to each man
to understand. But let my confession also be pleasing in Thine eyes,
wherein I confess unto Thee, that I believe, O Lord, that Thou spokest not
so in vain; nor will I suppress, what this lesson suggests to me. For it
is true, nor do I see what should hinder me from thus understanding the
figurative sayings of Thy Bible. For I know a thing to be manifoldly
signified by corporeal expressions, which is understood one way by the
mind; and that understood many ways in the mind, which is signified one
way by corporeal expression. Behold, the single love of God and our
neighbour, by what manifold sacraments, and innumerable languages, and in
each several language, in how innumerable modes of speaking, it is
corporeally expressed. Thus do the offspring of the waters increase and
multiply. Observe again, whosoever readest this; behold, what Scripture
delivers, and the voice pronounces one only way, In the Beginning God
created heaven and earth; is it not understood manifoldly, not through any
deceit of error, but by various kinds of true senses? Thus do man’s
offspring increase and multiply.

If therefore we conceive of the natures of the things themselves, not
allegorically, but properly, then does the phrase increase and multiply,
agree unto all things, that come of seed. But if we treat of the words as
figuratively spoken (which I rather suppose to be the purpose of the
Scripture, which doth not, surely, superfluously ascribe this benediction
to the offspring of aquatic animals and man only); then do we find
“multitude” to belong to creatures spiritual as well as corporeal, as in
heaven and earth, and to righteous and unrighteous, as in light and
darkness; and to holy authors who have been the ministers of the Law unto
us, as in the firmament which is settled betwixt the waters and the
waters; and to the society of people yet in the bitterness of infidelity,
as in the sea; and to the zeal of holy souls, as in the dry land; and to
works of mercy belonging to this present life, as in the herbs bearing
seed, and in trees bearing fruit; and to spiritual gifts set forth for
edification, as in the lights of heaven; and to affections formed unto
temperance, as in the living soul. In all these instances we meet with
multitudes, abundance, and increase; but what shall in such wise increase
and multiply that one thing may be expressed many ways, and one expression
understood many ways; we find not, except in signs corporeally expressed,
and in things mentally conceived. By signs corporeally pronounced we
understand the generations of the waters, necessarily occasioned by the
depth of the flesh; by things mentally conceived, human generations, on
account of the fruitfulness of reason. And for this end do we believe
Thee, Lord, to have said to these kinds, Increase and multiply. For in
this blessing, I conceive Thee to have granted us a power and a faculty,
both to express several ways what we understand but one; and to understand
several ways, what we read to be obscurely delivered but in one. Thus are
the waters of the sea replenished, which are not moved but by several
significations: thus with human increase is the earth also replenished,
whose dryness appeareth in its longing, and reason ruleth over it.

I would also say, O Lord my God, what the following Scripture minds me of;
yea, I will say, and not fear. For I will say the truth, Thyself inspiring
me with what Thou willedst me to deliver out of those words. But by no
other inspiration than Thine, do I believe myself to speak truth, seeing
Thou art the Truth, and every man a liar. He therefore that speaketh a
lie, speaketh of his own; that therefore I may speak truth, I will speak
of Thine. Behold, Thou hast given unto us for food every herb bearing seed
which is upon all the earth; and every tree, in which is the fruit of a
tree yielding seed. And not to us alone, but also to all the fowls of the
air, and to the beasts of the earth, and to all creeping things; but unto
the fishes and to the great whales, hast Thou not given them. Now we said
that by these fruits of the earth were signified, and figured in an
allegory, the works of mercy which are provided for the necessities of
this life out of the fruitful earth. Such an earth was the devout
Onesiphorus, unto whose house Thou gavest mercy, because he often
refreshed Thy Paul, and was not ashamed of his chain. Thus did also the
brethren, and such fruit did they bear, who out of Macedonia supplied what
was lacking to him. But how grieved he for some trees, which did not
afford him the fruit due unto him, where he saith, At my first answer no
man stood by me, but all men forsook me. I pray God that it may not be
laid to their charge. For these fruits are due to such as minister the
spiritual doctrine unto us out of their understanding of the divine
mysteries; and they are due to them, as men; yea and due to them also, as
the living soul, which giveth itself as an example, in all continency; and
due unto them also, as flying creatures, for their blessings which are
multiplied upon the earth, because their sound went out into all lands.

