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CONFESSIONS OF S. AUGUSTINE.
/
THE

&
D
The Ancient and Modern Library of Theological Literature

1
1
11
Phi
2108

Aureliin, Sat,
THE CONFESSIONS
OF
S. AUGUSTINE
1

BOOKS I.-X.
I.—X.
A REVISED TRANSLATION

GRIFFITH FARRAN OKEDEN & WELSH
NEWBERY HOUSE
CHARING CROSS ROAD LONDON
AND SYDNEY

:
!
The rights of translation and of reproduction
are reserved.

jeda
To the
VENERABLE BROUGH MALTBY,
ARCHDEACON OF NOTTINGHAM,
AS TO ONE WHO KNOWS MANY BOOKS
AND LOVES THEM,
AND SEEKS THE BEST BOTH OF
OLD AND NEW,
THIS LIBRARY OF ANCIENT AND MODERN
THEOLOGICAL LITERATURE
Js Respectfully 3nscribed
BY HIS FAITHFUL SERVANT,
Michaelmas, 1886,
MINDFUL OF MANY KINDNESSES,
THE EDITOR.
27857
¡


fattarprorSTREA
▾
PREFACE.
SAINT AUGUSTINE, the "Doctor of Grace," was
born in the year 354, at Thagaste in Numidia, and
the incidents of his early life up to the thirty-third year of
his age form much of the matter of this book. After his
conversion, upon the interruption of his journey to Africa
by his mother's death, which is recorded in the ninth book
of the "Confessions," he turned back for a while to Rome,
but returned to Thagaste about the year 390, where for
some time he lived a retired life in community with some
of his friends. At length, though very reluctantly, thinking
that the excesses of his youth were a disqualification for
holding office in the Church, in obedience to the great
desire of Valerius, Bishop of Hippo, and the Christian
Church in that place, he consented to be ordained to the
priesthood, and was soon raised to the Episcopate as
coadjutor with Valerius, at whose death he succeeded to
the Bishopric.
The three great heresies of the Manichæans, Arians, and
Pelagians, and the Donatist schism, during the life-time of
S. Augustine, menaced the Catholic Faith: of his associa-
tion with the Manichæan heresy, Books III. to VIII. of the
Confessions" contain the record. Upon his conversion
he became a most stout and valued champion of the
Catholic Faith, and had the happiness of seeing the
Donatist sect almost entirely reabsorbed within the Church,
and the Pelagian heresy utterly discredited.

.،
1

viii
Preface.
;
The "Confessions" of S. Augustine are exceeding
interesting in the picture they present to us of the Churc
in the fourth century, surrounded with paganism and heresy;
in conflict with both, as also with the moral degradation
which marks the decay of the Roman Empire. Clearly
manifest is the fact that "She was indeed the Salt of the
earth," which but for her must have continued to wallow
in corruption. The life which she at that time demanded
of her "Faithful" members was strict, severe, and ascetic;
and to the calm contentment of such a life were drawn
those who were wearied with the turmoil and restless
activity which belonged to the secular life, with the pleasures
and pursuits of that day. It may possibly have been in
danger of becoming not only "not of the world," but almost
"not in the world." Verecundus, for example, long delays
his conversion, because he was a married man, and the
ascetic celibate life of the Church, which thus was rendered
impossible for him, was what most attracted him; and if he
could not be a Christian of that type, he would not, he thought,
become a Christian at all. The fruit of this teaching and
practice, in souls such as that of S. Augustine, was an entire
renunciation of the joys of the world, and a complete
absorption in the religious life.
The temperament of the Saint was ardent, affectionate,
and excitable. Whether in early youth he is led by desire of
his companions' praise to rob a neighbour's orchard, or re-
cords the desolation of soul caused by the death of a friend,
whether later he dwells on the characters of Alypius and
Nebridius, or that of Adeodatus, the son of his sin, or whether
it is his converse with Monica his mother, and her loving and
tender care of him, or his sorrow for her death, that is his
theme, he reveals himself as a loving-hearted man, to whom
༤
ار
bunch o
ix
Preface.
✓
friendship and fellowship were absolutely essential, and
one in whom was no trace of paltry personal feeling. The
style of the "Confessions" bears many traces of his training
in rhetoric. It is often epigrammatic, and in a stately and
untranslatable way he plays on the sound of words, and
balances them with extraordinary care. His familiarity
with and common use of Scripture is remarkable.
His
mind was thoroughly steeped in it, and its phrases had
become so much a part of his vocabulary that they are of
constant recurrence in his writings. The piety of his
purpose, which does not shrink from unveiling the darkest
recesses of his soul, cannot save the book in parts from
being terrible. The long struggle between his higher
spiritual impulses and his lower carnal habits; the way in
which his moral character and conduct act and react upon
his mental clearness of vision, and his state of religious
doubt; these things are set forth in a manner which cannot
fail to awaken deep interest, and to manifest the intimate con-
nection between moral habit and right faith. To the Agnostic
of the nineteenth century the "Confessions of S. Augustine "
are a warning; while the complete satisfaction and rest
which his keen and cultured intellect, after at the prompting
of his lower nature it had subtly sought many respites from.
a faith which demanded a purer life than he was prepared
to live, found at length in the Creed of the "Catholic
Mother," may suffice to convince that the Religion of
Christ as in it depths which can afford to the most logical
and scientific minds a peace which will elsewhere be sought
in vain.


The translation is revised, and the issue of this edition is
made in the hope that the self-humiliation of S. Augustine,
in so baring his inmost soul to the criticism of a gainsaying
X
Preface.
world, may under God still bring forth its truits in the
conversion of many, and the establishment of more in that
true life of Catholic Faith, sacramental in its origin, in its
course, and in its close, which he describes as being the life
of his mother Monica, and in which after his conversion he
lived most holily until his death in the year 430.
EDITOR.



!

angler
+
+
CONTENTS.
+
Book F.
AFTER AN INVOCATION OF GOD, AUGUSTINE DECLARES THE
BEGINNINGS OF HIS LIFE; HIS INFANCY AND BOYHOOD
UP TO HIS FIFTEENTH YEAR. HE CONFESSES THAT AT
THIS AGE HE WAS MORE FOND OF CHILDISH AMUSE-
MENTS AND FOLLIES THAN OF LEARNING.
•
+
CHAP.
I. He declares the greatness of God; and by Him aroused
desires to seek and call upon Him
II. That God, upon whom we call, is in us, and we in
Him.
•
III. God wholly filleth all things; but Him, nor heaven,
nor earth, containeth
IV. The Majesty of God is supreme; and His perfections
cannot be expressed.
V. He seeketh rest in God, and forgiveness of his sins
VI. He describes his infancy, and extols the protecting
care and eternal providence of God.
VII. He proves that even infancy is prone to sin
VIII. That a child learneth not to speak by rules, but from
the gestures and words of his parents
IX. Concerning the hatred of lessons, the love of play, and
the fear of being whipped, noticeable in boys; and
concerning the inconsistencies of their elders and
masters
X. From love of sports and shows he neglects his studies,
and the precepts of his parents
XI. He is taken ill and desires to be baptised; but his
mother defers it until his recovery, as his father is
not yet a Christian
XII. He was compelled to labour at his studies; and con-
fesses in this that God is good
XIII. He used to hate the Greek grammar and language;
but delighted in his Latin, and the empty tales of
the poets
XIV. Why he disliked Greek, and easily learned Latin
XV. He prays that he may use in God's service what he
learned as a boy
PAGE
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91

xii
Contents.
亅
​CHAP.
XVI. He blames the method in which the young are taught;
and shows why the poets attribute vices to the gods
XVII. He continues the subject of the last chapter
XVIII. Men keep with care the rules of grammar; but neglect
the eternal laws of lasting salvation
XIX. He proves that infants are not without faults; and
details the guile and faults of boyhood
XX. He thanks God for benefits conferred on him in boy-
hood.
pindad
I. He deplores the sins of his youth
II. In the deepest grief he recalls the sensual indulgence of
his sixteenth year
III. Concerning his father, a freedman of Thagaste, the helper
of his son's studies; and his mother's counsels to chastity
IV. He joins his companions in an act of theft; tempted not
by want, but by a certain loathing of righteousness
•
Book 33.
HE PASSES ON TO HIS YOUTH; BEGINNING FROM HIS SIX-
TEENTH YEAR; WHEN HAVING LAID ASIDE HIS STUDIES
HE INDULGED HIS APPETITES, AND WITH HIS COM;
PANIONS COMMITTED THEFT.
V. That the motive to sin lies not in the mere love of evil,
but in the desire to acquire something
VI. What it was that he loved in his theft; since all things
that prompt to sin by an appearance of goodness can
only be true and perfect in God alone
VII. He renders thanks to God for the forgiveness of his sins,
and warns against pride any whom God has kept from
such grave offences
VIII. That in the theft it was the companionship of his fellow
sinners that he liked
IX. There is pleasure in laughter, and in the deceiving of
others
•
•
X. With God is true rest, and life undisturbed
PAGE
16
18
18
I. Captive to a lawless passion, a man base and dishonour-
able would fain be fine and courtly
II. He arouses empty feelings of pity in himself by stage
plays
20
21
22
22
24
26
27
28
30
31
31
32
Book FFF.
TREATS OF HIS SEVENTEENTH, EIGHTEENTH, AND NINETEENTH
YEARS SPENT AT CARTHAGE, WHERE IN ADDITION TO HIS
STUDIES HE WAS TAKEN IN THE SNARE OF LAWLESS LOVE,
AND PLUNGED INTO MANICHEAN ERRORS.
32
34
Contents.
xiii
CHAP.
III. Not even in church does he govern his desires; in the
rhetoric school he abhors the doings of the "Subver-
""
ters
V.
IV. In his nineteenth year, two years after his father's death,
the "Hortensius" of Cicero recalls his mind to philo-
sophy, to God, and to a better mood of thought
He throws aside Holy Scripture as being too simple, and
by no means comparable with Cicero for dignity
VI. By his own fault he fell into the errors of the Mani-
chæans, who boast of a true perception of God, and
thorough investigation of all things
VII. He combats the Manichæan doctrine of evil, of God, and
concerning the righteousness of the Patriarchs
VIII. He continues his argument against the Manichæans,
concerning the nature of vices
IX. God and men judge of human crimes by a different stan-
dard
X. He rebukes the follies of the Manichæans, concerning
the fruits of the earth
XI. He relates the tears of his mother, and a dream she had
of heavenly comfort concerning her son
XII. The wise answer of a Bishop to his mother's entreaty that
he would convert her son
I. Of the most unhappy time, in which, misled himself he
misled others; and of those who scoff at his confession
II. How he taught rhetoric; was true to one love; and
spurned the magician who promised success by his means
III. Not even the most learned men could persuade him to
abandon the folly of astrology to which he was devoted
IV. Being deeply sorrow-stricken upon the death of his friend
he found no consolation but in tears
V. Of weeping: why it is pleasant to the wretched
VI. He holds that of his friend, though dead, in himself the
half remains alive
VII. He is so greatly harassed by restlessness and sorrow that
he leaves his birthplace and returns to Carthage
VIII. How his grief yielded to time, and to the consolations
of his friends
IX. That human friendship, which consists in interchange of
love, perishes, and that he alone who loves his friend
in God, loseth him never
PAGE
35
36
38
38
40
42
44
Book FV.
HE DESCRIBES THE NINE YEARS WHICH FOLLOWED HIS NINE-
TEENTH YEAR. HOW HE LOST HIS FRIEND AND WROTE A
TREATISE ON THE 66 FAIR AND FITTING." HOW HE GAVE
SOME ATTENTION TO THE LIBERAL ARTS, AND TO THE
ARISTOTELIAN CATEGORIES.
45
46
47
49
50
51
53
54
55
56
57
B
اور

58✓
xiv
Contents.
CHAP.
X. That all things begin to hasten to their end; and that
we are not saved unless God have us in His keeping
XI. That parts of the universe are not to be loved; but the
changeless God that fashioneth them, and his Eternal
Word
·
XII. Love is not condemned; but love in God excelleth: in
which is rest, through Jesus Christ
XIII. Love hath its origin in the attraction exercised by grace
and beauty
XIV. Of the books he wrote upon "The Fair and Fit," which
were dedicated to Hierius, the Roman
XV. In this treatise, being blinded by corporeal images, he
failed to discern the spiritual nature of God
XVI. He understood with ease the liberal arts and Aristotle's
Categories," but did not truly profit by them
CC
•
I. That it becomes the soul to praise God and to confess to
Him
II. Of the vanity of them that would escape from God,
seeing He is everywhere present
III. Having heard Faustus, the most learned bishop amongst
the Manichæans, he understandeth that God the Creator
of things animate and inanimate, hath especial care
for the lowly
IV. That no scientific acquaintance with things terrestrial or
celestial can give happiness, but only the knowledge of
God
V. Concerning Manichæus; his pertinacity in teaching false-
hood, and his pride in claiming to be the Holy Spirit
VI. Faustus was an eloquent disputant, but ignorant of the
liberal sciences
VII. By God's grace he departs from the falsehoods of the
Manichæans, now clearly perceived
VIII. He sets out for Rome, though his mother in vain dis-
suades him
PAGE
Book V.
HE DESCRIBES HIS TWENTY-NINTH YEAR. HOW HE DIS-
COVERED THE FALLACIES OF THE MANICHEANS, BECAME
A PROFESSOR OF RHETORIC IN ROME AND MILAN, HOW
HE HEARD S. AMBROSE, AND BEGAN TO RETURN TO HIS
RIGHT MIND.
IX. He lies dangerously ill of a fever
X. After leaving the Manichæans he retained low opinions
concerning God, and sin, and the Incarnation.
XI. Helpidius well argued with the Manichæans, concerning
the authenticity of the New Testament
XII. He practises as a rhetorician at Rome, and experiences
the fraudulence of the students
58
59
60
62
62
64
66

69
69
70
73
73
75
76
78
80
81
84
84

Contents.
XV
CHAP.
XIII. He is sent to Milan to teach rhetoric, and becomes
acquainted with Ambrose
XIV. After hearing the Bishop, he realises the power of the
Catholic Faith, nevertheless he is sceptical after the
manner of the later Academics
I. His mother followed him to Milan, and prophesied that
she should not depart this life, until her son should
have embraced the Catholic Faith
•
II. She discontinues her habit of commemorating martyrs, on
account of the prohibition of Ambrose
III. On account of the pressure of business and study upon
Ambrose, Augustine had few opportunities of consult-
ing him concerning Holy Scripture
IV. He discovered the falsehood of his own opinions, and
committed to memory a saying of Ambrose
V. Faith is the foundation of human life; and man cannot
discover the truth which the Sacred Scriptures reveal
VI. Concerning the origin and measure-of true joy, which he
is brought to dwell on by the sight of a beggar's gaiety
VII. He reforms Alypius, his friend, who had been captivated
by a foolish passion for the shows of the circus
VIII. The same Alypius is dragged by companions at Rome
to the Colisseum, and is delighted with the gladiatorial
games
IX. Alypius, though innocent, was apprehended as a thief,
but set free by the skill of a certain architect
X. The extraordinary integrity of Alypius in judicial matters
and the firm friendship between Nebridius and Augus-
tine
;
Book VF.
HE IS NOW THIRTY YEARS OF AGE, AND UNDER THE TEACH-
ING OF AMBROSE, PERCEIVED MORE AND MORE CLEARLY
THE TRUTH OF CATHOLIC DOCTRINE, AND DETERMINED
TO AMEND HIS LIFE.
•
•
XI. Troubled by most serious perplexities, Augustine de-
liberates upon beginning a new life
XII. A discussion with Alypius concerning marriage and
celibacy
XIII. He is advised by his mother to marry; and found a
maiden who pleased him
XIV. A plan of living in community with his friends soon comes
to naught
XV. He dismisses his mistress, and obtains another
XVI. The fear of death and judgment weighed upon him,
owing to his belief in the immortality of the soul
PAGE
85
86
88
89
90
92
94
95
97
99
100
102
103
105
106
107
IOS
108
:

xvi
Contents.
!
Book VFF.
HE RECALLS THE BEGINNING OF HIS MANHOOD, TO WHT THE
THIRTY-FIRST YEAR OF HIS AGE; IN WHICH HAVING ABAN-
DONED HIS MOST SERIOUS ERRORS CONCERNING THE
NATURE OF GOD, AND THE ORIGIN OF EVIL, AND HAVING
MADE A MOST ACCURATE STUDY OF THE SACRED SCRIP-
TURES, HE ATTAINS AT LAST TO A TRUE KNOWLEDGE OF
GOD, THOUGH NOT YET RIGHTLY UNDERSTANDING THE
INCARNATION OF JESUS CHRIST.
CHAP.
I. His conception of God, not exactly in the form of a
human body, but as a corporeal substance, diffused
through space
II. An argument of Nebridius against the Manichæans,
upon the question, "Whether God be or be not
corruptible?"
III. That the freedom of the will is the cause of evil
IV. That God is not corruptible, or He would cease to be
God
V. Questions concerning the relation of evil to God: since
if He be the sovereign good, He cannot be the cause
of evil
VI. He rejects astrological divinations
VII. He is terribly distressed about the origin of evil
VIII. By the help of God he little by little draws nigh to the
truth
IX. He compares the Platonist teaching concerning the
Word, with the Christian doctrine, which latter he
finds by far more excellent
X. In the inmost recesses of his heart, things divine begin
to grow more clear
XI. That creatures are subject to change; and God alone
unchangeable
XII. Whatsoever things the most good God hath made, are
truly good
XIII. Whatsoever is in heaven and earth, being made good,
ought to praise God
XIV. They only invent the figment of two primary substances,
whom some creature displeaseth
!
•
XV. Whatsoever things exist owe their being to God
XVI. Evil originates, not from some substance, but from
perverseness of will
XVII. Above the changing mind, he finds the unchanging
Author of Truth
of
XVIII. Jesus Christ, the Mediator, is the one only way
salvation
•
PAGE
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12C
121
123
124
124
125
126
127
127
128
129

Contents.
xvii
CHAP.
XIX. He did not yet clearly understand that passage of S.
John, "The Word was made Flesh"
XX. He is glad that his journeying has been from Platonism
to the Holy Scriptures, instead of in the reverse
direction
XXI. He finds in Holy Scripture many consolations and
helps not found in the writings of the Platonists
I. In the struggle between his devotion to Divine things,
and his captivity to his passions, he consults Simpli-
cianus concerning spiritual Renewal.
II. That holy veteran, Simplicianus, is glad that he has
read Plato and the Scriptures; and tells him how
Victorinus the Rhetorician read the Sacred Books,
and was converted to the faith
III. That God and the angels rejoice more over one sinner
that repenteth, than over many just persons.
IV. He shows by the example of Victorinus that there is
more joy in the conversion of nobles
V. The conflict of will, which hindered his return to God
VI. Pontitianus relates how two of his companions were
converted by reading the life and miracles of S.
Anthony
VII. The words of Pontitianus pierce his soul, which sullenly
clings to its old habits
Book VIII.
AT LAST HE REACHES THE RECORD OF HIS THIRTY-SECOND
YEAR, BY FAR THE MOST MEMORABLE OF HIS WHOLE
LIFE, IN WHICH HAVING BEEN INSTRUCTED BY SIMPLI-
CIANUS, WITH REFERENCE TO THE CONVERSION OF
OTHERS, AND ON THE REASON FOR SUCH A COURSE
OF ACTION, AFTER A VIOLENT MENTAL STRUGGLE HIS
WHOLE SPIRIT IS RENEWED, AND HE IS CONVERTED TO
GOD.
VIII. He retires into the garden, and is greatly agitated.
Alypius accompanies him
IX. Whence it happens that the body obeys the mind, but
the mind obeys not itself
X. He refutes the Manichæan doctrine that the conflict of
wills implies two conflicting natures and principles,
one Good, the other Evil
XI. He describes the violence of his inward struggle as he
sought to resolve to renounce his old habits.
XII. The voice which came to him in the garden, and de-
cided his conversion .
b
PAG
130
131
132
134
136
138
140
141
143
146
147
149
149
152
153
HEY GO FOR THE EYErant Beng

xviii
Contents.
Book 31.
AUGUSTINE DETERMINES TO ABANDON THE PROFESSION OF
RHETORIC, AND RETIRES TO CASSIACUM TO PREPARE FOR
HOLY BAPTISM, WHICH HE RECEIVES AFTER THE VINTAGE
VACATION WITH ALYPIUS AND ADEODATUS. HE DETER-
MINES WITH HIS FRIENDS TO RETURN TO AFRICA; AND
JOURNEYS AS FAR AS TO OSTIA WITH THEM AND WITH
HIS MOTHER MONICA. HE DESCRIBES HER EARLY LIFE
AND CHARACTER; HER INFLUENCE OVER HER HUSBAND;
HER JOY IN HIS CONVERSION; HER DEATH AND BURIAL
AT OSTIA, IN AUGUSTINE'S THIRTY-THIRD YEAR.
CHAP.
I. He praises God for this goodness in effecting his con-
version .
II. He resolves to abandon his Rhetoric Professorship after
the Vintage Vacation, which was at hand.
III. Verecundus, though not yet a Christian, offers his country
house for a time, though sorry that the conversion
of Augustine and Alypius will deprive him of their
companionship; Nebridius is glad to hear of it, though
himself not yet converted
IV. At Cassiacum after resigning his professorship he finds
great comfort in the Psalms. He dwells much upon
Psalm iv. He experiences great pain, from which
God's mercy set him free
V. S. Ambrose advises him to study the prophecies of
Isaiah, which, as yet, were too hard for him
VI. His baptism with Alypius and Adeodatus. The character
of Adeodatus
VII. The rise of chanting at Milan. The Arian persecution
under Justina stayed upon the discovery of the bodies
of SS. Gervasius and Protasius
VIII. He relates the incidents of his mother's early life and
education
IX. The married life of Monica; her discretion and wifely
duty
X. A conversation upon the happiness of the Saints with
Monica at Ostia
XI. His mother's death
XII. His deep sorrow, and how he restrained it. His mother's
burial, and the offering for her of the Holy Sacrifice
XIII. He prays for his mother, and requests for her the prayers
of such as shall read "his Confessions "
•
PAGE
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160
164
16
166
167
169
171
174
176
178

