BOOK Xe. ee eR ea eee os ten ee 153

Having in the former books spoken of himself before his receiv-
ing the grace of Baptism, in this Augustine confesses what he
then was. But first, he enquires by what faculty we can know ~
God at all; whence he enlarges on the mysterious character of
the memory. Then he examines his own trials under the triple —
division of temptation, “lust of the flesh, lust of the eyes, and
=m ee ; 965 Augustine’s thirty-first year, gradually extricated from his errors,
: Z
ustine breaks off the history of the mode whereby God led n to holy Orders, in order to “confess” God’s mercies in open- him the Scripture. Moses is not to be understood, but in
ven and the earth. Answer to cavillers who asked, “What od before He created the heaven and the earth?” Inquiry = into the nature of Time.
oe
NM he ed Ce a ene cea css a Re re 2 ee tine proceeds to comment on Genesis I, i, and explains ‘heaven” to mean that spiritual and incorporeal creation, ch cleaves to God unintermittingly; “earth,” the formless tter whereof the corporeal creation was afterwards formed. does not reject, however, other interpretations, but rather nfesses that such is the depth of the Holy Scripture, that mani- id senses may and ought to be extracted from it, and that tever truth can be obtained from its words, does, in fact, , lie concealed in them.
ntinuation of the exposition of Genesis I; it contains the mys- of the Trinity, and a type of the formation, extension, and ; support of the Church.
ok XI ee oe ee eee
, not even the first words In the beginning God created
0 ee eer ere eer rr re -
igs Ds + ee ae +. ¥s + ! SEs ry)
~ , - « ie creas y aie
*
onfessions of
Saint Augustine
ers BOOK ONE Confessions of the greatness and unsearchable- ness of God, of God’s mercies in infancy and boyhood, and human wilfulness; of his own sins of idleness, abuse of his studies, and of God’s gifts up to his fifteenth year.
ir, . GREAT ART Thou, O Lord, and greatly to be praised; great is Thy power, and Thy wisdom infinite. And Thee would man raise; man, but a particle of Thy creation; man, that bears out him his mortality, the witness of his sin, the witness that ou resistest the proud: yet would man praise Thee; he, but article of Thy creation. Thou awakest us to delight in Thy ‘aise; for Thou madest us for Thyself, and our heart is restless, intil it repose in Thee. Grant me, Lord, to know and under- tand which is first, to call on Thee or to praise Thee? and, again, 0 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 ‘ 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 n Reson they have not believed? or how shall they believe with- ut a preacher? and they that seek the Lord shall praise Him: or 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 1 Thee, believing in Thee; for to us hast Thou been preached. ‘ faith, Lord, shall call on Thee, which Thou hast given me, erewith Thou hast inspired me, through the Incarnation of - ‘hy 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 at 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, be- : nothing which exists could exist without Thee, doth fore whatever exists contain Thee? Since, then, I too st, why do I seek that Thou shouldest enter into me, who 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 11
1g] Saba Aupasting into hell, Thou art there. I could not be then, O my God, { not be at all, wert Thou not in me; or, rather, unless I we 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 Thy-— self? or hast Thou no need that aught contain Thee, who con- tainest all things, since what Thou fillest Thou fillest by con- taining 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 merci- _ ful, yet most just; most hidden, yet most present; most beau- tiful, yet most strong; stable, yet incomprehensible; unchange- able, yet all-changing; never new, never old; all-renewing, and ~ bringing age upon the proud, and they know it not; ever work- | ing, ever at rest; still gathering, yet nothing lacking; support- ing, filling, and overspreading; creating, nourishing, and ma- — turing; 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.