But they are fed by these fruits, that are delighted with them; nor are
they delighted with them, whose God is their belly. For neither in them
that yield them, are the things yielded the fruit, but with what mind they
yield them. He therefore that served God, and not his own belly, I plainly
see why he rejoiced; I see it, and I rejoice with him. For he had received
from the Philippians, what they had sent by Epaphroditus unto him: and yet
I perceive why he rejoiced. For whereat he rejoiced upon that he fed; for,
speaking in truth, I rejoiced (saith he) greatly in the Lord, that now at
the last your care of me hath flourished again, wherein ye were also
careful, but it had become wearisome unto you. These Philippians then had
now dried up, with a long weariness, and withered as it were as to bearing
this fruit of a good work; and he rejoiceth for them, that they flourished
again, not for himself, that they supplied his wants. Therefore subjoins
he, not that I speak in respect of want, for I have learned in whatsoever
state I am, therewith to be content. I know both how to be abased, and I
know how to abound; every where and in all things I am instructed both to
be full, and to be hungry; both to abound, and to suffer need. I can do
all things through Him which strengtheneth me.

Whereat then rejoicest thou, O great Paul? whereat rejoicest thou? whereon
feedest thou, O man, renewed in the knowledge of God, after the image of
Him that created thee, thou living soul, of so much continency, thou
tongue like flying fowls, speaking mysteries? (for to such creatures, is
this food due;) what is it that feeds thee? joy. Hear we what follows:
notwithstanding, ye have well done, that ye did communicate with my
affliction. Hereat he rejoiceth, hereon feedeth; because they had well
done, not because his strait was eased, who saith unto Thee, Thou hast
enlarged me when I was in distress; for that he knew to abound, and to
suffer want, in Thee Who strengthenest him. For ye Philippians also know
(saith he), that in the beginning of the Gospel, when I departed from
Macedonia, no Church communicated with me as concerning giving and
receiving, but ye only. For even in Thessalonica ye sent once and again
unto my necessity. Unto these good works, he now rejoiceth that they are
returned; and is gladdened that they flourished again, as when a fruitful
field resumes its green.

Was it for his own necessities, because he said, Ye sent unto my
necessity? Rejoiceth he for that? Verily not for that. But how know we
this? Because himself says immediately, not because I desire a gift, but I
desire fruit. I have learned of Thee, my God, to distinguish betwixt a
gift, and fruit. A gift, is the thing itself which he gives, that imparts
these necessaries unto us; as money, meat, drink, clothing, shelter, help:
but the fruit, is the good and right will of the giver. For the Good
Master said not only, He that receiveth a prophet, but added, in the name
of a prophet: nor did He only say, He that receiveth a righteous man, but
added, in the name of a righteous man. So verily shall the one receive the
reward of a prophet, the other, the reward of a righteous man: nor saith
He only, He that shall give to drink a cup of cold water to one of my
little ones; but added, in the name of a disciple: and so concludeth,
Verily I say unto you, he shall not lose his reward. The gift is, to
receive a prophet, to receive a righteous man, to give a cup of cold water
to a disciple: but the fruit, to do this in the name of a prophet, in the
name of a righteous man, in the name of a disciple. With fruit was Elijah
fed by the widow that knew she fed a man of God, and therefore fed him:
but by the raven was he fed with a gift. Nor was the inner man of Elijah
so fed, but the outer only; which might also for want of that food have
perished.

I will then speak what is true in Thy sight, O Lord, that when carnal men
and infidels (for the gaining and initiating whom, the initiatory
Sacraments and the mighty workings of miracles are necessary, which we
suppose to be signified by the name of fishes and whales) undertake the
bodily refreshment, or otherwise succour Thy servant with something useful
for this present life; whereas they be ignorant, why this is to be done,
and to what end; neither do they feed these, nor are these fed by them;
because neither do the one do it out of an holy and right intent; nor do
the other rejoice at their gifts, whose fruit they as yet behold not. For
upon that is the mind fed, of which it is glad. And therefore do not the
fishes and whales feed upon such meats, as the earth brings not forth
until after it was separated and divided from the bitterness of the waves
of the sea.

And Thou, O God, sawest every thing that Thou hadst made, and, behold, it
was very good. Yea we also see the same, and behold, all things are very
good. Of the several kinds of Thy works, when Thou hadst said “let them
be,” and they were, Thou sawest each that it was good. Seven times have I
counted it to be written, that Thou sawest that that which Thou madest was
good: and this is the eighth, that Thou sawest every thing that Thou hadst
made, and, behold, it was not only good, but also very good, as being now
altogether. For severally, they were only good; but altogether, both good,
and very good. All beautiful bodies express the same; by reason that a
body consisting of members all beautiful, is far more beautiful than the
same members by themselves are, by whose well-ordered blending the whole
is perfected; notwithstanding that the members severally be also
beautiful.