Contents.
xix
·
CHAP
Book X.
HE DESCRIBES WHAT HE HAD BECOME SINCE HIS CONVERSION:
PROFESSING HIS LOVE TO GOD; AND SEEKS AMONG THE
FACULTIES OF HIS SOUL THE MEANS BY WHICH WE KNOW
GOD. ESPECIALLY HE DISCUSSES THE NATURE OF THE
MEMORY WHEREIN GOD DWELLETH. HE EXAMINES
HIMSELF WITH REGARD TO THE TRIPLE LUST, OF THE
FLESH, OF THE EYES, AND OF THE PRIDE OF LIFE, AND
CONFESSES THAT HIS WHOLE TRUST LIES IN CHRIST
JESUS, THE MEDIATOR BETWEEN GOD AND MAN.
I. He desireth to know God
II. Though God knoweth the depths of our nature, it is
good to make confession unto Him
III. With what intent he maketh confession before men of
his present condition
IV. He declares what results he hopeth for from his "Con-
fessions
•
""
V. Our confessions cannot but be imperfect: for man
knoweth not himself as God knoweth
VI. He searcheth throughout the material creation, wherein
he findeth not God; though it speaketh of Him
VII. Neither doth he find God in any vital or sentient faculty
within himself .
VIII. He seeketh Him in his memory; and describeth its
wonders
IX. In what way the liberal sciences may be said to be
in the memory
X. Of the channels through which literature has access to
the memory
XI. How things are learnt by the memory
XII. Of the memory of numbers
XIII. Of the memory of remembrances; and of the memory
of the emotions of the mind.
XIV. That the recollection of certain emotions doth not
awaken similar emotions
XV. That images of things present, as well as absent, are
retained in the memory
XVI. Of the memory of forgetfulness.
XVII. Though the power of memory be vast and wonderful,
he passeth beyond it in his search after God.
XVIII. How what is lost must still remain in the memory, that
it may be found again
•
XIX. That forgotten things are not wholly lost by the
memory; or if wholly lost cannot be recovered
XX. With what manner of desire men seek the Blessed Life :
and what knowledge they have of it.
•
PAGE
181
181
182
183
185
186
188
188
191
191
192
193
194
194
196
196
198
199
200
200
{
:

XX
Contents.
CHAP.
XXI. Whence do we derive our memory of the Blessed
Life?
XXII. The true joy of the Blessed Life
XXIII. That all desire joy in the truth
XXIV. He delighteth that he hath found God abiding in
his memory
XXV. Where and how God dwelleth in his memory
XXVI. That God is not in any place; and who is His best
servant
XXVII. Absent from God, he is attracted by His beauty
XXVIII. That the life on earth is full of trials
XXIX. He putteth his hope in the mercy of God
XXX. Concerning fleshly desire, and the extent to which
it still can influence him
·
XXXI. Concerning greed and drunkenness
XXXII. Concerning the attractions of pleasant odours
XXXIII. Concerning temptations arising from love of sweet
music
XXXIV. Concerning pleasures of the eyes
XXXV. Concerning the temptation of curiosity
XXXVI. Concerning the love of praise, and fear of blame
XXXVII. He confesseth that he loveth praise; but suggests
that there may be a right use of it
XXXVIII. That vain-glory sometimes hideth beneath an
appearance of contempt of itself
XXXIX. Of self-complacency
•
XL. He summeth up his former description of his search
after God, and declares the sweetness of complete
communion with God, sometimes vouchsafed to
him
XLI. He summeth up his confession with regard to the
triple lust
XLII. Of the deceits of the Devil, which overtake them
who seek for Angelic mediation
XLIII. The Man Christ Jesus, the only Mediator between
God and Man. In Him his soul is satisfied
•
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*

THE
CONFESSIONS OF S. AUGUSTINE,
BISHOP OF HIPPO.
Book F.
AFTER AN INVOCATION OF GOD, AUGUSTINE DECLARES THE BE-
GINNINGS OF HIS LIFE; HIS INFANCY AND BOYHOOD UP TO HIS
FIFTEENTH YEAR. HE CONFESSES THAT AT THIS AGE HE WAS
MORE FOND OF CHILDISH AMUSEMENTS AND FOLLIES THAN OF
LEARNING,
CHAPTER I.
C
eclares the greatness of God: and by Him aroused desires to seek and
call upon Him.
REAT art Thou, O Lord, and greatly to be praised
(Ps. cxlv. 3); "great is Thy power, and Thy wis-
n is infinite" (Ps. cxlvii. 5). And Thee would man
ise, though but a fragment of Thy creation; man, that
ars about him his mortality, that bears about him the
tness of his sin, even the witness, that "Thou resistest
e proud" (1 S. Pet. v. 5); yet would man praise Thee
ough but a fragment of Thy creation. Thou dost arouse
to delight in praising Thee; for Thou hast made us for
yself, and our heart is restless, until it find rest in Thee.
ant me, Lord, to know and understand whether to call on
nee be the first thing, or to praise Thee? and again, whether
to know Thee or to call on Thee? for who can call on
Thee, that knoweth not Thee? for he that knoweth not
A
>>

2
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
Thee 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?"
(Rom. x. 14); and "they shall praise the Lord that seek
Him" (Ps. xxii 26); for "they that seek shall find Him" (S.
Matt. vii. 7); and they that find shall praise Him. Calling
upon Thee, Lord, will I seek Thee; and believing in Thee
will I call upon Thee; for to us hast Thou been preached.
My faith, Lord, calls on Thee, which Thou hast given me,
wherewith Thou hast inspired me, through the Incarnation
of Thy Son, through the ministry of the Preacher [i. e., S.
Ambrose, Bp. of Milan.-ED.].
CHAPTER II.
That God, upon whom we call, is in us, and we in Him.
ND
N
A how shall I call upon God, God and Lord?
my
For when I shall call for Him, I shall be calling Him
to myself! and what room is there within me, whither r
God may come to me? whither may God come to me, G
who made heaven and earth? is there, indeed, O Lord
God, aught in me that can contain Thee? do even heav
and earth, which Thou hast made, and wherein Thou h
made me, contain Thee? or, since without Thee, not an
thing that is, could be, does it follow that anything that
doth contain Thee? Since, then, I too am of such
nature, why do I crave that Thou shouldest come to m
who were not, wert Thou not in me? For not yet am
gone down to hell, and yet Thou art there also. For "if
go down into hell, Thou art there also" (Ps. cxxxix. 7).
could not then be, O my God, I could not be at all, we
Thou not in me; or is it not rather that I could not b
unless I were in Thee, "of whom are all things, by who
are all things, in whom are all things"? (Rom. xi. 3
Even so, Lord, even so. Whither do I call Thee, sin
I am in Thee? or whence canst Thou come to me? f
whither can I go away beyond heaven and earth, that
thence my God should come to me, who hath said, "I fill
heaven and earth" (Jer. xxiii. 24).


The Confessions of S. Augustine.
3
CHAPTER III.
God wholly filleth all things: but Him, nor Heaven, nor Earth
containeth.
Dº
>>
O heaven and earth then contain Thee, since Thou
fillest them? or dost Thou fill them and yet more
of Thee remaineth, since they do not contain Thee? or
whether pourest Thou forth what remaineth of Thyself when
the heaven and the earth are full? or hast Thou no need
that Thou by aught shouldest be contained, since Thou
containest all things, for what Thou dost fill by containing
Thou dost fill? for the vessels which are full of Thee up-
old Thee not, since, though they were broken, Thou wert
ot poured out. And when Thou art "poured out upon us
Joel ii. 28), Thou art not Thyself cast down, but Thou
upliftest us; neither art Thou scattered, 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 a part of Thee? and all at once
the same part? or does each contain its own part, the
greater more, the smaller less? And is, then, one part of
Thee greater, another less? or, art Thou wholly everywhere,
though naught contains Thee wholly?
CHAPTER IV.
WHAT
The Majesty of God is supreme: and His perfections cannot be expressed.
HAT art Thou then, my God? what, I ask, but the
Lord God? "For who is Lord but the Lord? or
who is God except our God?" (Ps. xviii. 31, Vulg.). O Thou
Most highest, most good, most potent, most omnipotent;
most merciful, yet most just; most hidden, yet most
present; fairest, yet most strong; firm fixed, yet incom-
prehensible; who changest not, yet changest all things;
never new, never old; yet who makest all things new,
and "bringest age upon the proud, and they know it not ;"
ever working, ever at rest; that gatherest, yet lackest
nothing; that bearest, and fillest, and coverest; that
createst, and nourishest, and makest perfect; that seekest,
and yet possessest all things. Thou dost love without
A 2


4
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
1
passion; Thou art jealous, without anxiety; Thou repentest
without grief; Thou art angry without disquiet; Thou
changest Thy works, without changing Thy purpose; Thou
receivest again what Thou dost find, yet didst never lose;
never in need, yet Thou rejoicest in gains; never covetous,
yet Thou demandest usury. Thou receivest over and above,
that Thou mayest owe; and who hath aught that is not
Thine? Thou payest debts, that owest none; Thou for-
givest debts, yet losest nothing. And what have I yet said,
my God, my life, my holy joy? or what saith any when he
speaks of Thee? Yet woe to them that speak not of
Thee, since they that speak most are even as the dumb.
n
CHAPTER V.
He seeketh rest in God, and forgiveness of his sins.
OH
H! that I might find rest in Thee! Oh! that Thou
wouldest enter into my heart, and saturate it, that I
may forget my own ills, and embrace Thee, my only good!
What art Thou to me? In Thy pity, teach me to utter it.
Or what am I to Thee that Thou demandest love from me,
and, if I comply not, art wroth with me, and dost menace
me with grievous woes? Is it then but a slight woe to love
Thee not? Ah me! by Thy compassions tell me, O Lord
my God, what Thou art to me. Say unto my soul, I am
thy salvation" (Ps. xxxv. 3). So say it, that I may hear.
Behold, Lord, the ears of my heart are before Thee; open
Thou them and " say unto my soul, I am thy salvation.”
After this word let me hasten and lay hold on Thee. Hide
not Thy face from me. Let me die (that I die not) that I
may see Thy face.
66
Narrow is the dwelling-place within my soul; enlarge
Thou it, that Thou mayest enter in. It is ruinous; do
Thou repair 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; keep Thy servant also from pre-
sumptuous sins" (Ps. xix. 12, 13). "I believe, and there-
fore do I speak" (Ps. cxvi. 10). Lord, Thou knowest.
'Have I not confessed my sins unto the Lord: and so


The Confessions of S. Augustine.
5
..
Thou hast forgiven the wickedness of my sin" (Ps. xxxii.
6). 'I contend not in judgment with Thee" (Job ix. 2),
who art the truth; I seek not to deceive myself; "lest
mine iniquity lie unto itself" (Ps. xxvi. 12, Vulg.). There-
fore I contend not in judgment with Thee;
"for if Thou,
Lord, art extreme to mark what is done amiss, O Lord, who
may abide it" (Ps. cxxx. 3).
CHAPTER VI.
He describes his infancy; and extols the protecting care and eternal
providence of God.
YET
ET let me speak unto Thy mercy, me, "dust and ashes."
Yea, let me speak, since to Thy mercy I speak, and
not to scornful man. Thou too, perhaps, despisest me, yet
wilt Thou "return and have compassion" (Jer. xii. 15)
upon me. For what would I say, O Lord my God, but
that I know not whence I came hither; into this dying life
(shall I call it ?) or living death. Then immediately did the
consolations of Thy mercies take me up as I have heard from
the parents of my flesh, out of whose substance Thou didst
sometime fashion me; for in truth I remember it not.
Thus there awaited me the comforts of woman's milk.
For neither my mother nor my nurses stored their own
breasts; but Thou didst bestow on me the food of infancy -
through them, according to Thine ordinance, and to the
riches distributed even through the first springs of 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 an affection ordained by Thee
willingly gave me, what they abounded with from Thee.
For good for them was my good from them, which, indeed,
was not from them but through them; for from Thee, O
God, are all good things, and "from my God is all my salva-
tion" (2 Sam. xxiii. 5). For this I since have learned, that
Thou dost call to me by these gifts, which within me and
without me Thou dost give. For then I knew but to suck
o rest in the delights, but to weep at the vexations of my
lesh; 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
A
6
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
•
¡
7.
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 desires to those
who could gratify them, and I could not; for the desires
were within me, but they without; nor could they by any
sense of theirs enter within my mind. So I used to fling
about my limbs and voice, making the few signs I could,
and such as I could, to express my desires; though they
expressed them poorly enough. And when they were not
complied with, whether because they were not understood,
or were injurious, then I grew indignant with my elders for
not submitting to me, with them free as they were because
they were not my slaves, and took my vengeance on them
with tears. Such have I learned infants to be from observ-
ing them; and, that I was myself such, they who knew it
not, have shown me better than my nurses who knew it.
And, lo! my infancy is dead long since, and I live. Bu
Thou, Lord, who for ever livest, and in whom nothing dies.
for before the beginnings of the ages, and before all that
can be called "before," Thou art, and art God and Lord of
all which Thou hast created; and with Thee abide, the
first causes of all things unabiding; and of all changeful
things, the changeless springs abide with Thee: and in Thee
live the eternal reasons of all things unreasoning and
temporal. Say, to me, Thy suppliant, O God; Thou all
merciful to me all miserable, say to me; did my infancy
succeed another age of mine already dead? was it that
which I passed within my mother's womb? for of that I
have heard somewhat, and have myself seen woman with
child? and what, O God my joy, was I before that? Was
I any where or any body? For have I none to tell me
this, 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 confess Thee, for that
which I do know?
I acknowledge Thee, Lord of heaven and earth, and
praise Thee for my first beginnings of life, and for my
infancy, whereof I remember nothing; for Thou hast
appointed that man should form conjectures as to himse
from the things of others; and even believe much on th
authority of mere women. Even then I had being and
life, and towards the close of my infancy I began to seek
;
!

The Confessions of S. Augustine.
7
>>
for signs, whereby to make known my feelings to others.
Whence could such a living thing be, save from Thee, Lord?
Shall any be artificer to fashion himself? or can there
elsewhere be derived any vein, through which being and
life may flow into us, except that "Thou makest us," O
Lord; and "to be" and "to live" are all one to Thee:
since Thou Thyself art supremely Being, and supremely
Life. "For Thou art most high, and Thou changest not
(Mal. iii. 6), 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 didst sustain them. And since "Thy
years fail not" (Ps. cii. 27), Thy years are one to-day.
How many of ours and our fathers' days have passed away
through Thy "to-day," and from it received the measures
and the manner of their existence; and others still shall
ass away, and so receive the degree of their being. But
Thou art the same" (Ps. cii. 27), and all things of to-
morrow, and beyond it, and all of yesterday, and before it,
to-day shalt Thou do, to-day hast Thou done. What is it
to me, though any comprehend not this? Let him too
rejoice and say, "What thing is this" (Ex. xvi. 15). Let
him too rejoice thus; that he may choose rather by not
finding them to find Thee, than by finding them not to
find Thee.
K
CHAPTER VII.
He proves that even Infancy is prone to sin.
HEAR, O God. Alas, for man's sins! So saith man,
and Thou hast pity on him; since Thou hast made
him, but madest not the sin in him. Who remindeth
me of the sin of my infancy? for in Thy sight none is
*clean from sin," not even the infant whose life on earth is
but a day. Who remindeth me? doth not each little infant,
in whom I see what I remember not about myself? But in
hat did I then sin ? was it that wailing I longed for the
reast? for should I now so long, not for the breast, but for
od convenient for my age, most justly should I be laughed
at and blamed. What I then did was deserving of blame;
F
8
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
For
Now
but since I could not understand any who might blame,
neither custom nor reason allowed me to be blamed.
with our growth we uproot and cast away such habits.
no man when he prunes knowingly 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 even its parents, served it not? that
many besides, wiser than it, obeyed not the nod of its plea-
sure? to strive to strike and hurt with all its might, bècause
its biddings were not obeyed, which had been obeyed to its
peril ?
In the weakness then of baby limbs, not in its will,
lies its innocence. Myself have seen and known jealousy
even in a babe; it could not yet speak, but pale, and with
bitter expression it would eye its foster-brother. Who
knows not this? Mothers and nurses tell you, that they
abate these things by I know not what remedies. Perhaps
that too is innocence, when the fountain of milk is flowing
in generous abundance, not to endure any 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 by lapse of time.
For though you now excuse them, the very same tempers
are utterly intolerable when found in persons of maturer
age.
Thou, then, O Lord my God, who gavest life to this my
infancy, and a body, which thus as we see Thou hast fur-
nished with senses, compacted with limbs, made shapely in
form, and, for its general good and safety, hast implanted in
it all the powers of life, Thou commandest me to praise
Thee in these things, to confess unto Thee, and "to sing
praises to Thy name, O most Highest" (Ps. xcii. 1). For
Thou art God, Almighty and Good, even hadst Thou done
only this, which none could do but Thou alone, from Whom
is the mode of being 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 remem-
brance, which I take on others' word, and guess from other
infants that I have passed, true though that guess be, I am
yet loth to count in this life of mine which I live in this
- world. For in that it reaches back to the shadows of for
getfulness, it is like to that which I spent in my mother'
womb. But if "I was shapen in wickedness, and in sin did


The Confessions of S. Augustine.
my mother conceive me" (Ps. li. 7), where, I beseech Thee,
O my God, where, Lord, or when, was I Thy servant guilt-
less? But, lo! that period I pass by; and what have I now
to do with that, of which I can recal no vestiges?
CHAPTER VIII.
That a child learneth not to speak by rules, but from the gesture and
words of his parents.
ASSING 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. For my elders did not teach me words (as, soon
after, other learning) by any set method; but I, longing by
cries and broken accents and various motions of my limbs.
to express my thoughts, that so my will might be obeyed,
and yet unable to express all I willed, or to whom I willed,
did myself, by the understanding which Thou, my God,
gavest me, go through the sounds in my memory. When
they named anything, and to suit the word turned towards
it, I saw and remembered that they called what they desired
to 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 people,
expressed by the countenance, the glance of the eyes, the
movement of the limbs, and the tone of the voice, indicat-
ing the affections of the mind, as it pursues, possesses,
rejects, or shuns. And thus by frequently hearing words,
as they occurred in various sentences, I collected gradually
for what they were the symbols; and having` broken in my
mouth to these symbols, I thereby gave utterance to my
will. Thus I exchanged with those about me these symbols
of our wills in utterance, and so launched deeper into the
stormy fellowship of human life, yet depending on parental
authority and the beck of elders.

10
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
CHAPTER IX.
Concerning the hatred of lessons, the love of play, and the fear of being
whipped, noticeable in boys; and concerning the inconsistencies of
their elders and masters.
O
GOD my God, what miseries and derision did I now
experience, when obedience to my teachers was im
posed upon me, as proper in a boy, in order that in this
world I might get on and excel in oratorical arts, which
should serve to the "praise of men," and to deceitful riches.
Next I was put to school to learn lessons, in which I (poor
wretch) knew not what use there was; and yet, if idle in
learning, I was flogged. For this method was commended
by our forefathers; and many, passing the same course
before us, framed for us weary paths, through which we
were compelled to pass; multiplying toil and grief upon the
sons of Adam. But, Lord, we found men that called upor
Thee, and we learnt from them to think of Thee as well as
we could, as of some great One, who, though hidden from
our senses, couldst hear and help us. For, as a boy, I
began to pray to Thee, my aid and refuge; and broke the
fetters of my tongue to call on Thee, and I used to ask
Thee, though small, yet with no small earnestness, that I
might not be flogged at school. And when "Thou didst
not hear me, though not to my folly" (Ps. xxii. 2, Vuğ.),
my elders, yea, my very parents, who yet wished me no
ill, laughed at my stripes, my then great and grievous ill.
Is there, Lord, any of courage so great, and cleaving to
Thee with so intense affection (for a sort of doggedness will
in a way do it); is there any one, I ask, who, from cleaving
devoutly to Thee, is endued with so great a courage, that
he can think as lightly of the racks and hooks and other
tortures (to be delivered from which, throughout all lands,
men call on Thee with extreme dread), laughing at those
by whom they are feared most bitterly, as our parents used
to laugh at the tortures which we suffered as boys from our
masters? For we feared them no less; nor prayed we less
to Thee to escape them. And yet we used to sin by not
writing or reading or minding our lessons as was demanded
of us.
For we wanted not, O Lord, for memory or capa
city, whereof Thy will gave enough for our age; but our
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
II
A.
>>
sole delight was play; and for this we were punished by
those who yet themselves were doing the like. But the
rifling occupations of older people are called "business;
but those of boys, being really the same, are punished by
those elders; and none commiserates either boys or men.
For will any of sound judgment approve of my being beaten
as a boy, because, by playing at ball, I made less progress
n studies, which I was to learn, only that, as a man, I might
play more odiously? and what else did he, who flogged 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 ?
CHAPTER X.
From love of sports and shows he neglects his studies, and the precepts of
his parents.
AND yet, I sinned herein, O Lord God, the Creator
and Disposer of all things in nature, of sin the Dis-
poser only, O Lord my God, I sinned in acting contrary to
the commands of my parents and of those masters.
For
what they, with whatever motive, would have me learn, I
might afterward have put to good use. For I disobeyed,
not from the choice of better things, 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 shone in my eyes more and more, at 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 willingly allow them to be whipped,
if by those very games they are hindered 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.
вси

12
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
t
:
CHAPTER XI.
He is taken ill, and desires to be baptized; but his mother defers it upor
his recovery, as his father is not yet a Christian.
AS
S 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 my mother's womb
whose hope was in Thee, I was signed with the sign of His
cross and salted with His salt. Thou sawest, Lord, how
while yet a boy, I was one day suddenly seized with oppres-
sion of the stomach, and like to die; Thou sawest, my
God (for Thou wert my keeper), with what emotion and
what faith I entreated, from the affection 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 disturbed (since with a heart pure in Thy
faith, she even more lovingly "travailed in birth" of my
salvation), would with all speed have provided for my con
secration 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 de-
ferred, because after that washing the guilt, in gross sins,
would be greater and more perilous. I then already be-
lieved 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 I should believe in Christ the
less, because he did not yet believe. For it was her sted-
fast aim, 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; and even thus she
obeyed Thee who hast so commanded.