t The Confessions / 13
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 my-
self 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 judg- ment 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 Teceived me the comforts of woman’s milk. For neither my mother nor my nurses stored their own breasts for me; but Thou cidst bestow the food of my infancy through them, ac- cording to Thine ordinance, whereby Thou distributest Thy Tiches through the hidden springs of all things. Thou also gav- est 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
RE ee ean De a a + ei ae ae , 4 / Saint Augostine ©" ee them. Nor, indeed, from them was it, but through them; or 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. “a
Afterwards I began to smile; first in sleep, then waking: for so it was told me of myself, and I believed :t; 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: with- | out; 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 my- self on them by tears. Such have I learnt infants to be from observing them; and that I was myself such, they, all uncon- scious, have shown me better than my nurses who knew it. 2
And, lo! my infancy died long since, and I live. But Thou, Lord, who for ever livest, and in whom nothing dies: for be- fore 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 piti-
able one; say, did my infancy succeed another age of mine — _ that died before it? was it that which I spent within my moth- er’s womb? for of that I have heard somewhat, and have my- self 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? a 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 |
é es
known to others my sensations. Whence could suds 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 Es- _ sence 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 come to a close; because all such things also are in Thee. For they had no way to pass away, unless Thou upheldest the m. And since Thy years fail not, Thy years are one to-day. tow many of ours and our fathers’ years have flowed away th ‘ough 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 to-morrow, 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 discover- ing 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, m and reason forbade me to be reproved. For those bits, when grown, we root out and cast away. Now no man, ugh he prunes, wittingly casts away what is good. Or was 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 be- sides, wiser than it, obeyed not the nod of its good pleasure? 0 do its best to strike and hurt, because commands were aot eyed, which had been obeyed to its hurt? The weakness sn of infant limbs, not its will, is its innocence. Myself have
and known even a baby envious; it could not speak, yet it turned pale and looked bitterly on its foster-brother. Who
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in
16 / Saint Aug Ot ee knows not this? Mothers and nurses tell you that they 2 lay these things by I know not what remedies. Is that too inno- cence, 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. a Thou, then, O Lord my God, who gavest life to this my in- fancy, 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 func. tions, Thou commandest me to praise Thee in these things, to confess unto Thee, and sing unto Thy name, Thou most High- © est. For Thou art God, Almighty and Goed, 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 be- | seech Thee, O my God, where, Lord, or when, was I Thy Serv- ant 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. Now 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 remem- — ber; 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 —
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The Confessions / 17
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 af- fections 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 paren- tal authority and the beck of elders.
O God my God, what miseries and mockeries did I now ex- perience, when obedience to my teachers was proposed to me, as proper in a boy, in order that in this world I might pros-
per, 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, pass-
ing 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 (accord- ing 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 fet- ters 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 griev- ous 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 bit- terly, as our parents mocked the torments which we suffered
‘in boyhood from our masters? For we feared not our tor- ‘ments less; nor prayed we less to Thee to escape them. And yet we sinned, in writing or reading or studying less than was
18 / Saint Augustine - a es eee exacted of us. For we wanted not, O Lord, memory or capac ty, 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 pun- ished 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 prog- ress 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 playfellow?
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 what- ever 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. 7 As a boy, then, I had already heard of an eternal life, ton _ ised 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 Where: of us all, the baptism of Thy Christ, my God and Lord. Where- upon the mother of my flesh, being much troubled (since, with a heart pure in Thy faith, she even more lovingly travailed in
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The Confessions / 19
birth of my salvation), would in eager haste have provided for my consecration and cleansing by the health-giving sacra- ments, 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, be- cause 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 will- est, 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’ diligence 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 after-
wards 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 num- bered, 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
ae rt oe.
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
20 / Saint Augustine
Thou hast commanded, and so it is, that every inordinate affec-_ tion should be its own punishment. 3 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 j
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 wander- ings of one Aineas, 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. 7
For what more miserable than a miserable being who com- 3 miserates not himself; weeping the death of Dido for love to § fEneas, but weeping not his own death for want of love to © Thee, O God. Thou light of my heart, Thou bread of my in- : most soul, Thou Power who givest vigour to my mind, who quickenest my thoughts, I loved Thee not. I committed forni- — cation 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 4 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 j read what grieved me. Madness like this is thought a higher — and a richer learning, than that by which I learned to read and 3 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 A2neas 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 j me, while I confess to Thee, my God, whatever my soul will,
a ee f e e f ssi ons iF Qi co Na ’ are 7 MA Pay oe aay ‘o% "tre eS, pees . ~" Pee a R cquiesce in the condemnation of my evil ways, that I may _ ‘Thy good ways. Let not either buyers or sellers of gram- _ -learning cry out against me. For if I question them — w ether it be true that Aineas 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 “Zneas” is written, every one who has learnt this will answer me aright, as to the signs which men have con- ventionally settled. If, again, I should ask which might be for- gotten 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 diffi- ¢ Ity of a foreign tongue, dashed, as it were, with gall all the sweetness of Grecian fable. For not one word of it did I under- stand, and to make me understand I was urged vehemently with cruel threats and punishments. Time was also (as an in- fant) I knew no Latin; but this I learned without fear or suf- ig, by mere observation, amid the caresses of my nursery 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 ght, but of those who talked with me; in whose ears also I e birth to the thoughts, whatever I conceived. No doubt, , that a free curiosity has more force in our learning these gs, than a frightful enforcement. Only this enforcement ‘ains the rovings of that freedom, through Thy laws, O my , Thy laws, from the master’s cane to the martyr’s trials, g able to temper for us a wholesome bitter, recalling us to
22 / Saint Augustine oa _ mercies, whereby Thou hast drawn me out of all my most ex 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 serv- — ice, 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, in- deed, 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 7 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 By Jupiter as his example of seduction.