And I looked narrowly to find, whether seven, or eight times Thou sawest
that Thy works were good, when they pleased Thee; but in Thy seeing I
found no times, whereby I might understand that Thou sawest so often, what
Thou madest. And I said, “Lord, is not this Thy Scripture true, since Thou
art true, and being Truth, hast set it forth? why then dost Thou say unto
me, ‘that in Thy seeing there be no times’; whereas this Thy Scripture
tells me, that what Thou madest each day, Thou sawest that it was good:
and when I counted them, I found how often.” Unto this Thou answerest me,
for Thou art my God, and with a strong voice tellest Thy servant in his
inner ear, breaking through my deafness and crying, “O man, that which My
Scripture saith, I say: and yet doth that speak in time; but time has no
relation to My Word; because My Word exists in equal eternity with Myself.
So the things which ye see through My Spirit, I see; like as what ye speak
by My Spirit, I speak. And so when ye see those things in time, I see them
not in time; as when ye speak in time, I speak them not in time.”

And I heard, O Lord my God, and drank up a drop of sweetness out of Thy
truth, and understood, that certain men there be who mislike Thy works;
and say, that many of them Thou madest, compelled by necessity; such as
the fabric of the heavens, and harmony of the stars; and that Thou madest
them not of what was Thine, but that they were otherwhere and from other
sources created, for Thee to bring together and compact and combine, when
out of Thy conquered enemies Thou raisedst up the walls of the universe;
that they, bound down by the structure, might not again be able to rebel
against Thee. For other things, they say Thou neither madest them, nor
even compactedst them, such as all flesh and all very minute creatures,
and whatsoever hath its root in the earth; but that a mind at enmity with
Thee, and another nature not created by Thee, and contrary unto Thee, did,
in these lower stages of the world, beget and frame these things. Frenzied
are they who say thus, because they see not Thy works by Thy Spirit, nor
recognise Thee in them.

But they who by Thy Spirit see these things, Thou seest in them. Therefore
when they see that these things are good, Thou seest that they are good;
and whatsoever things for Thy sake please, Thou pleasest in them, and what
through Thy Spirit please us, they please Thee in us. For what man knoweth
the things of a man, save the spirit of a man, which is in him? even so
the things of God knoweth no one, but the Spirit of God. Now we (saith he)
have received, not the spirit of this world, but the Spirit which is of
God, that we might know the things that are freely given to us of God. And
I am admonished, “Truly the things of God knoweth no one, but the Spirit
of God: how then do we also know, what things are given us of God?” Answer
is made me; “because the things which we know by His Spirit, even these no
one knoweth, but the Spirit of God. For as it is rightly said unto those
that were to speak by the Spirit of God, it is not ye that speak: so is it
rightly said to them that know through the Spirit of God, ‘It is not ye
that know.’ And no less then is it rightly said to those that see through
the Spirit of God, ‘It is not ye that see’; so whatsoever through the
Spirit of God they see to be good, it is not they, but God that sees that
it is good.” It is one thing then for a man to think that to be ill which
is good, as the forenamed do; another, that that which is good, a man
should see that it is good (as Thy creatures be pleasing unto many,
because they be good, whom yet Thou pleasest not in them, when they prefer
to enjoy them, to Thee); and another, that when a man sees a thing that it
is good, God should in him see that it is good, so, namely, that He should
be loved in that which He made, Who cannot be loved, but by the Holy Ghost
which He hath given. Because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts
by the Holy Ghost, Which is given unto us: by Whom we see that whatsoever
in any degree is, is good. For from Him it is, who Himself Is not in
degree, but what He Is, Is.

Thanks to Thee, O Lord. We behold the heaven and earth, whether the
corporeal part, superior and inferior, or the spiritual and corporeal
creature; and in the adorning of these parts, whereof the universal pile
of the world, or rather the universal creation, doth consist, we see light
made, and divided from the darkness. We see the firmament of heaven,
whether that primary body of the world, between the spiritual upper waters
and the inferior corporeal waters, or (since this also is called heaven)
this space of air through which wander the fowls of heaven, betwixt those
waters which are in vapours borne above them, and in clear nights distill
down in dew; and those heavier waters which flow along the earth. We
behold a face of waters gathered together in the fields of the sea; and
the dry land both void, and formed so as to be visible and harmonized, yea
and the matter of herbs and trees. We behold the lights shining from
above, the sun to suffice for the day, the moon and the stars to cheer the
night; and that by all these, times should be marked and signified. We
behold on all sides a moist element, replenished with fishes, beasts, and
birds; because the grossness of the air, which bears up the flights of
birds, thickeneth itself by the exhalation of the waters. We behold the
face of the earth decked out with earthly creatures, and man, created
after Thy image and likeness, even through that Thy very image and
likeness (that is the power of reason and understanding), set over all
irrational creatures. And as in his soul there is one power which has
dominion by directing, another made subject, that it might obey; so was
there for the man, corporeally also, made a woman, who in the mind of her
reasonable understanding should have a parity of nature, but in the sex of
her body, should be in like manner subject to the sex of her husband, as
the appetite of doing is fain to conceive the skill of right-doing from
the reason of the mind. These things we behold, and they are severally
good, and altogether very good.