I beseech Thee, my God, I would fain know, if so Thou
willest, for what purpose was I hindered from being then
baptised? 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 alı sides, "Le
him alone, let him do as he will, for he is not yet baptized?
"Let him be
And yet as to bodily health, we do not say,
✓
worse wounded, for he is not yet healed." How much
better then, had I been at once healed; and
that then it

The Confessions of S. Augustine.
13
had been brought about by my friends' diligence and my
own, that my soul's recovered health had been kept safe in
Thy safe keeping, who hadst given 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 hazard on them the clay whence I might
afterwards be moulded, than the very image, when made.
CHAPTER XII.
He was compelled to labour at his studies; and confesses in this that
God is good.
IN
N boyhood itself, however (so much less dreaded for me
than youth), I loved not lessons, and hated to be
forced to them. Yet I was forced
Yet I was forced; and this was well done
towards me, but I did not well; for, unless compelled, I
would not have learnt. But no one doth well what he doth
Yet
unwillingly, even though what he doth, be well.
neither did they well who forced me, but what was well was
done of Thee, my God. For they did not care to what use
I might put what they compelled me to learn, except to
satiate the insatiate desires of a want that hath abundance,
and a glory that is full of shame. (See Rev. iii. 17, and
Phil. iii. 19.) But Thou, "by whom the very hairs of our
head are all numbered" (S. Matt. x. 30), 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 punishment of which I was not undeserving, being so
small a boy, yet so great a sinner. So by those who did
not well, Thou didst well for me; and by my own sin Thou
didst justly requite me. For Thou hast commanded, and
so it is, that every inordinate affection should be its own ▾
punishment.
CHAPTER XIII.
He used to hate the Greek grammar and language; but delighted in his
Latin, and the empty tales of the poets.
UT why did I so much hate the Greek, which as a
BUT little boy I used to study? not even yet is it quite
clear to me. For the Latin I loved; not what my first
}

14
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
masters, but what the so-called grammarians taught me.
For those first lessons, reading, writing, and arithmetic, I
used to find no less burdensome and task like than all my
Greek. And yet whence was this too, but from the sin
and vanity of this life, because "I was but flesh, and a wind
that passeth away and cometh not again"? (Ps. lxxviii. 39).
For those first lessons were in fact better, 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 compelled to learn the wander-
ings of some Æneas or other, forgetful of my own and to
weep for dead Dido, because she killed herself for love; the
while, with dry eyes, I, most miserable, endured myself
dying among these things, far from Thee, O God my life.
For what could be more miserable than a miserable
being, who commiserates not himself, weeping the death of
Dido which came of her love to Æneas, but weeping not
his own death which came of want of love to Thee, O God,
Thou light of my heart, Thou bread of my inmost soul,
Thou Power who makest fertile my mind, and the thought
of my bosom? 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" (S. James iv. 4), and
"Well done! well done!" is repeated till one is ashamed
not to be thus a man. And all this I wept not, but I wept
for Dido slain, and "seeking by the sword a wound ex-
treme,” myself seeking the while the extremest and lowest
of Thy creatures, having forsaken Thee, earth passing into
the earth; and if forbid to read all this, I would grieve that
I might not read what grieved me. Madness like this is
reckoned a more honourable 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
earlier lore." For, lo, I would far more readily forget the
wanderings of Æneas and all the rest than how to read and
write. But over the thresholds of the Grammar Schools
veils are hung; but these indicate not so much the dignity
of secrecy as the cloak of errors. 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

The Confessions of S. Augustine.
15
condemnation of my evil ways, that I may love Thy good
ways. Let not either buyers or sellers of grammar cry out
against me. For if I put the question to 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 if I were to ask
with what letters the name "Æneas" is written, all who
have learnt this will answer me aright, according to the use
and wont, by which men have established those signs among
themselves. 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 them-
selves? I sinned, then, when as a boy I preferred those
empty to those more profitable studies, or rather hated the
one and loved the other. "One and one, two;
"two
and two, four;" this was to me a hateful singsong: "the
wooden horse filled with armed men," and "the burning of
Troy," and "Creusa's shade" were the vain spectacle most
charming to me.
"}

CHAPTER XIV.
Why he disliked Greek, and easily learned Latin.
WHY
HY then did I hate the Greek language in which like.
songs are sung. For Homer also was skilful in
weaving the like fables, 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
the other. Difficulty, in truth, the difficulty of learning a
foreign tongue, sprinkled, as it were, with gall all the sweet-
ness of Grecian fables. For I knew none of the words, and
to make me know them, 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 torture,
by mere observation, amid the caresses of my nurses, the
jests of smiling friends, and the delights of those that played
with me. This I learned without any burden of punish-
ment 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 teachers, but of talkers; in whose ears also I gave birth
7
L

16
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
to the thoughts, whatever I conceived. It is quite clear
then, that a free curiosity has more power to make us learn
these things than a terrifying obligation. Only this obliga-
tion restrains the waverings of that freedom by Thy laws, O
my God, Thy laws, from the master's rod to the martyr's
trials, for Thy laws have the effect of mingling for us certain
wholesome bitters, which recall us to Thee away from that
pernicious blithesomeness, by means of which we depart
from Thee.
}
CHAPTER XV.
He prays that he may use in God's service what he learned as a boy.
HEAR, Lord, my prayer; let not my soul faint under
Thy discipline, nor let me faint in confessing unto
Thee Thy mercies, whereby Thou hast drawn me out of all
my most evil ways; that Thou mightest become sweeter to
me than all the allurements which I once pursued; that I
may most entirely love Thee, and clasp Thy hand with all
the affections of my heart, and Thou mayest yet draw me
away from every temptation, even unto the end. For, lo,
do Thou, O Lord, my King and my God, make serviceable
to Thyself whatever useful thing I learned in boyhood;
for Thy service be it, that I speak, and write, and read, and
reckon. For Thou didst grant me Thy discipline, while I
was learning vanities; and the sin of taking delight in those
vanities Thou hast forgiven. In them, indeed, I learned
many useful words, but these may as well be learned in
things not vain; and that is the safe path, in which the
young should walk.
CHAPTER XVI.
He blames the method in which the young are taught; and shows why the
poets attribute vices to the gods.
!
BUT W
UT woe to 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 dreadful sea, which even they scarcely overpass who
I
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
17
!
embark upon the wood?* Did not I read in thee of Jove
the thunderer and the adulterer? both, certainly, he could
not be; but so was it devised, that the sham thunder might
authorise and pander to real adultery. And now which of
our gowned masters, lends a sober ear to one of the same
clay as themselves, who cries out, "These things Homer
feigned, and transferred things human to the gods; would
he had brought down things divine to us!" (Cic. Tusc. i.
26.) Yet more truly had he said, "These are indeed but
fictions; but by attributing a divine nature to wicked men,
crimes were no longer deemed crimes, so that those who
commit 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 payments for such learning; and a great
business is made of it, when this is being publicly done 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 is
acquired; most necessary to gain your ends, or set forth
your opinions." As if we should have never known such
words as "golden shower," "lap," "deceit," "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 debauchery, while he views a "certain pic-
ture painted on the wall, where this was shown, how Jove,
they say, once dropped in Danae's lap a golden shower,
and on the woman passed deceit." And then mark how he
excites himself to lust as by celestial authority; "But what
God? saith he. Why, he that shakes the topmost temples
of the heavens with his thunder. And may not I, weak
man, the same thing do? Eh, but that I did, and merrily."
(Terence, Eun. Act iii. sc. 5.) Not one whit more easily
are the words learnt for all this vileness; but by their
means the vileness is committed the more boldly. Not
that I blame the words, being, as it were, vessels elect and
* The wood of the cross is probably what S. Augustine here intends.
Compare Wisdom xiv. 5, "Therefore do men commit their lives to a
small piece of wood, and passing the rough sea in a weak vessel are
saved."
"What sea, save
Of this passage S. Rabanus Maurus writes,
the tempestuous ocean of this naughty world? what vessel, save the
the holier ark, the Cross of the Lord Jesus?"-EDITOR.
{
#
18
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
precious; but that wine of error which is in them, was given
to us to drink by teachers intoxicated with it; and if we, too,
drank not, we were beaten, nor could we appeal to any
sober judge. Yet, O my God (in whose presence my
remembrance of this is now harmless), all this unhappily
I learnt willingly and took delight in it, and for this was
pronounced a hopeful boy.
-`
CHAPTER XVII.
He continues the subject of the last chapter.
UFFER me, my God, to say somewhat of my talents,
Thy gift, and on what absurdities I wasted them.
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 turn the Trojan king from Italy. Which words I had
heard that Juno never uttered; but we were forced to err
and stray in the footsteps of these poetic fictions, and to
say in prose much that the poet had expressed in verse.
And he would speak with the more applause, who best
maintained the dignity of the character he personated, and
simulated the passion of rage and grief, and meetly clothed
the thoughts in words. What is it to me, O my true life,
my God, that my declamation was applauded above só
many of my own age and class? is not all this smoke and
wind? and was there nothing else whereon to exercise my
talents and my tongue? Thy praises, Lord, Thy praises
throughout Thy Scriptures, might have lent support to the
vine of my heart; so had it not trailed away amid these
trifling vanities, a vile prey for the fowls of the air. For in
more ways than one do men sacrifice to the rebel angels.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Men keep with care the rules of grammar; but neglect the eternal laws
of lasting salvation.
UT what marvel that I was thus carried away to
BUT vanities, and went out from Thy presence, O my
God, when men were set before me for imitation, who, if in
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
19
:
relating some action of theirs, in itself not ill, expressed
themselves with some barbarism or solecism, being censured,
were abashed; but if they related their own immoralities in
words well chosen and aptly put together, with fluency and
eloquence, being praised, they gloried? These things Thou
seest, Lord, and holdest Thy peace; "long-suffering, and
plenteous in mercy and truth" (Ps. lxxxvi. 15). Wilt Thou
for ever hold Thy peace? and even now thou dost pluck out
of this most frightful 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" (Ps.
xxvii. 8). For in "darkened affections I was far off from
Thee" (See Rom. i. 21). For it is not by our feet, or by
local distances, 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 with knees bent to walk,
take his journey, that he might in a far country waste in
riotous living all Thou gavest at his faring forth? a loving
Father, when Thou gavest, and more loving unto him when
he returned empty. So then lustful affections are in truth
darkened; and they are the "country" far from Thy face.
"
66
Behold, O Lord God, yea, behold patiently as Thou art
wont, how carefully the sons of men observe the conven-
tional rules of letters and syllables received from former
speakers, neglecting the eternal covenant of everlasting
salvation received from Thee; insomuch, that any who
should hold to, or teach, the obsolete opinions of pronun-
ciation and contrary to grammatical rule, should fail to
aspirate the “h” in uman being," would give more
offence to human beings, than if he, a human being, were to
hold human beings in hatred, contrary to Thy precepts.
As if, forsooth, one could receive more hurt from any
human enemy, than the hatred's self with which he is in-
censed 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 is so implanted in
us, as the law of conscience, "Do not to another as you
would not be done by." How Thou dost hide Thyself, O
God, Thou only great, "that dwellest on high” (Isaiah
xxxiii. 5) in silence, and by an unwearied law dost for pun-
ishment send blindness upon lawless desires. In quest of
the fame of eloquence, a man standing before a human

20
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
judge, surrounded by a human crowd, inveighing against
his enemy with fiercest hatred, will take heed most watch-
fully, lest, by a slip of the tongue, he should say
"amun'
men;" but will take no heed, lest, through the fury of his
spirit, he should take away his life from among men.
I

CHAPTER XIX.
He proves that infants are not without faults; and details the guile and
faults of boyhood.
SUCH
UCH were the moral surroundings among which I lay,
unhappy, in boyhood; such the school of my contest,
in which 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, in whose pleasure I then thought,
honourable life to consist. For I saw not the abyss of vile-
ness, wherein "I was cast away from Thine eyes" (Ps. xxxi.
22). For in them what could be more foul than I already
was, since I was offensive even to 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 stage plays? Thefts also I com-
mitted from my parents' cellar and table, either because
tempted by gluttony, or that I might have to give to boys,
who sold me their play, which all the while they delighted
in as much as I did. In this play, too, I often sought to
win by cheating; won over myself meanwhile by coveting
to excel. And what could I so ill put up with, or, when I
found it out, did I denounce so fiercely, as that very thing
which I was doing to others, and for which, found out, I
was denounced, but yet 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
* There is a constant word play throughout this chapter, most diffi-
cult to reproduce. In this sentence the fault, which S. Augustine says
a man would eagerly avoid, is that of saying "inter hominibus" instead
of "inter homines. I have tried to save the sense.-EDITOR.
""

The Confessions of S. Augustine.
21
magistrates and kings, to gold and manors and slaves, just
as severer Plishments displace the cane. It was the
stature fen of childhood, which Thou our King didst
commend as an emblem of humility, when Thou saidst,
"Of such is the kingdom of heaven " (S. Matt. xix. 14).
CHAPTER XX.
He thanks God for benefits conferred on him in boyhood.
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 willed that boyhood-
only should be mine. For even then I was, I lived, and
felt; and had my preservation; a trace of that most hidden
Unity, from which I had my being; I guarded by the
inward sense the entireness of my senses, and in these little
things, and in my thoughts about little things, I began to
take delight in truth. I hated to be deceived, had a vigor-
ous memory, was well furnished with language, was com-
forted by friendship, avoided pain, shame, and ignorance.
In so small a creature, what was not wonderful, not admir-
able? But all are gifts of my God: it was not I, who gave
them to myself; and good these are, and these together are
myself. Good, then, is He that made me, and He is my
d; and before Him do I exult for every good which
n as a boy I had. For herein was my sin, that not in
n, but in His creatures-myself and others -I sought for
sures, grandeurs, realities, and so fell headlong into
ws, confusions, errors. Thanks be to Thee, my joy
my glory and my confidence, my God, thanks be to
for Thy gifts; but do Thou preserve them to me.
o wilt Thou preserve me, and those things shall be in-
creased and perfected, which Thou hast given me, and I
myself shall be with Thee, since even that I am is of Thy
gift to me.
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Book 33.
HE PASSES ON TO HIS YOUTH; BEGINNING FROM HIS SIXTEENTH
YEAR; WHEN HAVING LAID ASIDE HIS STUDIES, HE INDULGED
HIS APPETITES, AND WITH HIS COMPANIONS COMMITTED THEFT.
CHAPTER I.
He deplores the sins of his youth.
I
DESIRE now to 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; recalling my most wicked ways in the bitter-
ness of my remembrance, that Thou mayest grow sweet unto
me; (Thou sweetness never failing, Thou blessed and tran-
quil sweetness); and gathering me again out of that my
dissipation, wherein I was torn piecemeal, while turned
away from Thy Unity, I lost myself among many things.
For I even burnt in my youth heretofore, to be satiated in
things below; and I dared to grow wild with various
shadowy loves: my beauty consumed away," and I
loathly in Thine eyes; pleasing myself, and desirous to pl
the eyes of men.
CHAPTER II.
In the deepest grief he recalls the sensual indulgences of his sixico.
year.
AND what was it that I delighted in, but to love, and be
beloved? but the measure of mind to mind, such as
is the shining boundary of friendship, was not kept; but out
of the muddy desire of the flesh, and the overflow of youth,
mists were given off which clouded and overcast my heart,
so that the clear brightness of love could not be distin-


The Confessions of S. Augustine.
23
:
ཅ
d from the fog of lust. Both did confusedly boil in
…, and hurried my youthful weakness over the precipice of
desire, and sunk me in an abyss of shame. Thy wrath had
lowered 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 didst let me alone, and I was tossed about, and
poured out, and dissipated, and I boiled over in my forni-
cations, and Thou didst hold Thy peace, O Thou my tardy
joy! Thou then didst hold Thy peace, and I wandered
further and further from Thee, into more and more barren
occasions of sorrows, with a proud dejectedness, and a rest-
less weariness.
:
Oh! that some one had then restrained my distress, and
turned to account the fleeting beauties of these newest
powers, had put a bound to their pleasureableness, that so
the tides of my youth might have cast themselves upon the
shore of marriage if the duty of paternity had not sufficed
to calm them, as Thy law prescribes, O Lord who this
way formest the offspring of our mortal race, being able
with a gentle hand to blunt the thorns, which were shut
out from Thy paradise! For Thy omnipotence is not far
from us, even though we are far from Thee. Else ought
I more watchfully to have heeded the solemn voice from
Thy 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" (1 Cor. vii.).
To these words I should have listened more attentively,
and being continent "for the kingdom of heaven's sake
(S. Matt. xix. 12), I should the more happily have awaited
Thy embraces; but I, poor wretch, as though I had been
a boiling sea, followed the tide of my impulses, and forsook
Thee, I exceeded all the bounds of Thy laws, yet I escaped
not Thy scourges. For what mortal can? For Thou wert
ever with me angry in mercy, and besprinkling with most
bitter vexations all my unlawful pleasures: that I might
seek pleasures free from offence. But where to find such,
I could not discover, save in Thee, O Lord, who "shapest
our trouble for a precept" (Ps. xciv. 20, Vulg.), and
>>
مست مال تو


24
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
1
woundest us, that Thou mayest heal; and killest
we die from Thee. Where was I, and how far was I tancu
from the delights of Thy house, in that sixteenth year of
the age of my flesh, when the madness of lust which hath
license through men's viciousness, though forbidden 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 me from ruin; their only care was that I should
learn to make a good speech, and be a persuasive orator.
CHAPTER III.
Concerning his father, a freedman of Thagaste, the helper of his son's
studies; and his mother's counsels to chastity.
FOR
'OR that year were my studies intermitted: whilst after
my return from Madaura, a neighbouring city, whither
I had begun to travel to study grammar and rhetoric, the
expenses for a further journey to Carthage were being found
for me rather by the resolution than the means of my father,
who was but a poor freedman of Thagaste. To whom tell I
this? not to Thee, my God; but before Thee to mine own
kind, even to the small portion of mankind, that may light
upon these writings of mine. And to what purpose? that
I myself and whosoever reads this, may reflect "out of
what deep we are to cry unto Thee" (Ps. cxxx. 1). For
what is nearer to Thine ears than a heart that makes con-
fession, and a life of faith? Who did not then sing my
father's praises, for that beyond the ability of fortune, he
would furnish his son with all necessaries for a long journey
for the sake of his studies? For many citizens far more
wealthy 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 a cultured speaker,
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 began to be at
home, and to keep enforced holiday from all study, through
the narrowness of my parents' fortunes, the briars of unclean
desires grew up above my head, and there was no hand to
root them out. When that my father saw me at the baths,

The Confessions of S. Augustine.
25
g toward manhood, and endued with the rest-
of youth, he, as though already exulting in his
grandchildren, gladly told it to my mother; intoxicated
with that joy wherein the world forgetteth Thee its Creator,
and loveth Thy creature instead of Thyself, through that
invisible wine of self-will, which is perverse, and inclined to
base 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 a catechumen, and ✔
that but recently. She then was startled with an holy fear
and trembling; and though I was not as yet one of the
faithful, she feared for me those crooked ways, in which
they walk, who "turn their back unto Thee and not their
face" (Jer. ii. 27).
Woe is me! and dare I say that Thou didst hold Thy
peace, O my God, while I was straying 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 didst chant in my ears? Nothing
whereof sunk into my heart, so as to do it. For she wished,
and I remember in private with great earnestness warned
me, "to flee fornication, and especially never to sin with
another'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 didst hold Thy peace,
and that it was she who spake; by whom Thou didst not
hold Thy peace; and in her wast despised by me, her son,
"the son of Thy handmaid and Thy servant" (Ps. cxvi. 16).
But I knew it not; and ran headlong with such blindness,
that amongst my equals I was ashamed of being less
vicious, when I heard them boast of their vices, yea, boast-
ing the more the baser they were; and I took pleasure, not
only in a vicious act, but in the praise of it. What is
worthy of blame but Vice? But I made myself out more
vicious than I was to avoid being blamed; and when there
was nothing which I could plead guilty of, to be like the
most abandoned, I would pretend that I had done what I
had not done, that I might not seem more contemptible
because I was more innocent; or be held the cheaper
because more chaste.
Behold with what companions I walked the streets of
Babylon, and wallowed in the mire thereof, as if in a bed
4+.