“Viewing a picture, where the tale was drawn, Of Jove’s descending in a golden shower To Danaé’s lap a woman to beguile.”
_ “And what God? Great Jove, Who shakes heaven’s highest temples with his thunder,
And I, poor mortal man, not do the same! did it, and with all my heart 1 did it.”
>t one whit more easily are the words learnt for all this vile- but by their means the vileness is committed with less ne. Not that I blame the words, being, as it were, choice d precious vessels; but that wine of error which is drunk us in them by intoxicated teachers; and if we, too, drink not, are beaten, and have no sober judge to whom we may ap- Yet, O my God (in whose presence I now without hurt 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
e, troublesome enough to my soul, upon terms of praise or ame, and fear of stripes, to speak the words of Juno, as she raged and mourned that she could not
> ae
“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 fic- tions, and to say in prose much what he expressed in verse. nd his speaking was most applauded, in whom the passions rage and grief were most pre-eminent, and clothed in the fitting language, maintaining the dignity of the charac- What is it to me, O my true life, my God, that my decla- . ion was applauded above so many of my own age and ? is not all this smoke and wind? and was there nothing e whereon to exercise my wit and tongue? Thy praises, Thy praises might have stayed the yet tender shoot of eart by the prop of Thy Scriptures; so had it not trailed amid these empty trifles, a defiled prey for the fowls of . air. For in more ways than one do men sacrifice to the ellious angels. it what marvel that I was thus carried away to vanities, went out from Thy presence, O my God, when men were fore me as models, who, if in relating some action of
4
24 / Saint Augustine rtm a a
theirs, in itself not ill, they committed some barbarism or sole- cism, 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 7 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 i 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 lov- — ing Father, when Thou gavest, and more loving unto him, — when he returned empty. So then in lustful, that is, in dark- 7 ened affections, is the true distance from Thy face. 4 Behold, O Lord God, yea, behold patiently as Thou art — wont how carefully the sons of men observe the covenanted a 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 of- fend men by speaking without the aspirate, of a “uman be- ing,” 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 7 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 un-— wearied law dispensing penal blindness to lawless desires. In quest of the fame of eloquence, a man standing before a hu-— man 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. 4 This was the world at whose gate unhappy I lay in my boy- hood; this the stage where I had feared more to commit a barbarism, than having committed one, to envy those who
’ ic had praise teat Piha whom I then pe it all ue 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 in- _-numerable 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 un- fair conquests, conquered myself meanwhile by vain desire of pre-eminence. And what could I so ill endure, or, when I de- _ tected 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, O 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 king- dom of heaven. Yet, Lord, to Thee, the Creator and Governor of the uni- verse, 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 provi- dence over my well-being—a trace of that mysterious Unity whence I was derived; I guarded by the inward sense the en- ti eness of my senses, and in these minute pursuits, and in my th oughts on things minute, I learnt to delight in truth, I hated 0 be deceived, had a vigorous memory, was gifted with : speech, was soothed by friendship, avoided pain, baseness, pnorance. In so small a creature, what was not wonderful, admirable? But all are gifts of my God: it was not I who them me; and good these are, and these together are my- If. Good, then, is He that made me, and He is my good; d before Him will I exult for every good which of a boy I hac ad. For it was my sin, that not in Him, but in His creatures— nyself and others—I sought for pleasures, sublimities, truths, so fell headlong into sorrows, confusions, errors. Thanks to Thee, my joy and my glory and my confidence, my God, thanks be to Thee for Thy gifts; but do Thou preserve them
ae tr
a ‘
Object of these confessions. Further ills of idle- ness developed in his sixteenth year. Evils of ill society, which betrayed him into theft.