Let Thy works praise Thee, that we may love Thee; and let us love Thee,
that Thy works may praise Thee, which from time have beginning and ending,
rising and setting, growth and decay, form and privation. They have then
their succession of morning and evening, part secretly, part apparently;
for they were made of nothing, by Thee, not of Thee; not of any matter not
Thine, or that was before, but of matter concreated (that is, at the same
time created by Thee), because to its state without form, Thou without any
interval of time didst give form. For seeing the matter of heaven and
earth is one thing, and the form another, Thou madest the matter of merely
nothing, but the form of the world out of the matter without form: yet
both together, so that the form should follow the matter, without any
interval of delay.

We have also examined what Thou willedst to be shadowed forth, whether by
the creation, or the relation of things in such an order. And we have
seen, that things singly are good, and together very good, in Thy Word, in
Thy Only-Begotten, both heaven and earth, the Head and the body of the
Church, in Thy predestination before all times, without morning and
evening. But when Thou begannest to execute in time the things
predestinated, to the end Thou mightest reveal hidden things, and rectify
our disorders; for our sins hung over us, and we had sunk into the dark
deep; and Thy good Spirit was borne over us, to help us in due season; and
Thou didst justify the ungodly, and dividest them from the wicked; and
Thou madest the firmament of authority of Thy Book between those placed
above, who were to be docile unto Thee, and those under, who were to be
subject to them: and Thou gatheredst together the society of unbelievers
into one conspiracy, that the zeal of the faithful might appear, and they
might bring forth works of mercy, even distributing to the poor their
earthly riches, to obtain heavenly. And after this didst Thou kindle
certain lights in the firmament, Thy Holy ones, having the word of life;
and shining with an eminent authority set on high through spiritual gifts;
after that again, for the initiation of the unbelieving Gentiles, didst
Thou out of corporeal matter produce the Sacraments, and visible miracles,
and forms of words according to the firmament of Thy Book, by which the
faithful should be blessed and multiplied. Next didst Thou form the living
soul of the faithful, through affections well ordered by the vigour of
continency: and after that, the mind subjected to Thee alone and needing
to imitate no human authority, hast Thou renewed after Thy image and
likeness; and didst subject its rational actions to the excellency of the
understanding, as the woman to the man; and to all Offices of Thy
Ministry, necessary for the perfecting of the faithful in this life, Thou
willedst, that for their temporal uses, good things, fruitful to
themselves in time to come, be given by the same faithful. All these we
see, and they are very good, because Thou seest them in us, Who hast given
unto us Thy Spirit, by which we might see them, and in them love Thee.

O Lord God, give peace unto us: (for Thou hast given us all things;) the
peace of rest, the peace of the Sabbath, which hath no evening. For all
this most goodly array of things very good, having finished their courses,
is to pass away, for in them there was morning and evening.

But the seventh day hath no evening, nor hath it setting; because Thou
hast sanctified it to an everlasting continuance; that that which Thou
didst after Thy works which were very good, resting the seventh day,
although Thou madest them in unbroken rest, that may the voice of Thy Book
announce beforehand unto us, that we also after our works (therefore very
good, because Thou hast given them us), shall rest in Thee also in the
Sabbath of eternal life.

For then shalt Thou rest in us, as now Thou workest in us; and so shall
that be Thy rest through us, as these are Thy works through us. But Thou,
Lord, ever workest, and art ever at rest. Nor dost Thou see in time, nor
art moved in time, nor restest in a time; and yet Thou makest things seen
in time, yea the times themselves, and the rest which results from time.

We therefore see these things which Thou madest, because they are: but
they are, because Thou seest them. And we see without, that they are, and
within, that they are good, but Thou sawest them there, when made, where
Thou sawest them, yet to be made. And we were at a later time moved to do
well, after our hearts had conceived of Thy Spirit; but in the former time
we were moved to do evil, forsaking Thee; but Thou, the One, the Good God,
didst never cease doing good. And we also have some good works, of Thy
gift, but not eternal; after them we trust to rest in Thy great hallowing.
But Thou, being the Good which needeth no good, art ever at rest, because
Thy rest is Thou Thyself. And what man can teach man to understand this?
or what Angel, an Angel? or what Angel, a man? Let it be asked of Thee,
sought in Thee, knocked for at Thee; so, so shall it be received, so shall
it be found, so shall it be opened. Amen.

THE CONFESSIONS OF SAINT AUGUSTINE

By Saint Augustine

Bishop of Hippo

Translated by E. B. Pusey (Edward Bouverie)

AD 401

BOOK I