26
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
}
of spices, and precious ointments. And that I m
the faster in the midst of it, the invisible enemy tro
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 midst of Babylon" [Jer. li. 6], 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 married love (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 my prospects might be embarrassed
by the clog of a wife. Not that prospect of the world to
come, which my mother reposed in Thee; but the prospect
of learning, which both my parents were too desirous I
should attain; my father, because of Thee he thought little
or nothing, and of me but vain conceits; but my mother,
because she accounted that those usual courses of learning
would not only be no hindrance, but even some help to-
wards attaining Thee in time to come. For thus I conjec-
ture, recalling, as well as I may, the dispositions of my
parents. The reins, meantime, were slackened to me,
beyond the due measure of severity, so that I might sport,
yea, even unto dissoluteness, in all sorts of passions. And
in all was a mist shutting out from me, O my God, the
brightness of Thy truth; and mine iniquity "stood out as
with fatness" (Ps. lxxiii. 7).
CHAPTER IV.
He joins his companions in an act of theft; tempted not by want,
but by a certain loathing of righteousness.
THER
HEFT is punished by Thy law, O Lord, and the law
written in the hearts of men, which iniquity itself
does not blot out. For what thief will abide a thief? not
even a rich thief, one driven to steal by want. Yet I wanted
to thieve, and did it, though compelled by no want nor
poverty, but through a loathing of righteousness and a surfeit
of iniquity. For I stole that, of which I had plenty, and
much better. Nor did I want to enjoy what I sought by my
theft, but the theft and sin itself. A pear tree there was
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
27
near our vineyard, laden with fruit, tempting neither in form
nor flavour. To shake and rob this, some base young
fellows of us went, late one night, after having, according
to our abominable habit, kept up our fun in the streets
till then; and took huge loads, not for a feast for ourselves,
but to fling to the very hogs, having only tasted them. And
this was done by us only for the pleasure of doing what we
ought not. Behold my heart, O God, behold my heart,
which Thou hadst pity upon in the bottom of the abyss.
Now, thold, let my heart tell Thee, what it sought there,
that I should be gratuitously wicked, having no temptation
to that evil deed, but the evil deed itself. It was foul, and
I loved it; I loved to perish, I loved mine own fault, not
that for the sake of which I committed the fault, but my
fault itself I loved. Foul soul, falling from Thy firmament
to expulsion from thy presence; not seeking aught through
the shame, but the shame itself!
CHAPTER V.
That the motive to sin lies not in mere love of evil, but in the desire to
acquire something.
FOR there
'OR there is a beauty in fair bodies, in gold and silver,
and all things; and in bodily touch, sympathy counts
for much, and of the other senses each hath his correspond-
ing measure of enjoyment. Worldly honour hath also its
attractiveness, and the power of command and of conquest;
whence springs also the longing for revenge. But yet, to
obtain all these, we may not depart from Thee, O Lord, nor
wander from Thy law. The life also which here we live
hath its own enchantment, through a certain measure of
dignity, and a correspondence with all things beautiful here.
below. Human friendship also is pleasant with its tie of
affection, 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 true of heart" (Ps. lxiv. 10).
28
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
+
1
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 in comparison with those higher and more blessed
goods, they be abject and low. A man hath done murder.
Why? he loved his victim's wife or his estate; or would rob
for his own livelihood; or feared to lose some such things by
him; or, wronged, burned to revenge himself. Would any
commit murder upon no cause, delighted in murder itself?
who would believe it? for as for that mad and savage man,
of whom it is said that he was "gratuitously evil and cruel,"
yet is the cause assigned; "lest" (saith he) "through idle-
ness hand or mind should grow inactive" (Sallust. Catil.
16). And to what end? that through that practice of crimes,
he might, having taken the city, attain to honours, empire,
riches, and be freed from fear of the laws, and the embar-
rassment of his affairs, through narrow means and conscious-
ness of villanies. So then, not even Catiline himself loved
his own villanies, but rather that for the sake of which he
did them.
CHAPTER VI.
What it was that he loved in his theft; since all things that prompt to
sin by an appearance of goodness can be only true and perfect in
God alone.
WH
HAT then did wretched I so love in thee, thou theft
of mine, thou deed of night, in that sixteenth year of
my age? Fair thou wert not, for 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 plucked only that I might steal. For, when
plucked, I flung them away, and feasted only on my sin,
which I was pleased to enjoy. For if aught of those pears
came within my mouth, the sin was the seasoning. And
now, O Lord my God, I ask what in that theft delighted
me; and behold it hath no beauty; I mean not such
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
29
F

beauty as is in justice and wisdom; nor even 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 pride doth ape highness; whereas Thou only art
God, Most High above 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
powers that be, 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 charms of the wanton would fain be loved;
out there is nothing that hath more charm than Thy charity;
or is aught loved more healthfully than that Thy truth
which is beautiful and luminous above all. Curiosity seems
to affect a desire of knowledge; whereas Thou supremely
knowest all. Yea, ignorance and very folly is cloaked under
the name of simplicity and harmlessness; because nothing
s found more simple than Thyself. And what is more
harmless than Thou art? Truly his own deeds are the
inner's foes. Sloth again is a certain seeking after rest;
ut what sure rest is there besides the Lord? Luxury
would prefer to be called sufficiency and abundance; but
Thou art the fulness and never-failing plenteousness of
sweetness incorruptible. Prodigality presents a shadow of
liberality: but Thou art the most plenteous Giver of all
good things. Covetousness would possess many things:
and Thou possessest all things. Envy quarrels about ex-
cellency: what more excellent than Thou? Anger seeks
vengeance; who avengeth more justly than Thou? Fear
trembles at unwonted and sudden adversities which en-
danger things beloved, and takes precautions for their
safety; but to Thee what unwonted or sudden, or who
separateth from Thee what Thou lovest? (Rom. viii. 9.)
Or where but with Thee is unshaken safety? Grief pines
away for things now lost, in which covetousness used to
take delight; because it would have nothing taken from it,
as nothing can be taken from Thee.
Thus doth the soul commit fornication, when she turns
from Thee, seeking without Thee, what she findeth not
1
30
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
pure and untainted, till she returns to Thee. Thus all
perversely imitate Thee, who put Thee far from them, 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 wickedly and perversely imitate my Lord? Did
it please me to do contrary to Thy law, at any rate b
artifice, if I could not by power, so that though a prisoner
I might mimic a maimed liberty by doing with impunity
things unpermitted me, a shadowy likeness of Thy Omnipo
tency? Behold, Thy servant, fleeing from his Lord, and
obtaining a shadow. O rottenness, O monstrousness of
life, and depth and death! could I like what I might not,
for nothing else than that I might not?

CHAPTER VII.
He renders thanks to God for the forgiveness of his sins; and warns
against pride any whom God has kept from such grave offences.
(6
WHAT
HAT shall I render unto the Lord" (Ps. cxvi. 12)
-
that, whilst my memory recalls these things, my
soul is not affrighted at them? "I will love Thee, O Lord,
and give thanks unto Thee, and confess unto Thy name;
because Thou hast forgiven me these so great and wicked
deeds of mine. To Thy grace I impute it, and to Thy
mercy, that Thou hast melted away my sins as it were ice.
To Thy grace I impute also that some evil I have left un-
done; for what might I not have done, who even loved a sin
for its own sake? And I confess that all have been forgiven
me; both those sins which, of my own will, I did, and
those which, of Thy guidance, I left undone. What man
is there who, conscious of his own infirmity, dares to ascribe
his chastity and innocency to his own strength; that so he
should love Thee the less, as though Thy mercy had been
the less necessary for him; the mercy whereby Thou re-
mittest sins to those that turn to Thee? For whosoever,
called by Thee, followed Thy voice, and shunned those
things which he reads me recording and confessing of
myself, let him not scorn me, who being sick, was cured by
"

he Confessions of S. Augustine.
31
:
nat Physician, through whose aid it was that he was not
sick, 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
peen freed from the weary exhaustion of my sins, by Him
he sees that he was saved from entanglement in the like
exhaustion.

CHAPTER VIII.
That in the theft, it was the companionship of his fellow-sinners
that he liked.
WHA
HAT fruit had I then, "wretched man," in those
things, of the`remembrance whereof I am now
ashamed?" (Rom. vi. 21). Especially, in that theft wherein.
I loved theft itself? there was nothing else to love in it;
nd since itself was nothing, was not I more wretched even
han the theft? Yet alone I had not done it: for I re-
member that my mind even then discerned that of myself
had never done it. I loved then in it also the companion-
hip of the accomplices, with whom I did it? Did I then
ove nothing else but the theft? yea rather I did love no-
hing else, for that companionship was also nothing. What
s, in truth? who can teach me, save He that enlighteneth
my heart, and discovereth its shadows? What is it which
hath come into my mind to enquire, and discuss, and con-
sider? For had I then loved the pears I stole, and wished
to enjoy them, I might have done it alone, if the com-
mitting of that wickedness had sufficed to attain my
pleasure; nor needed I have inflamed the itching of my
covetousness, by the flattery of accomplices. But since my
pleasure was not in those pears, it was in the offence itself,
which the association with fellow-sinners occasioned.
CHAPTER IX.
There is pleasure in laughter, and in the deceiving of others.
WHAT then
WHAT then was that inclination of the mind? 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" (Ps. xix. 12). It was the sport, which as it were,
}


32
The Confessions of S. Augustina
tickled our hearts, that we were deceiving those who ha
idea of what we were about, and vehemently misliked it.
Why then was my delight of such sort, that I did it not
alone? Was it because none doth readily laugh alone?
indeed no one doth so readily; yet laughter sometimes
masters men alone and by themselves, when no one else is
with them, if any thing very ridiculous presents itself to
their senses or mind. Yet I had not done this along
alone I had never done it. Behold my God, before Thee
is the vivid remembrance of my soul; alone I had never
committed that theft wherein the thing stolen gave me no
pleasure, but only the stealing; nor would the stealing have
given me pleasure by myself, nor would I have done it. O
friendship too unfriendly! thou incomprehensible deception
of the mind, thou greediness to do mischief out of sport
and mirth, thou thirst of another's 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.
CHAPTER X.
With God is true rest, and life undisturbed.
:
WHO
HO can unloose that most twisted and tangled knot?
Foul is it I hate the thought of it; I hate the
sight of it. But Thee I long for, Ŏ Righteousness and
Innocency, fair and comely to pure eyes, and of a satis-
faction unsating. With Thee is true rest and life un-
troubled. Whoso enters into Thee, "enters into the joy of
his Lord" (S. Matt. xxv. 21): and shall not fear, and shall
find all good, in Thee, Most Good. I sank away from
Thee, and I wandered, O my God, too much astray from
Thee my stay, in my youth, and I became to myself a
barren land.

LAST
KOSUR
Book 333.
EATS OF HIS SEVENTEENTH, EIGHTEENTH, AND NINETEENTH
YEARS SPENT AT CARTHAGE, WHERE, IN ADDITION TO HIS STUDIES,
HE WAS TAKEN IN THE SNARE OF LAWLESS LOVE, AND PLUNGED
IN MANICHEAN ERRORS.
CHAPTER I.
Captive to a lawless passion, a man base and dishonourable would fain
be fine and courtly.
Captive
1
I CAME to Carthage, where there seethed all around
me a cauldron of lawless 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 I hated safety, 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 hun-
gered; but was without all longing for incorruptible suste-
nance, not because filled therewith, but the more empty,
the more I loathed it. For this cause my soul was un-
healthy; and being ulcerous, miserably. cast itself forth,
seeking 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 excess of vanity, be fine and courtly. I fell
headlong then into the love, with which I longed to be
taken captive. 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
B

34
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
arrived at the bond of enjoying; and rejoiced to be
in sorrowful bonds, that I might be scourged with the
hot iron rods of jealousy, and suspicions, and fears,
angers, and quarrels.
CHAPTER II.
He arouses empty feelings of pity in himself by stage plays.
STA
TAGE plays also carried me away, full of images of n
miseries, and of tinder for my flame. Why is it th
man desires to be there made sad, beholding grievous a
tragical things, which yet himself would by no means uffer?
yet he desires as a spectator to feel grief at them, and this
very grief 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 from sympathy with others, then it is pity. But what
sort of pity is this for the shams and shadows of the stage?
for the auditor is not moved to succour, but only asked to
grieve; and he applauds the actor of these fictions the
more, the more he grieves. And if those human misfor-
tunes, whether they be histories of olden times, or mere
fictions, be so acted, that the spectator is not moved to
grief, he goes away disdainful and censorious; but if he be
moved to grief, he stays intent, and enjoys the tears he
sheds.
Are griefs then too loved? Verily all desire joy. Or
since no man likes to be miserable, yet we like to be piti-
ful; and as this cannot be without some grief, is this the
sole reason why griefs are loved? This also arises from
that spring of friendship. But whither goes that spring?
whither does it flow? wherefore runs it into that torrent of
pitch bubbling forth those monstrous tides of foul lusts, into
which it is changed and transformed of its own motion,
being twisted aside and cut off from its heavenly clearness ?
Shall pity then be renounced? by no means. Let griefs
then sometimes be 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" (Dan. iii. 52, Vulg.); beware of uncleanness. For I


The Confessions of S. Augustine.
35
e not even now ceased to pity; but then in the theatres
rejoiced with lovers, when they wickedly enjoyed one
nother, although this was imaginary only in the play. And
men they lost one another, as if very pitiful, I sorrowed
ith them, yet had my delight in both the while.
But now
much more pity him that rejoiceth in his wickedness,
than him that suffers seeming hardships through lack of some
pernicious pleasure, and the loss of some miserable felicity.
This certainly is the truer pity, but in it grief is without
ight. For though he that grieves for the miserable be
dmended for his office of charity, yet he who is genuinely
pitiful would much prefer that there were nothing for him to
grieve for. For if good will be ill willed, which cannot be,
then may he, who truly and sincerely pities, wish there
might be some miserable that he might pity them. 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 art
wounded with no sorrowfulness. "And who is sufficient for
these things"? (2 Cor. ii. 16).
But I, miserable, then loved to grieve, and sought out
what to grieve at, when in the misery of another, who only
feigned and postured, that acting of a player best pleased
me, and attracted me the most vehemently, which drew
tears from me. What marvel that an unhappy sheep, erring
from Thy flock, and impatient of Thy keeping, I became
infected with a foul disease? And hence came the love of
griefs, though not of such as should too deeply affect me.
For I loved not to endure what I loved to look on; but
such that when I heard their fictions, I should, as it were,
be tickled on the surface: upon which, as on nail scratches,
followed inflamed swelling, corruption, and a horrid sore.
Such was my life. But was it life, O my God?
CHAPTER II.
Not even in Church does he govern his desires; in the rhetoric school he
abhors the doings of the "Subverters."
In
ND Thy faithful mercy hovered over me from afar.
what grievous iniquities did I consume away, and
followed after a sacrilegious curiosity, that when forsaking
Α'
B 2


36
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
Thee it might bring me to the treacherous abyss, and
deceitful rites of devils, to whom I sacrificed my ev
doings; and in all these things Thou didst scourge me!
dared even, during the celebration of Thy solemnit
within the walls of Thy church, to desire, and to compass
business, deserving death for its fruits, for which Tho
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 Th
loving mine own ways, and not Thine; loving a flee
liberty.
Those studies also, which were accounted honourable,
had their purpose fixed upon the Law Courts, that I might
excel in them, being considered more praiseworthy, the
more crafty in deception. Such is men's blindness, glory-
ing 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 "Sub-
verters" (for this perverse and devilish name was a sort of
mark of the "man about town") 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, though I ever held aloof from their doings, ie.,
their "subvertings," wherewith they wantonly railed at the
modesty of strangers, which they disturbed by a gratuitous
jeering, feeding thereon their malicious mirth. Nothing
can be more like the actions of devils. What then could
they be more truly called than "subverters"? themselves
subverted and altogether perverted first, the deceiving spirits
secretly deriding and seducing them in the very thing
wherein themselves delight to jeer at, and deceive others.
CHAPTER IV.
In his nineteenth year, two years after his father's death, the "Hor-
tensius" of Cicero recalls his mind to philosophy, to God, and to
a better mood of thought.
such as these, in that inconstant age of mine,
I kept learning books of eloquence, wherein I desired
to be eminent, for a damnable and windy end, the gratifica-

The Confessions of S. Augustine.
37
on of human vanity. In the then usual course of study,
fell upon a certain book of Cicero, whose language almost
l admire, not so his heart. This book of his contains
exhortation to philosophy, and is called Hortensius. But
is book altered my disposition, and turned my prayers to
hyself, O Lord; and changed my purposes and desires.
very vain hope at once became worthless to me; and I
began to yearn with an incredible fervour of heart for the
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 income, in
that my nineteenth year, my father being dead two years
before), not to sharpen my tongue did I pore over that
book; and it convinced me, not by the manner, but the
matter of its eloquence.
How did I burn then, my God, how did I burn to soar
again from earthly things to Thee; and I knew not 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 alluring, and honour-
able 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 illustrated
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" (Col.
ii. 8, 9). And at that time (Thou, O light of my heart,
knowest that this passage of the Apostle was not as yet
known to me), I was delighted with this only, to wit, the
exhortation that I should love, and seek, and follow after,
and hold, and embrace, not this school or the other, but
wisdom's self, wherever she might be with that exhortation
I was greatly stirred up, and enkindled, and inflamed; and
in my great ardour this only gave me pause, 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, drunk in, and
deeply treasured; and whatsoever was without that name,
though never so learned, polished, or truthful, took not
entire hold of me.
RC-.

38
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
llo
No
512
A
CHAPTER V.
He throws aside Holy Scripture as being too simple, and by no mean
comparable with Cicero for dignity.
I
BEGAN then to turn my mind to the Holy Scriptu
that I might see what they were. But behold, I see
thing not understood by the proud, nor laid open to children,
in mien lowly, in issue 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 undig
nified, in comparison with Ciceronian dignity; for my swell
ing pride shrunk from their humble method, nor could my
sharp wit penetrate their depths. Yet were they such as
would grow up in a little one. But I disdained to be a
little one; and, swoln with arrogance, took myself to be a
great one.
CHAPTER VI.
By his own fault he fell into the errors of the Manichæans, who boast of
a true perception of God, and thorough investigation of all things.
THER
'HEREFORE I fell among men raving with pride, very
carnal and wordy, in whose mouths were the snares of
the Devil, and a bird lime made up of a 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 from their lips, though they were but
a sound and a rattling of the tongue : for the heart was void
of truth. Yet they said: "the Truth, the Truth," and spake
much thereof to me, yet "it was not in them" (1 S. John ii.
4), but they spake falsehoods, 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, clamoured to me of
Thee in empty words! And these were the dishes wherein
*

The Confessions of S. Augustine.
39
me, an hungered for Thee, were served up, instead of
ee, the Sun and Moon, Thy fair works; but yet Thy
rks, not Thyself, no nor Thy first works. For Thy
spitual works are before these corporeal works, though
thy be bright and poised in the sky. But I hungered and
thisted not even after those first works of Thine, but after
Thee Thyself, the Truth, "in whom is no variableness,
neither shadow of turning" (S. James i. 17), yet they still
se before me in those dishes, glittering phantasms, than
which better were it to love this very sun (which is real to
our sight at least), than those illusions which by our eyes
deceive our mind. Yet because I thought them to be Thee,
I fed thereon; not greedily, for Thou didst not in them
savour to me as Thou art; for Thou wast not these empty
figments, nor was I nourished by them, but rather ex-
hausted. Food in dreams shews very like the food of
waking men; 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 cor-
poreal phantasms, false bodies, than which these true bodies,
which we see with our bodily sight, whether terrestrial or
celestial, are far more certain: we share the sight of these
with beasts and birds; and they are more certain than when
we imagine them. And again, we do imagine them with
more certainty than surmise from them other vaster and in-
finite bodies which have no sort of being. Upon such
empty husks was I then fed and yet was not fed. But
Thou, my Love, for whom I faint, that I may become strong,
art neither these bodies which we see, though in heaven ;
nor art Thou 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
phantasms of mine, phantasms of bodies which have no
existence whatever; than which fancy images of those
bodies, which exist, 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, Thou life of my soul.
Where then wert Thou then to me, and how far from me?
Far verily was I straying from Thee, shut out from the very
I

40
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
se
husks of the swine, which with husks I fed. For ho
much better are the trivial fables of grammarians ande
than these deceits? For verse, and song, and "Med
flying," are more profitable truly, than these men's fie
elements, variously disguised, answering to five dens of
darkness, which have no being, yet slay him that believes
in them. For verse and song I can turn to true food, ind
even though I did sing of "Medea flying," I affirmed it
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!" (Prov. ix. 18), toiling and
tempest tost for want of Truth, since I sought after Thee,
my God (to Thee I confess it, who hadst mercy on me,
though not as yet confessing it), not according to the un-
derstanding 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 fell in with
that bold woman, "simple and knoweth nothing," accord-
ing to Solomon's parable, " sitting at the door, and saying,
Eat ye with pleasure of bread in secret, and drink ye stolen
waters which are sweet" (Prov. ix. 13, 17). She seduced
me, because she found me dwelling abroad in the eye of
my flesh, and ruminating on such food, as through it I had
devoured.
CHAPTER VII.
He combats the Manichæan doctrine of Evil, of God, and concerning the
righteousness of the Patriarchs.
FOR I knew not
OR I knew not anything truly, as it really is; and was,
as it were, persuaded by their subtilty to cast in my
lot with foolish deceivers, when they asked me, "whence
comes evil?" and whether "God is contained within the
bounds of bodily form, and hath hairs and nails"? and
whether "they are to be esteemed righteous, who had many
wives at once, and did slay men, and offered animals in
sacrifice"? 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, up to the point at

ess in
is less in such par
than in its infinitude;
Spirit, as God. And wha
which we could be "like u
said in the Scriptures, to be
(Gen. i. 27) I was altogether ign
Nor knew I that true inward
judgeth not according to custom, but
eous law of God Almighty, whereby th
countries and periods were fashioned meet
tries and periods; itself being always and eve
same, not here of one kind, and there of another;
to which Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, and Mos
David, were righteous, and all those commended by
mouth of God; but were judged unrighteous by unlearned
men, "judging of man's day" (1 Cor. iv. 3), and measuring
the collective moral habits of the human race by the partial
standard of their own custom: as if in an armoury, one
ignorant what were adapted to each limb should seek to
cover his head with greaves, or to be shod with a helmet,
and then should complain that they fitted amiss; or as if
on a day, when a public holiday has been appointed to be
kept in the afternoon, one were angered at not being al-
lowed to keep open shop, because he had been in the
morning; or when in one house he observeth some thing to
be managed by some servant, which the butler is not
suffered to meddle with; or something done in the stable
yard, which is forbidden in the dining-room; and should be
angry, since the house is one, and the family one, that the
same thing is not allowed everywhere, and to all. Even
such are they, who are angered to hear that something was
permitted to the righteous in the olden time which now is
forbidden; or that God, for reasons arising from the times,
gave to some one precept, to others another, though both
were obedient to the same righteousness: whereas they see,
in one man, and one day, and one house, different things to
*

pon
form the causes
Tons, of which they have
ch they have experience
body, day, or family, they
ch member, and season, part,
ns to the former, but comply
یر
knew not, nor observed; they struck
all sides, and I saw them not. I made
I might not place every kind of foot every-
fferently in different metres; nor even in any
the self-same foot in all places. Yet the art itself
e-making had not different principles for these
rent cases, but comprised all in one. Still I saw not
now 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 patriarchs, not
only wherein they made use of things present as God com-
manded and inspired them, but also wherein they were fore-
telling things to come, as God was revealing in them.
•
CHAPTER VIII.
He continues his argument against the Manichæans, concerning the
nature of vices.
it at time or be unjust " to love God with
all the heart, with all the soul, and with all the mind;
and our neighbour as ourself"? (S. Matt. xxii. 37). There-
fore are those foul offences which be against nature, to be
everywhere 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 Confessions of S. Augustine.
43
e law of God, which hath not so made men, that they
should so abuse one another. For even that fellowship
which should be between God and us is violated, when that
same nature, of which He is Author, is polluted by per-
versity of lust. But those offences which are contrary to
men's customs, are to be avoided accordingly as customs
vary with times; so that a compact ratified by custom or
law of any state or nation, neither native or foreigner may
violate at will. For any part which accords not with its
whole, is unseemly. But when God commands a thing to
be done, against the custom 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 if it be lawful 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 would not be against the
common weal; but rather it would be against the common
weal not to obey him (for to obey princes is a general com-
pact of human society); how much more ought we to obey
God, the Ruler of the created universe, without hesitation,
in all that He commands ! For among the powers of
human society the greater authority is obeyed in preference
to the lesser, so must God be chosen before all.
M
So in criminal actions, where there is a wish to hurt,
whether by insult or injury; and these either for the sake
of revenge, as one enemy against another; or to obtain
some advantage 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 that has thriven in anything, to him whose rivalry
he fears, or laments his success in it; 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 power, and "of the
eye, and of the flesh" (1 S. John ii. 16), or from any one, or
two, or all of them together; and so do men live ill against
and seven 1 "the instrument of ten strings » D.