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; Fi ering my most wicked ways in the very bitterness of my remembrance, that Thou mayest grow sweet unto me (Thou 8 weetness 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 Eves: 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 concupis- cence of the flesh, and the bubblings of youth, mists fumed up which beclouded and overcast my heart, that I could not dis- cern the clear brightness of love from the fog of lustfulness. Both did confusedly boil in me, and hurried my unstayed J youth over the precipice of unholy desires, and sunk me in a gulf of flagitiousnesses. Thy wrath had gathered over me, and : 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 m ty tardy joy! Thou then heldest Thy peace, and I wandered further and further from Thee, into more and more fruitless j-plots of sorrows, with a proud dejectedness, and a rest- weariness. Oh! that some one had then attempered my disorder, and ed to account the fleeting beauties of these, the extreme ts of Thy creation! had put a bound to their pleasureable- , that so bee tides of my youth might have cast themselves 27
28 / Saint Augustine ae ee "Ne 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 ex- cluded 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: Never- — theless 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. ee 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, for- saking 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 al- loy: 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 mad- — ness 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 jour- neyed to learn grammar and rhetoric), the expenses for a fur- ther 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 —
i
Os Ade
ee
aS ee ee, Oe ee
re a ee ee
1j}
=. "The Confessions _ pene such thing for their children. But yet this 5 eine tale no concern how I grew towards Thee, or how chaste I re; 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, Jeaving all school for a while (a season of idleness being inter- i posed 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 father was as yet but a catechumen, and that but recently. _ She then was startled with a holy fear and trembling; and 1 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 es it. For she wished, and I remember in private with great xiety warned me, “not to commit fornication; but especially never to defile another man’s wife.” These seemed to me wom- anish advices, which I should blush to obey. But they were hine, and I knew it not: and I thought Thou wert silent and th at it was she who spake; by whom Thou wert not silent unto 1e; and in her wast despised by me, her son, the son of Thy indmaid, Thy servant. But I knew it not; and ran headlong th such blindness, that amongst my equals I was ashamed a less shamelessness, when I heard them boast of their flagi- usness, yea, and the more boasting, the more they were de- led: 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 dis- ] a and when in any thing I had not sinned as the aban-
4 os eS a
30 “/. Saint'Augustine’= 0 ee doned ones, I would say that I had done what I had not done, that I might not seem contemptible in proportion as I was in- nocent; or of less account, the more chaste.
Behold with what companions I walked the streets of Baby- lon, 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 se- duced me, for that I was easy to be seduced. Neither did the mother of my flesh (who had now fied 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
le ieee Ef
to come, which my mother reposed in Thee; but the hope of —
learning, which both my parents were too desirous I should at-
tain; my father, because he had next to no thought of Thee, © and of me but vain conceits; my mother, because she ac-_ counted 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 slack- ened 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 steal- —
ing 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,
od, behold my heart, which Thou hadst pity upon in the _ _ botto n 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. Wordly 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 en- _ deared with a sweet tie, by reason of the unity formed of many souls. Upon occasion of all these, and the like, is sin mmitted, 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, nd 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; al- though 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 liveli- hood; 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 as- signed; “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 conscious- ness of villainies. So then, not even Catiline himself loved his
Fa iy
~
ae 4
"ga 7. Saint “Augesting ©. ye ee
ae den = own villainies, but something else, for whose sake he dit 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 4 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 > 4 my God, I enquire what in that theft delighted me; and be- — hold 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 sem- blance 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 injuri- — ous, since they are his own works which injure the sinner? Yea,
sloth would fain be at rest; but what stable rest besides the q Lord? Luxury affects to be called plenty and abundance; but — Thou art the fulness and never-failing plenteousness of incor- ruptible pleasures. Prodigality presents a shadow of liberality: — but Thou art the most overflowing Giver of all good. Covet- ousness would possess many things; and Thou possessest all — things. Envy disputes for excellency: what more excellent than —
y o
ia Se te so i ale i a Ee es oe
? Anger revenge: who revenges more justly than _ Fear startles at things unwonted and sudden, which en- _ dangers 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 — afety? Grief pines away for things lost, the delight of its de- _ sires; 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 un- _ tainted, 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 imi- tate 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 hei- nous 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, weigh- ing his own infirmity, dares to ascribe his purity and inno- cency to his own strength; that so he should love Thee the less, as if he had less needed Thy mercy, whereby Thou re- ‘Mittest sins to those that turn to Thee? For whosoever, called by Thee, followed Thy voice, and avoided those things which the 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 con-
om.