44
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
cxliv. 9), Thy decalogue, O God, most high, and mos
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" (Ps. xxvii. 12, Vulg.), whether
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 not allowed, after "that
use which is against nature" (Rom. i. 26); or are found
guilty, raging in thought and words against Thee, and
"kicking against the pricks" (Acts ix. 5); or when, bursting
the pale of human society, they boldly delight in private
unions and separations, according as anything may have
given them pleasure or 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 there-
from 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" (Ps. cii. 20), and loosest us from
the chains which we made for ourselves, if we lift not up
against Thee the horns of a sham liberty, for the greed of
having more, risking the loss of all, by loving our own
private good more than Thee, the Good of all.
CHAPTER IX.
God and men judge of human crimes by a different standard.
AMIDST these offences of foulness and violence, and
iniquities, are sins of men, who are making
progress; which by those that judge rightly, according to
the law of perfection, are condemned, yet the persons com-
mended in hope of future fruit, as the green blade be


The Confessions of S. Augustine.
45
period are obtained for the use of life, and it is doubt-
ful whether from a lust of having; or when things are
punished, for the sake of correction, by constituted authority,
and it is doubtful if from a lust of inflicting injury. 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 outward
appearance of the action, and the motive of the doer, and
the secret urgency of the occasion, are often different. But
when Thou on a sudden commandest an unwonted and
unthought of thing, yea, although Thou hast sometime for-
bidden it, and still for the time hidest the reason of Thy
command, and it be against the compact of some society
of men, who doubts but it is to be done, seeing that society
of men is righteous which obeys Thee? But blessed are
they who know that Thou hast commanded ! For all
things were done by Thy servants; either to show forth
something needful for the present, or to foreshow things to
come.
CHAPTER X.
He rebukes the follies of the Manichæans, concerning the fruits of
the earth.
IN
N my ignorance of these things I used to scoff 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 such follies, as to
believe that a fig wept when it was plucked, and the tree,
its mother, shed milky tears? And if some saint should
eat the fig, plucked though it had been by another's guilt,
and not his own, and should inwardly digest it, he would
breathe out angels from it, and in very truth, in the groan-
ing of his prayer and heartburn, particles of Diety which
particles of the most high and true God would have re-
mained bound in that fig, unless they had been set at
liberty by the tooth or stomach of an "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
brought forth. For if any one an hungered, not a Mani-
chæan, should ask for any, a morsel, if given to him, would
seem to be sentenced to a sort of capital punishment.
:

sions of S. Augustine.
it.
w much that sect was to be avoided; al
When he had said this, and she would not
ed, but urged him more, with entreaties and many
nat he would see me, and discourse with me; he,
attle displeased at her importunity, saith, "Go thy ways,
and God be with ye; 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 been a
voice from heaven.

16190 10 MEMIKATU EITI CERRAJ
GATIO
نی
"C
&
g
of
Book FV.
HE DESCRIBES THE NINE YEARS WHICH FOLLOWED HIS NINETEENTH
YEAR. HOW HE LOST HIS FRIEND, AND WROTE A TREATISE ON
THE FAIR AND FITTING. HOW HE GAVE SOME ATTENTION
TO THE LIBERAL ARTS, AND TO THE ARISTOTELIAN CATEGORIES.
در
CHAPTER I.
Of the most unhappy time, in which, misled himself, he misled others:
and of those who scoff at his confession.
FOR
OR this space of nine years then (from my nineteenth
year, to my eight and twentieth) we were misled, and
did mislead, deceived and deceiving, in divers lusts; openly,
by sciences which they call liberal; secretly, with a false-
named religion; here proud, there superstitious, everywhere
vain! By the former hunting after the emptiness of popu-
lar praise, even the applause of theatres, prizes for verse
competitions, the contest for garlands of hay, and the follies
of shows, and the intemperance of lusts. By the latter, de-
siring to be cleansed from these defilements, by carrying
food to those who were called "elect" and "saints," out of
which, in the workshop of their stomachs, they should forge
for us angels and gods, by whom we might be delivered.
These things did I hunt after, and practise with my friends,
deceived by me, and with me. Let the arrogant mock me,
and such as have not been wholesomely stricken and
smitten down, by Thee, O my God; but let me still confess
to Thee my shame in Thy praise. Suffer me, I pray, and
grant me to go over in my present remembrance the bye-
gone strayings of my wandering feet, and to "offer unto Thee
the sacrifice of thanksgiving" (Ps. cxvi. 17). For what am
I to myself without Thee, but a guide to mine own down-
fall? or what am I when it is well with me, but an infant
i
-

50
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
sucking the milk Thou givest, and enjoying Thee, "the
food that perisheth not"? (S. John vi.). But what sort of
man is any man, seeing he is but a man? Let now the
strong and the mighty scoff at us, but let us "poor and
needy confess unto Thee" (Ps. lxxiv. 21).
CHAPTER II.
How he taught rhetoric; was true to one love; and spurned the magician
who promised success by his means.
IN
N those years I taught the art of rhetoric, and vanquished
by cupidity, used to sell the craft of conquering fluency.
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 didst see me, slipping in that mire, and
amid much smoke sending out some sparks of faith, which
I showed in my office of teacher toward "such as loved
vanity, and sought after leasing" (Ps. iv. 2), myself being
their companion. In those years I lived with one, to whom
I was not joined in that which is called lawful wedlock, but
whom my wayward passion, void of understanding, had
found out; yet with but one, and was faithful to her bed;
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 determined to compete
for a prize for theatrical verse, some wizard asked me what
I would give him to win: but I, detesting and abhorring
those foul rites, answered, "Though the garland were of
imperishable gold, I would not suffer a fly to be killed to
gain me it." For he would have killed some living creatures
in his sacrifices, and would pretend by such honours to
canvass for the suffrages of devils on my behalf. 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 fornica-

The Confessions of S. Augustine.
51
inst Thee, trust in false gods, and "feed the winds"
xii. 1). Still I would not forsooth have sacrifices
to devils for me, to whom I was sacrificing myself
superstition. For, what else is it "to feed the wind,”
but to feed them, that is, by going astray to become their
pleasure and their sport?
CHAPTER IIL
Not even the most learned men could persuade him to abandon the folly
of astrology to which he was devoted.
THO
'HOSE impostors then, whom they style Mathematicians,
I did not hesitate to consult; because they seemed to
use no sacrifice, nor to pray to any spirit for their divina-
tions; which thing, however, Christian and true piety meetly
rejects and condemns. For "it is a good thing to confess
unto Thee, O Lord," and to say, "Have mercy upon me,
heal my soul, for I have sinned against Thee" (Ps. xli. 5),
and not to abuse Thy mercy for a license to sin, but to re-
member the Lord's words, "Behold, thou art made whole
sin no more, lest a worst thing come unto thee" (S. John
v. 14). All which wholesome advice they labour to destroy,
saying, "The inevitable cause of thy sin is in the sky," and
"This did Venus, or Saturn, or Mars;" that man, forsooth,
flesh and blood, and proud corruption, might be blameless;
while the Creator and Ruler of sky and stars is to bear the
blame. And who is He but our God? the very sweetness
and fountain of righteousness; Thou "who renderest to
every man according to his works" (Rom. ii. 6); and “a
broken and contrite heart wilt Thou not despise" (Ps.
li. 17).

There was in those days a wise man,* very skilful in
physic, and renowned therein, who as proconsul, had with
his own hand placed that garland of victory upon my dis-
tempered head, but not as a physician. For Thou art the
only healer of such distemper; "who resistest the proud,
and givest grace to the humble" (1 St Peter v. 5). But
didst Thou fail me even by that old man, or forbear to heal
my soul? For having become better acquainted with him,
* Vindicianus. See Book vii., chap. 6.

52
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
I hung assiduously and fixedly on his speech, for th
style it was unpolished, yet in matter it was lively, g
weighty. When he had gathered by my discourse
was given to the books of the seers that calculate nâu
he kindly and fatherly advised me to cast them away, and
not fruitlessly to expend a care and labour, necessary for use-
ful things, upon that vain folly; saying that he had studied
that art, as in his early years he had wished to adopt it as a
profession, and as a means of livelihood; and that if he
could understand Hippocrates, he could certainly have
understood such a study as this; and yet he had abandoned
it, and taken to medicine, for no other reason but that he
found it utterly false; and he, a grave man, could not bring
himself to get his living by deluding people. "But thou,"
saith he, "hast rhetoric whereby to maintain thyself, so that
thou followest this deceptive art of free choice, not of neces-
sity the more then oughtest thou to give me credit herein,
who laboured to master it so perfectly, as by it alone I hoped
to get my living." Of whom when I had demanded, “ What
cause then brings it about, that many things afterwards
proving true, have been foretold by it?" he made answer,
as he well might, that "The force of chance diffused
throughout the whole order of things, hath brought this
about. For if from the pages of some poet, who sang and
thought of something wholly different, when anyone has re-
ferred to them at random, a verse hath oftentimes fallen out,
marvellously apt to the business in hand: it cannot be won-
dered at, if out of the soul of man, unconscious what takes
place in it, by some higher instinct an answer should be
given, by hazard, not by art, which might harmonise with
the affairs and actions of the enquirer.
And thus much, either from or through him, Thou didst
possess me with, and didst grave 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 guarded, who laughed at the whole system of
divining, could persuade me to cast it aside, for the autho-
rity of the authors swayed 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 chance or coincidence,
not of the art of the observers of the stars.

ť

The Confessions of S. Augustine.
53
CHAPTER IV.
deeply sorrow-stricken upon the death of his friend, he found no
consolation but in tears.
ose years when I first began to give lessons in my
ative town, I had made a friend, especially dear to
om a community of studies, who was of my own age,
anu, e myself, in the first opening flower of youth. He
had grown up in boyhood 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 friendship cannot be, unless Thou dost cement it in
those who cleave to Thee by that "love which is shed
abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given
unto us" (Rom. v. 5). Yet was it but too sweet, welded by
our ardour for kindred studies. For, from the true faith
(which as a youth he did not fully and thoroughly hold) I
had turned him aside to those superstitious and pernicious
fables, which gave my mother such grief for me.
With me
he now erred in mind, nor could my soul be without him.
But behold Thou, following hard upon Thy fugitives, at
once God of vengeance" (Ps. xciv. 1), and Fountain of
mercies, who dost convert us to Thyself by wonderful
means,--behold Thou didst take that man out of this life,
when he had scarce filled up one whole year of my friend-
ship, sweet to me above all sweetness of that my life.
66
"Who can shew forth all Thy praises" (Ps. cvi. 2),
which he hath experienced in himself alone? What diddest
thou then, my God, and how unsearchable is the "abyss of
Thy judgments" (Ps. xxxvi. 6). For long, sore sick of a
fever, he lay insensible in a death-sweat, and being quite
given up, he was baptised, unknowing, myself meanwhile
little regarding, and feeling confident that his soul would
retain rather what it had received of me, not what was
wrought on his unconscious body. But it fell out quite
otherwise for he was restored and saved.* Forthwith, as
soon as I could speak with him (and I could, so soon as he

*"Recreatus est, et salvus factus." It is difficult to suppose that
S. Augustine did not mean these words spiritually, as well as
physically.

54
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
H
was able, for I never left him, and we were but to
pendent upon each other), I essayed to jest with hi
though he would be sure to jest with me at that ba
which he had received, when utterly absent in mi
feeling, but had by this time been told that he had re
But he so shrunk from me, as from an enemy; and
wonderful and sudden freedom bade me, if I still desi
be his friend, to cease to say such things to him,
astonished and amazed, suppressed all my emotions
should recover, and so regain his strength that I mit deal
with him, as I would. But he was rent away from my
madness, that with Thee he might be preserved for my
consolation; a few days after, in my absence, he was
attacked again by the fever, and died.
"}
At this grief my heart was utterly darkened; and what-
ever 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, for lack of him became a
ghastly torture. Mine eyes sought him every where, but he
was not granted them; and I hated all things, since they
held him not; nor could they now tell me, "he is coming,'
as when he was alive and absent. I became a great
problem to myself, and I asked my soul, "why she was so
heavy, and why she disquieted me sorely" (Ps. xliii. 5);
but she had no word 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, though but
human, both truer ar better, than that phantasm in which
she was bidden to trust. Qrly tears were sweet to me, and
took my friend's place in my heart's affections.
CHAPTER V.
Of weeping: why it is pleasant to the wretched.
Α'
ND 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 pleasant
to the wretched? Hast Thou, although present every-
where, cast away our miséry far from Thee? And Thou


The Confessions of S. Augustine.
55
abidest in Thyself, but we are tossed about in divers trials.
And yet unless we mourned in Thine ears, nothing of our
hope would remain to us. Whence then is sweet fruit
gathered from the bitterness of life, from groaning, weeping,
sighing, and complaining? Doth this sweeten it, that we
hope Thou hearest? This is true of our prayers, for in
them we yearn to approach unto Thee. But is it also in-
grief for a thing lost, and the mourning wherewith I was
then overwhelmed? For I neither hoped he should return
to life, nor did I desire this with my tears; but I only sor-
rowed and wept. 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 in disgust from them, please us?
CHAPTER VI.
He holds that of his friend, though dead, in himself the halj
remains alive.
BUT
UT why speak I of these things? for now is no time of
research, 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 perceives the wretchedness, which he had,
even before he lost them. So was I then; I wept most
bitterly, and found my rest in bitterness.
Thus was I
wretched, and even that wretched life I held dearer than
my friend. For though I would willingly have changed it,
yet was I more unwilling to lose it, than him. Yea, I know
not whether I would have parted with it even for him, as is
related (though perhaps it is fiction) 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 feeling, for which I cannot
account, very opposite to this; for the direst weariness of
life possessed me, and at the same time a fear of death. I
believe that the more I loved him, the more did I hate, and
fear (as a most cruel enemy) that death, which had taken him
from me and I imagined it would suddenly devour all
men, because it had power over him. Thus was it with
A
T
*


56
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
me, I remember. Behold my heart, O my God, behold
and see into me; for I remember it, O my Hope, who
cleansest me from the impurity of such feelings, directing
"mine eyes towards Thee, and plucking my feet out of the
snare" (Ps. xxv. 15). For I marvelled that other mortal
men should be alive, since he whom I had loved, as if he
should never die, was dead; and I marvelled the more that
I, since I was but his other self, should be alive when he
was dead.
Well hath one said 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 loathed that only half of me should be alive: and
hence perchance I feared to die, lest he should wholly die,
whom I had loved much.
CHAPTER VII.
He is so greatly harassed by restlessness and sorrow that he leaves his
birthplace, and returns to Carthage.
O
MADNESS, which knowest not how to love men, like
men! O foolish man that I then was, fretting with-
out measure against the lot of man! So I raged, I sighed,
I wept, I was distraught: without rest, without counsel.
For I bore about a torn and bleeding soul, impatient of
being borne by me, yet where to repose it, I found not. Not
in pleasant groves, not in sports and songs, not in fragrant
spots, not in splendid banquets, not in the pleasure of the
bed and the couch; not (finally) in books or poesy, did it
find rest. 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
some little relief. But when my soul was withdrawn from
them a huge burden of misery weighed me down. To Thee,
O Lord, it ought to have been lifted up, for Thee to lighten;
I knew it; but neither would nor could; the more, since,
when I thought of Thee, Thou wert not to me anything
real or substantial. For Thee, I had not, but an empty
phantasm, and my error was my God. If I tried to cast
my burden there, that it might rest, it glided through the
void, and fell down again on me; and I had remained to
myself a hapless spot, where I could neither be, nor thence

1

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57
depart. For whither should my heart flee from my heart?
Whither should I flee from myself? Whither not follow
myself? And yet I fled from my own country, for mine eyes
would be less apt to look for him, where they were not wont
to see him. And thus from Thagaste, I came to Carthage.
CHAPTER VIII.
How his grief yielded to time, and to the consolations of friends.
TIM
IME does not stand still; neither does it roll without
effect through our senses; but works wondrous
changes in the mind. For lo, it came and went from day
to 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 interests,
before which my sorrow slowly yielded; and yet there
succeeded, not indeed other griefs, yet the causes of other
griefs. For whence had that former grief so easily and so
deeply pierced me, but that I had poured out n soul
upon the sand, in loving one that must die, as if he would
never die? But what chiefly restored and refreshed me,
were the consolations 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 converse together, and to jest together,
to do each other kindnesses, to read together agreeable
books, to trifle together, or to be earnest together; to differ
together at times without heat, as a man might with his
own self; and by the extreme rarity of our differences, to
season our most usual unanimity; sometimes to teach, and
sometimes learn; long for the absent with impatience; and
welcome the coming with joy. These and the like expres-
sions, 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,
:

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CHAPTER IX.
That human friendship, which consists in interchange of love, perishes,
and that he alone who loves his friend in God, loseth him never.
1
THIS
HIS 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 tokens of good will.
Hence that mourning, if one die, and the dark clouds of
sorrows, that steeping of the heart in tears, all sweetness
turned to bitterness; and from the lost life of them that die,
the death of them that live. Blessed is he that loveth Thee,
and his friend in Thee, and his enemy for Thee. For he
alone loses no dear one to whom all are dear in Him who
is never 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, save he that
forsakuth. And whoso forsaketh Thee, whither goeth or
whithe fleeth he, but from Thee smiling to Thee frowning?
For where doth he not find Thy law in his own punish-
ment ? "And Thy law is truth" (Ps. cxix. 42), and " Thou
art Truth" (S. John xiv. 6).
CC
CHAPTER X.
That all things that begin to be hasten to their end; and that we are
not saved unless God have us in His keeping.
TURN
URN Thou us, O God of Hosts, shew us Thy coun-
tenance, and we shall be saved" (Ps. lxxx. 19).
For whithersoever the soul of man turns itself, unless towards
Thee, it cleaveth to sorrows, yea even though it cleaveth to
things beauteous, apart from Thee, and apart from itself.
For these things can have no being unless they have their
being from Thee; these things which rise and set, and at
their rising, begin, as it were, to be, and grow that they may
reach their perfection, and when perfected wax old and
perish. And all things grow not old; but all perish. In
truth when they are arising, and beginning to be; the more
they speed to grow into being, the more they speed towards


The Confessions of S. Augustine.
59
ceasing to be. This is the law of them. Thus much hast
Thou appointed them, because they are portions of things,
which exist not all at once, but by their departures and suc-
cessions they together complete that universe, whereof they
are portions. And even thus is our speech completed by
means of symbols of sound. For our speech will not be
completed unless one word pass away when it hath uttered
its syllables, that another may succeed. Out of all these
things let my soul praise Thee, O God, Creator of all; yet
let it not cleave to them with the bond of love, through the
senses of the body. For they go whither they were going,
towards ceasing to be; and they rend her with pestilent
regrets; because she desires that they may continue to be, and
loves to repose in what she loves. But there is not in these
things where she may rest; for they abide not, they flee;
and who can follow them with his bodily sense? yea, who
can grasp them, even when they are close at hand? For
the sense of the flesh is slow, because it is the sense of the
flesh; and itself is its limit. It sufficeth to that for which it
was made; but it sufficeth not to hold back things that
hasten on their course from their appointed beginning
to their appointed end. For in Thy Word, by which they
are created, they hear their decree, "from hence and
hitherto."
CHAPTER XI.
That parts of the universe art not to be loved; but the changeless God,
that fashioneth them, and His eternal Word.
BE
E not vain, O my soul, nor become deaf in the ear of
thine heart with the tumult of thy vanity. Hearken
thou too. The Word itself calleth thee to return: and
there is the place of thy rest undisturbed, where love is not
forsaken, if itself forsaketh not. Behold, some things pass
away, that others may replace them, and so this lower uni-
verse be completed in all his parts. But do I depart any
whither? saith the Word of God. There fix thy dwelling,
there commit whatsoever thence thou hast, O my soul, at
least now that thou art wearied with deceits. To the Truth
commit whatsoever thou hast from the Truth, and thou
shalt lose nothing; and thy decay shall bloom again, and


бо
The Confessions of S. Augustin
"all thy diseases be healed" (Ps. ciii. 3), and thy mortal
parts be reformed and renewed, and re-knit for 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" (1 Peter i. 23).
Why then art thou perverted to follow thy flesh? Let it
be converted and follow thee. Whatever by it thou per-
ceivest, is in part; and the whole, whereof these are parts,
thou knowest not; and yet they delight thee. But if the
sense of thy flesh had capacity to comprehend the whole,
and had not itself for thy punishment been justly limited to
a part of the whole, thou wouldest desire that whatsoever
existeth in the present should pass away, that so the whole
might please thee more. For what we speak also, by that
same sense of the flesh thou hearest; yet wouldest not thou
have the syllables stand still, but fly away, that others may
come, and thou mayest hear the whole.
And so ever,
when any one thing is made up of many parts, all of which
do not exist together, if it could be perceived as a whole,
the whole would more delight than the several parts. 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.
CHAPTER XII.
Love is not condemned: but love in God excelleth; in which is rest,
through Jesus Christ.
IF
F bodies please thee, praise God on occasion of them,
and incline again thy love towards their Maker; lest
in these things which please thee, thou displease. If souls
please thee, let them be loved in God: for they too are
changeful, but in Him are they firmly stablished; else
would they pass, and pass away. In Him then let them be
loved; and transport 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. Look now, where is He? where is truth relished?
He is within the very heart, yet hath the heart strayed from
Him. 'Return again to your heart, ye transgressors' (Is.


The Confessions of S. Augustine.
61
and cleave fast to Him that made you. Stand
with Him, and ye shall stand. 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 so much as is
referred to him is good and pleasant.
But bitter shall it
righteously become, for unrighteously is aught from Him
loved, if He be forsaken. Wherefore then do ye still and
still tread 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 it. Ye seek a blessed life in the realm
of death; it is not there. For how should there be a blessed
life, where even life is not?"
And hither did our Life Himself come down, and bare
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 to Him-
self our creaturely humanity, our mortal flesh, that it might
not be for ever mortal, and thence "like a bridegroom
coming out of his chamber, He rejoiced as a giant to run
His course" (Ps. xix. 5). For He tarried not, but ran,
crying aloud by words, by deeds, by death, by life, by
descent, by 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 de-
parted, 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
"He was in the world," and "He came into this world to
save sinners" (S. John i. 10; 1 Tim. i. 15), unto whom my
soul confesseth, "and He healeth it, for it hath sinned
against Him" (Ps. xli. 4). "O ye sons of men, how long
so slow of heart?" (Ps. iv. 3, Vulg.) Nay, but since Life
hath come down, will ye not ascend and live? But whither
ascend ye, when ye are on high, and "set your mouth
against the heavens"? (Ps. lxxiii. 9). 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 vale of misery" (Ps. lxxxiv. 6), and thus
transport them with Thee unto God: for by His Spirit dost
thou tell them these things, if thou tell them burning with
the fire of charity.
L


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CHAPTER XIH.
Love hath its origin in the attraction exercised by grace and beauty.
THE
HESE things I then knew not, and I used to love
lower forms of beauty, and I was sinking to the very
depths, and to my friends I used to say, Do we love any-
thing but the fair? What then is the fair? and what is the
being fair? 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 one
thing was a sort of completeness, from whence came fair-
ness; and another source of beauty was in their being fitly
adjusted to each other, as a part of the body is to the whole,
or a shoe to the foot, and the like. And this consideration
streamed upon 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 have gone from me, I know not how.
CHAPTER XIV.
Of the books he wrote upon "The Fair and Fit," which were dedicated
to Hierius, the Roman.
BUT
UT what moved me, O Lord my God, to dedicate
these books unto Hierius, an orator of the city of
Rome, whom I knew not by face, but loved for the fame of
his teaching, which was renowned? And I had heard
certain words of his, 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 trained in Greek elo-
quence, should afterwards be formed a remarkable speaker
in Latin, and that he should be profoundly skilled in things
pertaining unto philosophy. One is praised, and though
absent, is loved. Doth this love enter the heart of the
hearer from the mouth of him that praises? Not so. But
one is kindled by another's love. For hence he is loved,
who is bepraised, when he is believed to be commended
out of an unfeigned heart; that is, when one that loves
him, praises him.


The Confessions of S. Augustine.
63
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 should I not, as a famous charioteer or as some
beast fighter is celebrated by the popular devotion, but far
otherwise, and earnestly, and so as I would be praised
myself? For I should not like to be praised or loved, as
actors are (though I myself did commend and love them),
but would rather be unnoticed 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 abhor and reject for myself?
For it cannot be accounted for in the same way, as in the
case of a good horse, which is loved by one who would not
change places with him even if he could, in the case of an
actor, who shares our own nature. Do I then love in a man
what I should hate to be, though I am a man myself?
Man himself is a great deep, whose very "hairs Thou
numberest" (S. Matt. x. 30), O Lord, and they are not lost
in Thy sight. And yet are the hairs of his head easier to
be numbered, than are his affections, and the motions of
his heart.
But that orator was of the type that I loved, and would
myself be like unto; and I erred through a swelling pride,
and "
was carried about with every wind" (Eph. iv. 14);
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 for the love of them that
praised him, rather than for the very things for which he
was praised? Because, had he been unpraised, and these
selfsame men had blamed him, and with blame and scorn
told the very same things of him, I had never been so
kindled and excited to love him. And yet the things would
have been no other, nor the man himself other; but the
only difference would have lain in the affections of the
narrators. See where the unstable soul lies prostrate, which
is not yet stayed upon the firm support of truth! As the
winds of talk blow from the breasts of speculation-mongers,
so is it borne along, and turned and twisted, and twisted
again, and its light is beclouded, and the truth is unseen.
And lo, it is before us. And it was to me a great matter,
that my discourse and labours should attract the notice of
"
•

64.
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:
that man.
And should he approve them, I should be the
more ardent; but if he disapproved, my empty heart, un-
stayed by thy firm support, had been wounded. And yet
the "fair and fit," whereon I wrote to him, I turned over
in my mind, contemplating and surveying it, and admired
it, though none shared my admiration.
2
CHAPTER XV.
In this treatise, being blinded by corporeal images, he failed to discern
the spiritual nature of God.
BUT
:
UT I saw not yet, the hinge on which this great matter
turned in Thy skill, O Thou Almighty, "who only
doest wonders" (Ps. cxxxvi. 4), and my mind wandered
among corporeal forms; and " fair," I defined and dis-
tinguished as that which is so in itself, and "fit," that which
is beautiful as it corresponds to some other thing and I
quoted in confirmation corporeal illustrations. And I
turned to the nature of the mind, but the false notion
which I had of spiritual things, prevented my discerning
the truth. Yet the mere might of truth did force itself
under my eyes; and I wrenched away my panting spirit.
from the incorporeal, to forms, and colours, and vasty bulks.
And because I could not 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 an 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 supreme good to consist: but in
this division I miserably imagined that there was some
unknown substance of irrational life, and the nature of the
supreme evil, which was not only a substance, but real life
also, and yet not derived from Thee, O my God, of whom
are all things. And moreover that first I called a Monad,
as being a mind without any sex ; but the latter a Duad;
anger, exhibited in crimes of violence, and lust in vicious
practices not knowing whereof I spake. For I had not
known or learned, that no substance was evil, and that our
mind was not the supreme and unchangeable good.
For as deeds of violence arise, if that emotion of the
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
65
mind, whence vehement action springs, be corrupted, and
behave itself with insolence and turbulence; and lusts,
when that affection of the soul is ungoverned, whereby
carnal pleasures are drunk in, so do errors and false
opinions pollute the life, 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
"For Thou
truth, seeing itself is not that nature of truth.
shalt light my candle, O Lord my God, Thou shalt enlighten
my darkness" (Ps. xviii. 28): "and of Thy fulness have we
all received, for Thou art the true light that lighteth every
man that cometh into the world" (S. John i. 16, 9): "for
in Thee there is no variableness, neither shadow of turning"
(S. James i. 17).
.
But I kept on striving towards Thee, and was thrust from
Thee, that I might taste of death: for "Thou resistest the
proud" (1 Pet. v. 5). But what prouder, than that with a
marvellous madness I should assert that I was by nature,
that which Thou art? For whereas I was subject to change,
and this was manifest to me in my very desire to become
wise, being the wish to change from worse to better; yet
chose I rather to imagine Thee subject to change, than
that I was not that which Thou art. Therefore I was
thrust from Thee, and Thou didst resist my windy stiff-
neckedness, and I imagined corporeal forms, and-myself
flesh, I accused flesh; and, a "wind that passeth away, I
returned not" (Ps. lxxviii. 39) 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, as a garrulous fool, 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 preferred
to argue that Thy unchangeable substance had been com-
pelled to err, rather than confess that my changeable sub-
stance had chosen of its own will to turn aside from the
way, and now for a 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,
C
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is
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" (S. John
iii. 29), but I 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 of joy and gladness, nor did
my bones rejoice which were not yet humbled" (Ps. li. 8).
CHAPTER XVI.
He understood with ease the liberal arts, and Aristotle's " Categories,"
but did not truly profit by them.
Α'
ND what did it profit me, that when I was scarcely
twenty years old, a certain treatise of Aristotle, which
they call the Ten Categories, fell into my hands (on
the name of which I hung, agape, as upon something great
and divine, when the Carthaginian orator, my master, made
mention of it, with cheeks cracking with pride, and others
also, who were accounted learned), and I read and under-
stood it, without help. And when I conferred with others
who said they had scarcely understood it with the help of
most able masters, who not only lectured upon it, but even
drew many diagrams, upon the sand, they could tell me
no more of it than I had learned by reading it by myself.
And the book appeared to me to speak very clearly of
substances, such as "man," and of their distinctive features:
thus 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 classes, of which I have given
something in illustration, or under the class of "substance"
itself.
What did all this profit me, nay rather it injured me,
tsince, imagining whatever was, was comprehended under
those ten Predicaments, I essayed in such wise to under-
stand, 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
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
67
--
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 false-
hood which of Thee I conceived, not truth; fictions of my
misery, not the realities of Thy Blessedness. For Thou
hadst commanded, and so it came to pass in me, that the
"earth should bring forth briars and thorns to me," and
that “with labour should I come by my bread" (Gen. iii.
18, 19).
And what did it profit me, that I, the vilest slave of evil
passions, read by myself all the books of so-called "liberal"
arts; and understood whatever I could read? And I
delighted in them, but knew not whence came whatsoever
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 the
art of oratory or debate, on geometry, music, and arithmetic,
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 squander it
upon harlot desires " (con. S. Luke xv. passim). For what
did a good thing profit me, who did not use it well? For
I did not perceive that those arts were attained with great
difficulty, even by the studious and talented, until I at-
tempted to explain them to such; when he most excelled
in them, who was not quite so slow as the rest in following
my exposition.
But what did this profit me, while I imagined 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, un-
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ravelled by me, with no support from human teaching;
seeing I erred so foully, and with such sacrilegious shame-
fulness, in the doctrine of piety? Or what injury was a far
slower wit to Thy little ones, since they departed not far
from Thee, that safe in the nest of Thy Church they might
grow their fledgling feathers, and nourish the wings of
charity, with the food of a sound faith. O Lord our God,
“under the shadow of Thy wings let us put our trust " (Ps.
lxiii. 8); protect us, and carry us. Thou wilt carry us both
when little, and “ even to hoar hairs wilt Thou carry us"
(Is. xlvi. 4). For when Thou art our strength, it is strength
indeed; but when it is our own, it is infirmity. Our good
ever lives with Thee; but when we turn away from thence
we are perverted. 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 alone; 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.
Speect
I


Book V.
HE DESCRIBES HIS TWENTY-NINTH YEAR. HOW HE DISCOVERED THE
FALLACIES OF THE MANICHEANS, AND BECAME A PROfessor of
RHETORIC IN ROME AND MILAN. HOW HE HEARD S. AMBROSE,
AND BEGAN TO RETURN TO HIS RIGHT MIND.
CHAPTER I.
That it becomes the soul to praise God, and to confess to Him.
ACCEPT the sacrifice of my confessions offered by my
which thou 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?" (Ps. xxxv. 10),
for he that confesses to Thee, doth not inform Thee of
what is wrought within him; seeing a closed heart cannot
shut out Thine eye, nor can man's hardheartedness thrust
back Thy hand: for Thou dost melt it, when Thou willest,
either in pity or in vengeance, "and there is none hid from
Thy heat" (Ps. xix. 6). But let my soul praise Thee, that
it may love Thee; and let it confess to Thee Thy mercies,
that it may praise Thee. Thy whole creation ceaseth not
Thy praises, and is silent never: neither the spirit of every
man, by his voice directed towards Thee, nor creatures
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.
CHAPTER II.
Of the vanity of them that would escape from God, seeing He is
everywhere present.
I ET the restless and the unrighteous depart and flee
from Thee; yet thou seest them, dividest the
darkness; and behold, all things with them are fair, but

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themselves are foul. And how have they injured Thee? or
how have they dishonoured thy government, which, from the
heavens 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, who seest them, and, blinded, might
stumble against Thee; because "Thou forsakest nothing
Thou hast made" (Wisd. xi. 25), that the unjust might stumble
against Thee, and justly be hurt; withdrawing themselves
from Thy gentleness, and stumbling at Thy righteousness,
and falling upon their own ruggedness. Indeed, they know
not that thou art everywhere, and that no place encloseth
Thee; and Thou alone art near, even to those that are far
off from Thee. Let them then be converted and seek
Thee; because not as they have forsaken their Creator, hast
Thou forsaken Thy creature. Let them be converted 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 graciously 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, dost renew them and console
them. But where was I, when I was seeking Thee? And
Thou wert before me, but I had departed even from my-
self; nor did I find myself, how much less Thee!
CHAPTER III.
Having heard Faustus, the most learned bishop amongst the Manichæans,
he understandeth that God, the Creator of things animate and
inanimate, hath especial care for the lowly.
I
WILL now declare, in the presence of God, the twenty-
ninth year of my age. There had at that time come
to Carthage, a certain Bishop of the Manichæans, Faustus by
name, a great snare of the Devil, and many were entangled
by him through the charm of his fluent speech: but though
I praised it, I was able to distinguish it from the truth of
the things which I hungered to learn: nor did I care so
much how that Faustus, so renowned among them, dished
up his discourse, as what kind of food of knowledge he set
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before me. Fame had before bespoken him most knowing
in all honourable learning, and especially well equipped
in the liberal sciences. And since I had read many
treatises of philosophers, and kept in my mind their
maxims, I compared some things of theirs with those
long fables of the Manichæans, and the former struck me
as more probable, which they taught who " were able
only to know so much as to judge this present world,
though by no means could they find out the Lord thereof"
(Wisdom xiii. 9). "For thou art great, O Lord, and hast
respect unto the lowly, but the proud Thou beholdest afar
off” (Ps. cxxxviii. 6). Nor dost thou "draw near,” but to
"the contrite in heart" (Ps. xxxiv. 18); nor art found by
the proud; not even if by curious skill they could number
the stars and the sand, and measure the starry regions, and
track the paths of constellations.
For with their understanding and wit, which Thou be-
stowedst 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, at what day and hour
they would be, and whether partial or total; nor did their cal-
culation fail; and it came to pass as they foretold; and they
wrote down the laws they had discovered, 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 as it is predicted, so will it
happen. At these things men, that know not this art,
marvel, and are astonished, and they that know it, exult,
and are puffed up; and through their ungodly pride with-
draw themselves from Thy Light, and are in eclipse, and
though so long before they can foresee a coming eclipse of
the sun, their own present eclipse they see not.
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, that Thou mayest
keep what Thou hast made; nor do they sacrifice them-
selves to Thee, being such as they have made themselves;
nor slay their own soaring imaginations, as "fowls of the
air," nor their own curious enquiries, wherewith, like the
"fishes of the sea," they walk through the secret paths of
the deep (cf. Ps. viii. 8); nor their own wantonness, as
Amazo
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"beasts of the field," that "Thou, Lord, a consuming fire"
(Deut. iv. 24), mayest burn up those dead cares of theirs,
and renew them to immortality.
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, by which they number;
or that "of Thy wisdom there is no number" (Ps. cxlvii. 5).
But the Only Begotten is Himself "made unto us wisdom,
and righteousness, and sanctification" (1 Cor. i. 30), and
was numbered among us, and "paid tribute unto Cæsar"
(S. Matt. xvii. 27). 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 to the earth "and their foolish heart was darkened"
(Rom. i. 21). 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 imagi-
nations, and profess themselves to be wise" (Rom. i. 21, 22),
attributing to themselves what is Thine; and thereby with
most perverse blindness, seek to attribute to Thee what is
their own, speaking lies against Thee who art the Truth,
and "changing the glory of the uncorruptible God, into an
image made like to 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" (Rom. i. 23-25).
Yet I remembered many truths concerning the creature
declared by these men; and their reasoning was confirmed
to me by their calculations, and the succession of times,
and the visible testimony of the stars; and I compared
them with the sayings of Manichæus, who in his crazy folly
has written much and copiously upon these subjects; but
none of his reasoning of the solstices, nor equinoxes, nor
eclipses, nor whatever of this kind I had learned in books
of secular philosophy, was satisfactory to me. But I was
commanded to believe; and yet it corresponded not with
the reasonings obtained by calculations, and by my own
observations, but was quite contrary.
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
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CHAPTER IV.
That no scientific acquaintance with things terrestrial or celestial can
give happiness, but only the knowledge of God.
DOTH
OTH then, O Lord God of truth, whoso knoweth these
things, therefore please Thee? Nay, but unhappy
is the man 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 more
blessed for knowing them, but for Thee alone is blessed, if,
"knowing Thee, he glorifies Thee as God, and is thankful,
and becomes not vain in his imaginations" (Rom. i. 21).
For as he is better off, who knows how to possess a tree,
and returns 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 possesses it, nor knows or loves its Creator: so a
faithful man, to whom all the world of wealth belongs, and
"who having nothing, yet possesseth all things" (2 Cor.
vi. 10), 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 weigh the
elements, yet neglecteth Thee "Who hast made all things
in number, weight, and measure" (Wisd. xi. 20).
CHAPTER V.
Concerning Manichæus; his pertinacity in teaching falsehood, and
his pride in claiming to be the Holy Spirit.
BUT yet who
bade that Manichæus write on these things
also, since piety could be learnt without any skill in
such matters? For Thou hast said to man, Behold, piety
is wisdom" (Job xxviii. 28); of the one he might be
ignorant, though he had a perfect knowledge of these
things; but inasmuch as he most impudently dared to
teach these things, though he knew nothing about them, he
. plainly could have no knowledge of piety. For it is vanity
to make profession of these worldly things even when
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known; piety is to make confession to Thee. Wherefore
this man, wandering from the way, 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 things more abstruse. For he would not
have himself slightly valued, but attempted to persuade
men, "That the Holy Ghost, the Comforter and Enricher
of Thy faithful ones, was in Person within him, with plenary
authority." When then he was found out to have taught
falsehoods 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 it was plain enough that his preten-
sions were sacrilegious, 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 brother Christian, ignorant of this
or that, and mistaking one thing for another, I can patiently
bear with his fancy; nor do I see that any harm can come
to him, so long as he does not believe anything unworthy
of Thee, O Lord, the Creator of all, even if he happens
to be ignorant about the "situation" and "possession "* of
the material creation. But it doth injure him, if he imagine
it to pertain to the form of the doctrine of piety, and will
dare to assert over confidently that of which he is ignorant.
And yet is even such an infirmity, in the cradle time of
faith, borne by our mother Charity, till the new man may
"grow up unto a perfect man," so as "not to be carried
about with every wind of doctrine" (Eph. iv. 13, 14). 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 would be at once detested, and utterly
rejected, so soon as he should be convicted of having
spoken falsehood? But I had not as yet clearly ascertained
whether the variations of the 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
* See ante, Book iv. Chap. xvi. "Situs" and "Habitus," situation.
and possession, are two of the ten categories.
į
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
75
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, have rested my
belief upon his authority.
CHAPTER VI.
Faustus was an eloquent disputant but ignorant of the Liberal Sciences.
for almost all those nine years, wherein with un-
settled mind I had been a hearer of their teaching, I
had longed but too intensely for the coming of this Faustus.
For others of them, whom by chance I had lighted upon,
when unable to answer my objections about these things,
used to promise me that he would come; and that, in con-
ference with me, upon his coming these difficulties and even
any greater, if I desired it, would be resolved for me in the
clearest way. When then he came, I found him agreeable,
and pleasant of address, and fluent to express, though in a
much more pleasant manner, all those things which they
were wont to say. But what availed the most courteous
butler to assuage my thirst for a rarer vintage? Mine ears
were already wearied of such things, 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 expressions eloquent. But
they who had made me promises about him were no good
judges of things; and therefore to them he appeared a man
of wisdom and understanding, because his speech delighted
them. I felt however that another sort of people were
suspicious even of truth, and refused to assent to it, if de-
livered in an ornate and florid discourse. But Thou, O my
God, hadst already taught me by wonderful and secret
ways; and for this reason I believe that Thou didst teach
me, because it is truth, nor is there besides Thee any teacher
of truth, wherever or whencesoever it shines forth upon us.
Of Thyself therefore had I already learned, that a thing
ought not to be held to be truly spoken, because eloquently
spoken; nor therefore falsely, because the syllables are
not carefully arranged; and again not therefore true,
because rudely delivered; nor therefore false, because the
1
8
+
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language is brilliant; but that wisdom and folly are much
the same as wholesome and unwholesome food; but that
whether in words ornate or inornate, just as either in choice
dishes or in delf, either kind of food can be served.
That hunger then wherewith I had of so long time looked
forward to the coming of that man, was delighted indeed with
his action and passion when disputing, and his choice and
ready fluency of words aptly fitted to clothe his ideas. For
I was delighted, and shared with many, and even outpassed
many in praising and extolling him. But I misliked that
in the assembly of his auditors I was not permitted to press
upon him and confer with him upon the anxieties of my
difficulties, in familiar converse, and in the give and take of
controversy. And when I had an opportunity, and took
occasion to engage his attention, together with my asso-
ciates, at a time when it was becoming to enter upon discus-
sion, and submitted to him certain matters which had per-
plexed 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
in logical order, and was daily practised in speaking, he
acquired a certain eloquence, which proved the more pleas-
ing and seductive, because under the control of his good
sense, and with a certain natural grace. 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 pro-
vidence, and didst "set those shameful. errors of mine be-
fore my face" (conf. Ps. 1. 21), that I might see and hate
them.
CHAPTER VII.
By God's grace he departs from the falsehoods of the Manichæans, now
clearly perceived.
FOR after
OR after it became clear to me, that he was ignorant of
those arts in which I had thought he excelled, I began
to despair of his opening and solving the difficulties which
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
77
perplexed me; of which indeed however ignorant, he
might have held the truths of piety, had he not been a
Manichæan. For their books are full of lengthy fables, of
the heaven, and stars, sun, and moon; and I now no longer
thought him able with any subtlety to explain, what I
especially desired, whether in comparison with the calcula-
tions I had elsewhere read, the account of these matters
given in the books of Manichæus were more truthful, or
indeed whether an equally satisfactory explanation could be
got from them. But when I brought forward these things
for consideration and discussion, he, so far modestly, shrunk
from the burthen. For he knew that he did not know these
things, and was not ashamed to confess it. For he was not
one of those loquacious people, like many that I had
suffered from, who attempted to teach me these things, and
said nothing. But this man had a heart, though not right
towards Thee, yet not wholly careless towards himself. For
he was not altogether ignorant of his own ignorance, and
did not choose to be caught in a dispute upon these matters,
where there was no outlet, and no easy means of retreat.
Even for this I liked him the better. For the modesty of a
candid mind is even more attractive 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 Manichæus being thus shat-
tered, and despairing yet more of their other teachers, see-
ing that in divers things which perplexed me, he, though 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 pur-
posed to gain advantage in that sect, after my acquaintance
with that man, came utterly to an end; not that I entirely
separated myself from them, 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 some-
thing more eligible should dawn upon me. Thus that
Faustus, to so many a snare of death, had now, though he
neither wished it, nor knew that it was so, begun to loosen
that in which I had been taken. For Thy hands, O my
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>
i
God, in the secret purpose of Thy providence, did not for-
sake my soul; and out of my mother's heart's blood, by her
daily and nightly tears, was a sacrifice offered for me unto
Thee; and Thou didst deal with me by wondrous and
secret ways.
Thou didst it, O my God: for "the steps of
a man are ordered by the Lord, and He shall dispose his
way" (Ps. xxxvii. 23). Or what shall obtain salvation for
us, except Thy hand renew what Thou hast made?
CHAPTER VIII.
He sets out for Rome, though his mother in vain dissuades him.
HOU 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 was I persuaded to
this? I will not omit to confess to Thee; because herein
also the deepest recesses of Thy wisdom, and Thy most
present mercy to us, must be discerned and declared. I
did not wish to go to Rome, because of the higher gains.
and higher dignities which my friends, who persuaded me
to this, held out to me, 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 quietly, and were restrained by a more
regular system of discipline; so that they did not wantonly
and at random rush into the school of one, whose pupils
they were not, nor were even admitted without his per-
mission. At Carthage, on the contrary, the license among
the scholars is disgraceful and unruly. They break in
impudently, and with a well nigh frantic expression disturb
the order which any one has established for the good of
his scholars. They commit many outrages with extra-
ordinary effrontery, which could be punished by law, did.
not custom afford protection; a custom which shows 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 the punish-
ments they suffer are incomparably worse than the offences
they commit. The manners then which, when a student, I