34 / Saint Augustine aa sumption 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 éome 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 some- times masters men alone and singly when on 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 re- membrance 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 re- venge: 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
Lord: i — fe e a e sank away fr as Ba ‘gad
¥ ay God, too much astray from Thee my stay, of my youth, and I became to myself a barren Jan
BOOK THREE
His residence at Carthage from his seventeenth —
to his nineteenth year. Source of his disorders.
Love of shows. Advance in studies, and love of —
wisdom. Distaste for Scripture. Led astray to the Manicheans. Refutation of some of their tenets. Grief of his mother Monnica at his here- sy, and prayers for his conversion. Her vision from God, and answer through a Bishop. |
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 there-
with, 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, there- fore, 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 mis-
eries, 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 by no means suffer? yet he desires as a spec- 36
re » Confes QF to feel sorrow at them, and this very sorrow is his pleas- _ What is this but a miserable madness? for a man is the _ ore affected with these actions, the less free he is from such - ffections. 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 enical passions? for the auditor is not called on to relieve, but only to grieve: and he applauds the actor of these fictions he 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 dis- -gusted 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? hich 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? where- fore runs it into that torrent of pitch bubbling forth those mon- strous tides of foul lustfulness, into which it is wilfully changed and transformed, being of its own will precipitated and cor- rupted 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 an- other, as if very compassionate, I sorrowed with them, yet had my delight in both. But now I much more pity him that re- _ joiceth 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 miser- able, 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, hast more incorruptibly pity on them, yet are wounded
wee E Py te
88 / Saint Augustine . 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 person- ated misery, that acting best pleased mé, 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 swell- ing, 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 cele- brated within the walls of Thy Church, to desire, and to com- pass 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 be- praised, 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 alrogancy, 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 mod- esty 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 al- together perverted first, the deceiving spirits secretly deriding
4
seb
, 2 eR mh beet ta i ey the a ip. he Confes: ions / 39 Conressions © /). 32.
1, wherein themselves delight to
. .
jeer at and ¥, _ 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 “Hor- _ tensius.” 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 immor- tality 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 in- fuse 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 in- flamed 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 oil you through philosophy and vain deceit, after the tradi- n 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, de- voutly drunk in and deeeply treasured; and whatsoever was hout that name, though never so learned, polished, or true, not entire hold of me.
40 / Saint Augustine
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 un- — derstood by the proud, nor laid open to children, lowly in ac- — cess, 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 there- of. 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 my- self to be a great one. at
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 philos- — ophers 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 be- _ ter 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 —
-
ee 7 ies 7
aaa d ae our f ood awake; yet are not those asleep nourished by it, for ey are asleep. But those were not even any way like to Thee, s Thou hast now spoken to me; for those were corporeal fan- _ tasies, 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 ; 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 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 dis- _guised, answering to five dens of darkness, which have no be- ing, 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 accord- ing 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
Soiomon, sitting at the door, and saying, Eat ye bread of
“
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a ;
' —- oe y aw oh et om yt ; i oe nei fe haa ~The Confessions /{ 41. a
: 4 >
42 / Saint Augustine
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; be- cause 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 judg- ment, and measuring by their own petty habits, the moral — habits of the whole human race. As if in an armory, one igno- — rant of 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 al- lowed to keep open shop, because he had been in the fore- noon; 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
4
tr a The Conf essi ‘che ’ ae
one family, the same thing is not allotted every where, to all. Even such are they who are fretted to hear some- thi hing to have been lawful for righteous men formerly, which ‘now is not; or that God, for certain temporal respects, com- manded 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 mem- ers, and a thing formerly lawful, after a certain time not so; one corner permitted or commanded, but in another rightly forbidden and punished. Is justice therefore various or mu- table? No, but the times, over which it presides, flow not even- ly, 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 different- _ ly in different metres; nor even in any one metre the selfsame 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 con- _ tain in one all those things which God commanded, and in no