The Confessions of S. Augustine.
79
:
would not make my own, I was fain, as a teacher, to endure
in others and so I preferred to go where, all that knew it,
assured me that the like was not done. But Thou, "my
hope and my portion in the land of the living" (Ps. cxlii. 5),
that I might change my earthly habitation 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 attracted thither, by men in love with
a dying life, the former by their frantic doings, the latter by
their empty promises; and, to correct my steps, didst
secretly make use, both of their and my perversity. For
both they who disturbed my quiet, were blinded with a
disgraceful frenzy, and they who invited me elsewhere,
savoured of earth. While I, who here detested real misery,
was there seeking an unreal happiness.
But why I should depart hence and go thither, Thou
didst know, O God, yet shewedst it neither to me, nor to
my mother, who grievously bewailed my journey, and fol-
lowed me as far as the sea. But I deceived her, as she
held 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, who was so
vilely stained with sins, from the waters of the sea, for the
water of Thy Grace; that when I was washed in this, the
rivers from my mother's eyes, with which she daily used to
water the ground beneath her face on my behalf before
Thee, might be dried up. And yet refusing to return
without me, I scarcely persuaded her to stay that night in a
place hard by our ship, where was a memorial chapel in
honour of S. Cyprian. That night I stealthily set out; but
she remained 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 giving ear to the purport of her desire, didst
not effect what then she was asking, that thou mightest do
in me what she was ever asking. The wind blew and
swelled our sails, and the shore sank from our sight; and
she on the morrow was there, frantic with sorrow, and with
complaints and groans filled Thine ears, who didst then
gard them; whilst through my desires, Thou wert
?



80
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Th
sorrows.
hurrying me to end those very desires, and her carnal regret
for my departure was chastened by the allotted scourge of
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 was manifested in her the heritage of Eve,
with sorrow seeking, what in sorrow she had brought forth,
And yet, after accusing my deceit and cruelty, she betook
herself again to intercede to Thee for me, and departed,
she to her wonted habits, I to Rome.
CHAPTER IX.
He lies dangerously ill of a fever.
lo, there was I taken with the of
sickness, and I was going down to hell, bearing all
the sins which I had committed against Thee, and myself,
and others, many and grievous, over and above that bond
of original sin, whereby we "in Adam, all die" (1 Cor.
xv. 22). For Thou hadst not forgiven me any of these
things in Christ, nor had He "abolished by His cross the
enmity" (Eph. ii. 14) 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? As then the death of His
Flesh seemed to me to be fictitious, so was the death of my
soul real: and as the Death of His Flesh was real, so was
the life of my soul, which disbelieved it, fictitious. And
now the fever heightening, I was parting and perishing.
For had I then parted hence, whither had I departed, but
into fire and torments, such as my deeds 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 com-
passion upon me; that I should recover the health of my
body, though frenzied as yet in my impious 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 in my madness scorned thy mea


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81
counsels, who wouldest not suffer me, though I was such
an one, to die the second death. For if my mother's heart
had been stricken with such a wound, healed had it been
never. For I cannot express the affection she bare to me,
and with how much more vehement anguish she was now in
labour of me in the spirit, than when she bare me in the
flesh.
I see not then how she should have been healed, had such
a death of mine pierced through the bowels of her love. And
where would have been those her prayers, so fervent and so
frequent, without cessation? nowhere, unless with Thee. But
wouldest Thou, God of mercies, "despise the contrite and
humble heart" (Ps. li. 17), 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 empty fables, and old wives'
gossip; 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 changeful or
fleeting 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 predestined that it should be done.
Far be it that Thou shouldest deceive her in Thy visions
and answers, some of which I have already recorded, others
I have not, which she kept in her faithful heart, and ever
praying, used to press upon Thee, as though given under
Thine own hand. For Thou, “because Thy mercy endureth
for ever" (Ps. cxviii.), vouchsafest to those to whom Thou
"forgivest all their debts," to become also a debtor by Thy
promises.

CHAPTER X.
After leaving the Manichæans he retained low opinions concerning God,
and sin, and the Incarnation.
TH
HOU didst restore me then of that sickness, and didst
save the son of Thy handmaid, as regards his bodily
health, that he might await Thy giving of a better and more
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1
sure salvation. And even then, at Rome, I joined myself
to those deceived and deceiving “saints
"" : not with their
"hearers" only (of which number was he, in whose house
I had fallen sick and recovered), but even with those whom
they call "The Elect." For I still thought, "that it is not
we ourselves that sin; but that some other nature (what, I
know not) sins 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" (Ps. xli. 4), but I loved to
excuse it, and to accuse I know not what other thing, which
was with me, but which was not I. But in truth it was
wholly I, and mine impiety had divided me against myself;
and that sin was the more incurable, whereby I considered
that I was not a sinner; and execrable iniquity it was, that
I should prefer that Thou, O God Almighty, should be
overcome in me to my destruction, than that I should be
overcome by Thee, to my salvation. Not as yet then hadst
Thou "set a watch before my mouth, and a door of self-
restraint around my lips, that my heart might not turn
aside to evil words, to make excuses of sins, with men that
work iniquity and, therefore, was I still united with their
Elect" (Ps. cxli. 3, 4).
But now [despairing of getting any advantage in that
false doctrine, even those things (with which if I should
find no better, I had resolved to rest contented) I now held
with greater laxity and negligence. For a thought sprang
up within me, that those philosophers, whom they call
Academics, were wiser than the rest, because they held that
men ought to doubt every thing, and declared that no truth
can be comprehended by man. For so, even to me, they
clearly seemed to think, as is the common opinion of them,
for I did not yet understand their meaning. But I made
no secret of discouraging that host of mine from the over-
confidence which I perceived him to have in those fables,
of which the books of Manichæus are full. 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 (for
Rome gives concealment to 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

The Confessions of S. Augustine.
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}
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 form of human flesh,
and to be contained within the bodily limitations 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 any thing),
this was the greatest, and almost only cause of my in-
evitable 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 subtle
(like the body of the air), which they imagine to be some
malignant mind, creeping through that earth. And because
some sort of piety constrained me to believe, that the good
God had created no evil nature, I conceived two masses,
mutually antagonistic, both infinite, but the evil narrower,
the good greater. And from this pestilent beginning, the
other blasphemies followed. For when my mind sought to
revert to the Catholic faith, I was repelled, since that was
not the Catholic faith, which I thought to be so. And I
thought it more reverent in me, my God, to whom Thy
mercies make confession by my means, to believe Thee
infinite on all sides, except upon that one, where the mass.
of evil opposed itself against Thee, and I was bound to
confess Thee to be finite; than if I should imagine Thee
to be contained on every side within the limits of a human
bodily form. And it seemed to me better to believe Thee
to have created no evil, which to me in my ignorance
appeared to be not only a substance, but even a bodily sub-
stance, because I knew not how to conceive of mind, unless
it were some subtle body, which diffused itself throughout
some defined area, than to believe that the nature of evil,
according to my notion of it, came 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 did not see. I feared therefore to believe
*
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The Confessions of S. Augustine.
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.
CHAPTER XI.
Helpidius well argued with the Manichæans, concerning the authenticity
of the New Testament.
FU
URTHERMORE, what the Manichæans had criticised
in Thy Scriptures, I thought could not be defended;
yet at times I strongly desired to confer, point by point, with
some one, learned in their books, and to discover what he
might think about them. For already the discourses of a
certain Helpidius, who spoke openly, and disputed against
those same Manichæans, had begun to influence me, even
at Carthage, for he brought forth from the Scriptures certain
things which could not easily be refuted, and their response
seemed to me feeble. And even this answer they did not
readily produce in public, but to us with some secrecy; to
the effect, that the Scriptures of the New Testament had
been falsified 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 those "masses"
chiefly held me down, captive, and almost suffocated, for I
pondered only of corporeal things: and beneath their weight
I gasped for the pure and clear air of Thy truth, and could
not breathe.
CHAPTER XII.
He practises as a rhetorician at Rome, and experiences the fraudulence of
the students.
I BEGAN then diligently to practise that for which I came
to Rome, to teach the art of rhetoric; and
first, to gather some to my house, to whom, and through
whom, I was beginning to be known; when lo, I found out
that things were done at Rome which I did not suffer in
Africa, In truth it was made clear to me that those "sub-
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
85
vertings" were not these practised by profligate youths; but
say they, "suddenly to escape paying their master, many of
the youths conspire together, and betake themselves to
another, breaking their faith, and counting justice cheap
compared with love of money." These also "my heart
hated," though not "with a perfect hatred" (Ps. cxxxix. 22),
for perchance I hated them more because I was likely to
suffer by them, than because they used to act unlawfully to
all and sundry. Of a truth such are base persons, and they
commit fornication against Thee, by loving these fleeting
mockeries of time, 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. Even now I hate
such depraved and crooked persons, though I love them to
be corrected, so as to prefer to money the learning, which
they acquire, and to learning, Thee, O God, the truth and
plenteousness of sure good, and the most pure peace. But
at that time it was rather that I did not choose to endure
them in their badness, for my own sake, than that I wished
them to be made good for Thine.
CHAPTER XIII.
He is sent to Milan to teach rhetoric, and becomes acquainted with
Ambrose.

WHEN
HEN 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 send him at the public
expense, I made application (through those very persons,
intoxicated with Manichæan vanities, to be freed wherefrom
I was going thither, though neither they nor I knew it)
that Symmachus, then prefect of the city, would send me,
after examining me upon some set subject. To Milan I
came, to Ambrose the Bishop, known to the whole world as
among the best of men, Thy devout worshipper; whose
eloquent discourse did then plentifully dispense unto Thy
people the fatness of Thy "wheat," the gladness of Thy "oil,"
and the sober inebriation of Thy "wine" (Ps. iv. 7, civ. 15).
To him was I unknowing led by Thee, that by him I might
}
86
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
knowingly be led to Thee. That man of God received me
as a father, and shewed me an Episcopal kindness on my
coming. Thenceforth I began to love him, at first indeed
not as a teacher of the truth, of which in Thy Church I
wholly despaired, 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 with regard to the matter was but a careless
and scornful bystander; and I was delighted with the sweet-
ness of his discourse, which, as far as concerns manner,
was more learned, but less sparkling and flattering than that
of Faustus. Of the matter, however, there was no com-
parison, for the one was wandering amid Manichæan false-
hoods, but the other most wholesomely taught salvation.
But "salvation is far from sinners" (Ps. cxix. 155), such as
I then stood before him; and yet was I drawing nearer by
little and little, and unconsciously.
CHAPTER XIV.
After hearing the Bishop, he realises the power of the Catholic Faith,
nevertheless he is sceptical after the manner of the later Academics.
FOR though I
'OR though I took no pains to learn what he spake, but
only to hear how he spake (for since I now despaired
that any way lay open for man to approach Thee, that empty
care, forsooth, alone remained), yet together with the words
which I was enjoying, came also into my mind the things.
which I was rejecting. For I could not keep them apart.
And while I opened my heart to admit "how eloquently
he spake," there also entered "how truly he spake;" though
but by degrees. For now for the first time these things had
begun to appear to me capable of defence; and the Catholic
faith, in defence of which I had thought nothing could be.
advanced against Manichæan objectors, I now began to
think might be maintained without shamelessness; espe-
cially after I had heard one or two places of the Old Testa-
ment resolved, and often mystically, which when I understood
literally, I was slain (cf. 2 Cor. iii. 6). Very many passages


The Confessions of S. Augustine.
871
then of those books having been explained spiritually
I began to condemn my own despair, for having believed
that no answer at all could be given to such as hated and
scoffed at the Law and the Prophets. I did not, however,
yet perceive that the Catholic way was to be held, because
it also could find learned defenders, who could abun-
dantly, and by no means foolishly, answer objections; nor
that what I held was therefore to be condemned, because
both sides were equally defensible. For so the Catholic
side seemed not yet vanquished, though not as yet mani-
festly victorious.
Hereupon I earnestly bent my mind, to see if in any way
I could by any certain proof convict the Manichæans of
falsehood. Could I once have conceived a spiritual sub-
stance, all their devices would be cast down immediately, and
be thrown off from my mind; but I could not. Notwith-
standing, 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
that most of the philosophers had held opinions far more
probable. So then, after the manner of the Academics (as
they are supposed) sceptical of every thing, and wavering
between all, I settled so far, that the Manichæans must be
abandoned; not considering that even in that time of doubt
I ought to continue in that sect, to which I was already
beginning to prefer some of the philosophers to which
philosophers notwithstanding, because 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 direct my course.

F:.
}

+
ita
}
}
CHAPTER I.
*
Book VF.
HE IS NOW THIRTY YEARS OF AGE, AND UNDER THE TEACHING OF
AMBROSE, PERCEIVED MORE AND MORE CLEARLY THE TRUTH
OF CATHOLIC DOCTRINE, AND DETERMINED TO AMEND HIS
LIFE.
His mother followed him to Milan, and prophesied that she should not
depart this life, until her son should have embraced the Catholic
Faith.
"MY
Y hope from my youth," where wert Thou to me,
and whither hadst 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, strong in her piety, following me over sea and
land, and amid all perils safe by Thy protection.
For
throughout the dangers of the sea, she comforted the very
mariners, by whom passengers unacquainted with the deep,
are generally comforted when troubled, promising them a
safe arrival, because Thou hadst by a vision promised this
to her. She found me in grievous peril, through despair
of ever finding truth. But when I had informed her, that
I was now no longer a Manichæan, though not yet a
Catholic Christian, she was not overjoyed, as though she
had heard some unlooked for tidings; although she was
now at rest concerning that part of my misery, for which
she used to lament over me as one dead, though to be
raised up again by Thee, and to carry" 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
CC



The Confessions of S. Augustine.
89
shouldest deliver him to his mother" (S. Luke vii. 14, 15).
Her heart then shook with no tumultuous exultation, when
she heard that what she daily with tears desired of Thee,
was already in so great part accomplished; in that, though
I had not yet attained unto the truth, I was already de-
livered from falsehood; but now because she was confident
that Thou, who hadst promised the whole, wouldest give
what yet remained, most calmly, and with an heart full of
confidence, she replied to me, "She believed in Christ,
that before she departed out of this life, she should see me a
faithful Catholic." 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 lighten my
darkness; and she hastened the more eagerly to the Church,
and hung upon the lips of Ambrose, for "the fountain of
that water, which springeth up into everlasting life" (S. John
iv. 14). But that man she loved "as an angel of God
(Gal. iv. 14), because she knew that by him I had been
brought for a while to that present state of wavering doubt,
through which she anticipated most confidently that I should
pass from sickness unto health, after a sharper danger had
intervened, as by that increase of fever, which physicians
call "the crisis."
>>
CHAPTER II.
She discontinues her habit of commemorating martyrs, on account
of the prohibition of Ambrose.
WHEN then my mother had once, as she was wont in
Africa, brought to the memorials 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 dispute his prohibition. For
wine-bibbing did not lay siege to her spirit, nor was love of
wine, in her case, a stimulant to hate of truth, as it is with
too many, both men and women, who loathe the praise of
sobriety, as drunken men do a watered cup. But she, when
she had brought her basket with the accustomed festival-
food, to be but tasted by herself, and then given away, never

90
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2
joined therewith more than one small cup of wine, diluted
according to her own abstemious habits, from which she
would partake to their honour. And if there were many
memorials of the departed that were to be honoured in that
manner, she would carry round that same one cup, to be
used everywhere; and this, though not only made very
watery, but unpleasantly heated, she would share by small
sips, with those about her; for she sought there devotion,
not pleasure. So soon, then, as she found that it was
ordered by that famous preacher and pious prelate that this
should not be done, even by those who would do it soberly,
lest any occasion of excess might be given to the drunken;
and because these commemorations were very similar to the
superstitious Gentile rites of ancestor worship, she most
willingly abstained from it, and learned to bear to the
memorials of the martyrs, instead of a basket filled with the
fruits of the earth, a breast filled with purer offerings and
she would give what she could to the poor, and thus would
be celebrated the Communion of the Lord's Body, in imita-
tion of whose passion the martyrs were slain and crowned.
But yet it seems to me, O Lord, my God, and thus thinks
my heart of it in Thy sight, that possibly my mother would
not have yielded so readily to the restriction of this custom,
had it been forbidden by another, whom she loved not as
Ambrose, whom, for my salvation, she particularly loved;
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 little thought that the way
of life could be found out.
:
CHAPTER III,
On account of the pressure of business and study upon Ambrose,
Augustine had few opportunities of consulting him concerning
Holy Scripture.
No
OR did I yet groan in my prayers, that Thou wouldest.
help me; but my mind was bent on enquiry, and
restless for controversy. And Ambrose himself, as the
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
91
world counts happy, I esteemed a happy man, for so many
persons of position held him in honour; only his celibacy
seemed to me burdensome. But what the hope he bore
within, what the conflict against the temptations which beset
his very excellence, what the consolation in adversities, and
what the joys he tasted with that hidden mouth of the heart,
when ruminating upon Thy Bread, I could know neither by
conjecture nor by experience: 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 hindered by the
crowds of people full of business, to whose infirmities he
used to minister, from either speech or hearing from him;
and when he was not surrounded by them, which was but a
very little time, he was either refreshing his body with the
sustenance absolutely necessary, or his mind with reading.
But when he was reading, his eyes scanned the pages, and
his heart explored the sense, but his voice and tongue were
at rest. Ofttimes when we had come (for no one was for-
bidden to enter, nor was it the custom that a visitor should
be announced to him), we saw him thus reading in silence,
and never otherwise; and having long sat silent (for who
could dare be troublesome to one so wrapt?) we used 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 loath to be taken off; and
perchance he was afraid lest it might become necessary to
explain to some keen and attentive listener anything ob-
scurely expressed by the author he was reading; or to enter
upon some discussion of more difficult questions; and if so
he should spend his time, he would turn over fewer volumes
than he desired, though the necessity of preserving his voice,
which was very easily injured, was possibly the truer reason
for his reading to himself. But with what intent soever he
did it, certainly in such a man it was good.
But no full opportunity of consulting that holy oracle of
Thine, his breast, was afforded me, unless some brief
audience might suffice. But my anxieties required that he
to whom they should be outpoured should have ample
leisure, and never found it. I heard him indeed every
Lord's day, "rightly handling the Word of truth" (2 Tim.
ii. 15), among the people; and I was more and more con-
vinced, that all the knots of those crafty calumnies, which
92
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W
those our deceivers had tangled against the Divine Books,
could be unravelled. But when I understood withal, that
"man created by Thee, after Thine own image " (Gen. i. 27),
was not so understood by Thy spiritual sons, whom of the
Catholic Mother Thou hast regenerated through grace, as
though they believed and conceived of Thee as contained
within the form of a human body; although in what man-
ner spiritual substance could exist, I could form not the
slightest or most shadowy notion; even in my joy I reddened
with the shame of having for so many years barked against,
not the Catholic faith, but against the figments of my own
carnal conceptions. For so rash and impious had I been,
that what I ought to have said in the way of enquiry, I had
said in the way of condemnation. 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 art nowhere comprehended in space; Thou art
not indeed of bodily form, yet hast Thou made man after
Thine own image; and behold, from head to foot he is con-
tained in space.
CHAPTER IV.
He discovered the falsehood of his own opinions, and committed to
memory a saying of Ambrose.
SIN
INCE, then, I knew not how this Thy image could sub-
sist, I should have knocked and enquired in what
manner it was to be believed, not insultingly opposed it, as
if it were believed as I imagined: therefore the more sharply
the doubt, as to what I should hold for certain, 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 as if
they were certainties. For that they were falsehoods be-
came 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 condemned
Thy Catholic Church, which I had by this time discovered
to teach, if not the truth, at any rate not to teach those
things for which I had so seriously condemned her. So I
was confounded and converted: and I joyed, O my God,
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
93
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: and that in her
sound doctrine she did not hold any tenet which should
confine Thee, the Creator of all, in space, however great
and large, yet bounded every where by the shape of human
limbs.
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 saints for thinking what indeed they never thought;
and with joy I heard Ambrose in his sermons to the people,
oftentimes most diligently recommend as a rule, this saying,
"The letter killeth, but the Spirit giveth life" (2 Cor. iii. 6);
when, having drawn aside the mystic veil, he would open
those passages spiritually, which according to the letter
seemed to teach something unsound; teaching herein
nothing that offended me, though I did not yet know
whether what he taught were true. For I withheld my
heart from all assent, dreading a downfall: and came nearer
being killed by the suspense. For I wished to be as assured
of the things I saw not, as I was that seven and three are
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 my clearer mental vision 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 to a good
one, so was it with the health of my soul, which could not
be healed but by believing, and for fear of believing false-
hoods, refused to be cured; resisting Thy hands, who hast
prepared the medicines of faith, and hast adapted them to
the diseases of the whole world, and imparted to them so
powerful an efficacy.
ten.
94
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
CHAPTER V.
Faith is the foundation of human life; and man cannot discover the
truth which the Sacred Scriptures reveal.
ΟΝ
N this ground also, I now began to give the preference
to the Catholic doctrine, and to perceive that it was
more modest and straightforward in her to require belief in
that which was not proved (whether it could be proved, or
could perhaps not be proved to certain persons, or even not
at all), than the other plan, of mocking credulity by the
rash promise of knowledge; and afterwards of imposing as
articles of faith, many most fabulous and absurd things,
because they could not be proved. Then Thou, O Lord,
little by little with most tender and most merciful hand,
touching and composing my heart, didst persuade me, by
the consideration of the numberless things I believed
though I did not see, and which were done while I was not
present; as for example so many events in the history of
peoples; so many accounts of places and of cities, which I
had not seen; so many things about my friends, so many
concerning physicians, so many of this man and the other,
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, unless I had believed what I heard, 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 might chance to say to me, "How knowest
thou those Scriptures to have been imparted unto mankind
by the Spirit of the one true and most truth saying God?"
For this very thing was of all most to be believed, since.no
contentiousness of quibble and artifice throughout the
abundant course of my reading amongst mutually contra-
dictory philosophers could wring from me even an occa-
sional failure to believe in Thy being, though of what Nature
Thou wert I knew not, or that the administration of human
affairs belongs to Thee.
This I believed, sometimes more strongly, more weakly
other-whiles; yet always I believed, both that Thou art, and
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
95
that Thou dost exercise a care for 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 the light of reason 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 Scripture throughout all lands,
hadst Thou not willed that through it Thou shouldest be
believed, and through it sought. For now the absurdity,
which used to offend me in the Scripture, after I had heard
many things from it satisfactorily expounded, I began to
attribute to the depth of its mysteries, and its authority
appeared to me the more venerable, and more worthy of
religious credence, for the very reason that while it might
easily be read by all, it reserved the majesty of its mystery
within its profounder meaning, offering itself to all by the
great plainness of its words, and the very humble style of its
expression, yet demanding intense application of such as
are not light of heart; that so it might receive all in its
broad bosom, and through narrow passages convey some
few to Thee, yet many more than if it stood not aloft on
such a height of authority, nor drew multitudes within the
bosom of its holy humility. These things I thought on,
and Thou wert with me; I sighed and Thou didst hear
me; I wavered, and Thou didst guide me; I wandered
through the broad way of the world, and Thou didst not
forsake me.
CHAPTER VI.
Concerning the origin and measure of true joy which he is brought to
dwell on by the sight of a beggar's gaiety.
I
PANTED after honours, gains, marriage; and Thou
didst laugh me to scorn. In these desires I under-
went most bitter distresses, Thou being the more gracious,
the less Thou didst suffer aught to grow sweet to me, which
was not Thyself. Behold my heart, O Lord, who wouldest
that I should remember and confess this to Thee. Let
now my soul cleave unto Thee, for Thou hast drawn it
forth from the snares of death, that cling so close. How
wretched was it! and Thou didst cause the wound to feel
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..
its smart, that forsaking all else, it might be converted
unto Thee, who art above all, and without whom all things
would be nothing; that it might be converted and made
whole. 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 feverish-
ness of consuming thoughts. For, passing through one of
the streets of Milan, I noticed a poor beggar, who I suppose
had just had a good meal, joking and joyous: and I sighed,
and spoke to the friends around me, of the many sorrows of
our own frenzies, because by all such efforts of ours, as I
was then toiling at, dragging with me a burden of wretched-
ness beneath the goad of my desires, and increasing it by
dragging it, we sought for nothing, except to arrive at that
unanxious joy, wherein that beggar had forestalled us, who
should never perchance attain thereto. For what he had
obtained by means of a few begged pence, for that same
thing I was scheming by many weariful turnings and twistings;
for the joy forsooth of temporal happiness. He indeed had
not the true joy; but yet I with those my ambitious designs
was seeking one far less true. And certainly he was joyous,
I anxious; he free from care, I full of fear. But should
any ask me," whether I would prefer to be merry or to be
fearful?" I would answer "to be merry." Again, if he
asked had I rather be such as he was, or what I then was
myself? I should choose to be myself, though worn with
cares and fears; but from perversity; for could it be so of
a truth? For I ought not to prefer myself to him, because
I was more learned, seeing I had no joy therein, but was
seeking to please men by it; not even to teach them; but
only to please them. Wherefore also Thou didst break my
bones with the rod of Thy discipline.
F
Away with those then from my soul, who say to her,
"The difference lies in the source of one's joy. The
beggar's joy lay in winebibbing; but Thou wouldest derive
Thine from 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 upturned my mind even more.
He that very night should digest his drunkenness; but I
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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 there "does lie a difference in the source of
one's joy." I know it, and the joy of a faithful hope is
immeasurably distant from that vanity, but of us two he
then distanced me. For in very truth he was the happier;
not only because he was thoroughly drenched in mirth,
while my very life was torn out of me with anxieties: but
also he, by well-wishing folk had gotten his wine; whilst I,
by lying, was seeking to feed my pride. Much to this effect
said I then to my friends: and I often noticed 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 loath to catch at it, for almost before
I had hold of it, it flew away.
ና;
11
✓
,
CHAPTER VII.
He reforms Alypius, his friend, who had been captivated by a foolish
passion for the shows of the circus.
THESE
'HESE things we, who were living as friends together,
bemoaned together, but chiefly and most familiarly I
used to discuss them with Alypius and Nebridius, of whom
Alypius was a native of the same town as myself, where his
parents were among the leading townsmen; but he was
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 natural inclination to
virtue, which was eminent enough in one of no great age.
Yet the whirlpool of the habits of the Carthaginians, who
are feverishly addicted to trifling shows, had sucked him
into a mad passion for the Circus. But while he was
miserably whirled about therein, and I, as a professor of
rhetoric there, held a public school, he did not as yet
frequent my lectures, on account of some dissension, which
had arisen between his father and me; and I had discovered
that he had a deadly fondness for the circus; and I was
deeply grieved that he seemed likely to waste his great
promise, or even had already done so. Yet had I no
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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 did not. Therefore disregarding his father's
wish in this matter, he began to greet me, come sometimes
into my lecture-room, hear a little, and be gone.
However it slipped from my memory to warn him against
destroying so excellent a natural talent, with a blind and
headlong eagerness for vain sports. But Thou, O Lord,
who dost control the courses of all whom Thou hast created,
wast not forgetful that he should one day be amongst Thy
children a Priest celebrant of Thy sacrament: and that his
amendment might plainly be attributed to Thyself, Thou
didst effect it through me, though I thought not of it. 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 was being treated of. I had by chance a
passage in hand, and while I was commenting on it, an apt
allusion to the Circensian games 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 entirely on hist
account. And what another might have taken as a cause
of quarrel with me, the right-minded lad took as a ground
of quarrel with himself, and liked me all the more warmly.
For Thou hadst said long ago, and put it into Thy book,
“Rebuke a wise man and he will love thee" (Prov. ix. 8).
But I had not rebuked him, but Thou, who employest all,
whether they know it or not, according to the design Thou
hast known (and that design is righteous), didst bring forth
coals of fire from my heart and tongue, that Thou mightest
with a good hope kindle his languishing mind and heal 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; and all the contaminations of the circus fell
from him, nor came he again thither. Upon this, he pre-
vailed with his unwilling father, that he might be my scholar.
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He yielded and consented. And Alypius, beginning to
attend my lectures again, was with me involved in supersti-
tion, loving in the Manichæans that show of continency,
which he supposed true and genuine. Whereas it was
foolish and deceptive, lying in wait for precious souls, as
yet unable to climb the steep of virtue, and easy to be
beguiled with the appearance of virtue, though but shadowy
and feigned.
CHAPTER VIII.
The same Alypius is dragged by companions at Rome to the Colisseum,
and is delighted with the gladiatorial games.
HE, in pursuit of the secular avocation, which had been
glowingly depicted to him by his parents, 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 at a time when he loathed and detested
such things, certain of his friends and fellow-students, whom
he chanced to meet on their return from luncheon, dragged
him with playful violence, though vehemently resisting and
refusing, into the Amphitheatre, during these cruel and
deadly shows. "If," said he, "you drag my body to that
place, and there set me, can you force me also to fasten my
mind or my eyes upon those spectacles? So I will be pre-
sent though absent, and thus shall overcome both you and
them." They hearing this, nevertheless dragged him along
with them, anxious perhaps to find out whether he could go
through with it. When they were come thither, and had
taken their places as they could, the whole place was boil-
ing with the most savage delight. But he, closing the doors
of his eyes, forbade his mind to roam amongst such evils,
and would he had stopped his ears also! For at a certain
accident in the fight, a mighty shout from the whole people
struck violently upon him, and vanquished by curiosity, and
fancying himself steeled to despise and overcome anything he
might see, whatever it might be, 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 shout
was raised, which entered through his ears, and unlocked his
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eyes, to make way for the striking and beating down of
a soul bold rather than brave, and the weaker, in that it had
presumed on itself, when it ought to have relied on Thee.
For so soon as he saw that blood, he therewith drank down
savageness; nor turned away, but fixed his gaze, and drank
in fury, unawares, and delighted in the wickedness of the
conflict, and was intoxicated with the bloody pastime. Nor
was he now the man he came, but one of the crowd to
which he had come, and a very mate of theirs that brought
him thither. Why say more? He beheld, shouted, blazed
with excitement, and carried thence with him an infatuation
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 didst teach him to put
his trust not in himself, but in Thee. But this was long
afterwards.
CHAPTER IX.
Alypius, though innocent, was apprehended as a thief, but set-free by the
skill of a certain architect.
BUT
UT this was already being laid up in his memory to be
a medicine hereafter; and another thing also, which
occurred while he was still a student, attending my lectures
at Carthage. For when he was conning over at mid-day in
the market-place, as is customary among students, what he
was going to recite, Thou didst suffer him to be appre-
hended by the market-keepers as a thief; for no other
reason, I suppose, 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, one man
ought not readily to condemn another from a headlong
credulity. For as he was walking up and down by himself
before the judgment seat, with his tablets and pen, lo, a
young man, one of the students, the real thief, privily bring-
ing a hatchet, got in, unperceived by Alypius, as far as the
leaden lattices, which project over the silversmiths' quarter,
and began to cut away the lead. But the noise of the
hatchet being heard, the silversmiths who were underneath
muttered together about it, and sent to apprehend whom-
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ever they should find. As soon as he heard their voices, he
dropped his hatchet and made off, fearful of being caught
with it. Alypius now, who had not seen him enter, per-
ceived his departure, and saw too how hurriedly he went;
and curious to ascertain the reason, went into the place, and
stood there wondering and looking at the hatchet he found
there; when behold, those that had been sent, find him
alone with the hatchet in his hand, the noise of which had
startled and brought them thither. They seize him, drag
him away, and a crowd of market-place tenants having
collected, boast of having captured a palpable thief, and so
he was being led away to be taken before the judge.
But so far was his instruction to go. For forthwith, O
Lord, Thou didst come to the rescue of his innocence,
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.
They were especially glad to meet him, for they were apt to
fall under his suspicion of stealing goods which were lost
out of the market-place, and now at length he might, as they
thought, make certain who really did these things. But
this man had often seen Alypius at a certain Senator's
house, upon whom he used to call, and recognising him
immediately, took him aside by the hand, and enquiring
the occasion of so great a misfortune, heard what had hap-
pened; 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 suspecting any danger
for his master, to disclose the whole. For he had attended
his master to the market-place. Directly Alypius recog-
nised him, he told the architect; and he, shewing the
hatchet to the boy, asked him "Whose that was?"
"Ours," quoth he presently: and upon further questioning,
disclosed everything. So the charge was shifted to that
household, to the confusion of the crowds, which had already
begun to exult over Alypius: and the future minister of
Thy word, and examiner of many causes in Thy Church,
went away the wiser and more experienced.
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CHAPTER X.
The extraordinary integrity of Alypius in judicial matters; and the
firm friendship between Nebridius and Augustine.
H
IM then I had found at Rome, and he clung 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 in-
tegrity which surprised others, while he was even more sur-
prised at those who could prefer gold to honesty. His
character was tried besides, not only with the bait of covet-
ousness, but with the goad of fear. At Rome he was As-
sessor to the count of the Italian Treasury. There was at
that time a very powerful senator, to whom many were
attached by favours, and many cringed for fear. He, by
his usual manner of influence, wanted permission for some-
thing which by the laws was not permitted. Alypius
resisted it: a bribe was promised; with all his heart he
scorned it: threats were held out; he trampled upon them
to everybody's surprise at so rare a display of spirit, which
neither desired the friendship, nor feared the enmity of one
so great and of such general notoriety for innumerable.
means of helping or hurting another. And the very Judge,
whose councillor Alypius was, although himself also opposed
to it, 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 dis-
sented. By his devotion to literature only, he was almost
persuaded, that he might have books copied for him at Præ-
torian prices; but consulting justice, he altered his deli-
beration for the better; judging that the equity, by which he
was restrained, was more advantageous than the privilege, by
which he was permitted. This is a little matter," but he
that is faithful in little, is faithful also in much." Nor can
that anyhow be void, which proceeded out of the mouth of
Thy Truth; If ye have not been faithful in the unright-
eous 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?" (S. Luke
xvi. 10-12). Such then was he, who at that time clung to
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me, and with me wavered in purpose, what manner of life
should be pursued.
Nebridius also, who having left his native place, near
Carthage, and Carthage itself, which he had greatly fre-
quented, leaving his excellent paternal estate and house, and
his mother too, who would not 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. He mingled
with ours' his sighs and perplexities, an ardent seeker after
the blessed life, and a most acute examiner of the most
difficult questions. Thus were there the mouths of three
who in their needs were sighing forth their wants one to
another, and "waiting upon Thee that Thou mightest give
them their meat in due season" (Ps. cxlv. 15). And in all
the bitterness, which by Thy mercy followed our worldly
doings, 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, when these were for-
saken, we might grasp.
CHAPTER XI.
Troubled by most serious perplexities, Augustine deliberates upon
beginning a new life.
AND I, greatly troubled and recalling things, most
the length of time from that my nine-
teenth year, wherein I had begun to kindle with the desire
of wisdom, determining when I had found her, to abandon
all the empty hopes and lying fantasies 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, "To-
morrow I shall find it; it will appear clearly, and I will lay
hold of it; lo, Faustus will come, and make every thing
plain! O you great men, ye Academicians, is it true then,
that no thing can be grasped with certainty for the guidance
of our life? Nay, let us search the more diligently, and
let us not despair. For, look you, the things are no longer
www.
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absurd in the church's books, which used to seem absurd,
for they can be differently understood, and with honesty.
I will plant my feet in the very steps, in which in my boy-
hood my parents set 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 fixed, let certain
hours be set apart for the health of our soul. Great hope
has dawned; the Catholic Faith teaches not what we used
to think, and in our vanity allege against it: her instructed
members hold it profane, to believe that God is com-
prehended within the form of a human body; and do we
doubt to "knock," that the rest "may be opened"? Our
scholars fill the hours of the forenoon; what do we during
the rest? Why not this? But when then can we pay our
respects to our more influential friends, of whose good
offices we have need? When prepare what our students
buy? When refresh ourselves, seeking mental relaxation
from the strain of our cares?
"Perish every thing, let us dismiss these empty vanities,
and devote ourselves wholly to the seeking after truth!
Life is wretched, death uncertain; if it steals upon us
suddenly, how shall we depart hence? and where shall
we learn what here we have neglected? and shall we not
rather pay the penalty of this negligence? What, if death
itself cut off and end all care and feeling? This also must
be inquired into. But God forbid that so it should be!
It is no vain and empty thing, that the excellent dignity of
the authority of the Christian Faith hath so 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 should be destroyed. Why then do we delay to
abandon worldly ambition, and to give ourselves wholly to
seeking after God and the blessed life? But wait! Even
those things are pleasant; they have a not small sweetness
of their own. Our pursuit of them must not be abandoned
without consideration, for it were base to return to them
again. 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
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:
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 my conversion to the Lord; and from day to day
deferred to live in Thee, and deferred not daily to die in
myself. Loving the blessed life, I feared it in its own
abode, and sought it, by fleeing from it. I thought I should
be too miserable if deprived of a woman's embraces; and
of the medicine of Thy mercy to cure that infirmity I
thought not, not having tried it; and I thought that con-
tinency was attainable by our own strength, and was
conscious that I had not such strength, being so foolish as
not to know what is written, None can be continent
unless Thou give it " (Wisd. viii. 21). And certainly Thou
wouldest have given it, if with inward groanings I had
knocked at Thine ears, and with a firm faith should cast my
care on thee.

CHAPTER XII.
A discussion with Alypius concerning marriage and celibacy.
indeed me from
by no possibility could we with undisturbed leisure
continue to live together in the love of wisdom, as we had
long desired, if I were to do so. For himself was even
then in this respect most chaste, so that it was wonderful;
and that the more, since in the outset of his youth he had
made trial of such pleasures, but had not clung to them,
rather had lamented and despised them and up to now
was living in absolute continence. But I opposed him
with the examples of those, who in the state of marriage
had cherished wisdom, and had pleased God, and retained
their friends, and loved them faithfully. Of whose great-
ness of spirit I truly came far short; and bound with the
disease of the flesh, and its deadly sweetness, drew along
my chain, dreading to be loosed, and rejecting the words of
him that counselled well, as though my wound were galled,
and a hand sought to loose my chain. Moreover, by me
!
!
"
.
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did the serpent speak unto Alypius hin self, and by my
tongue wove and scattered in his path snares of pleasure
wherein his virtuous and unfettered feet inight be entangled.
For when he would wonder 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 together,
that I could by no means lead a single life; and urged in
my defence when I saw him wonder, that there was great
difference between his momentary and stolen experiences,
which now he could hardly even remember, and could
therefore without effort easily despise, and my habitual
pleasures, whereto if but the honourable name of marriage
were added, he ought not to wonder why I could not con-
temn that course; he began also to desire to be married;
not that he was overcome by the lust 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 seem to me not life, but 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 thraldom whereat he wondered, since he was willing to
"make a covenant with death" (Isaiah xxviii. 15), and “he
that loves danger, shall fall into it" (Ecclus. iii. 26). For
whatever honour there be in the duty of ordering well the
married life, and bringing up children, influenced neither of
us, even 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 into captivity.
So were we, until Thou, O Most High, not forsaking our
clay, moved with mercy at our misery, didst come to our
help, in wonderful and secret ways.

CHAPTER XIII.
He is advised by his mother to marry; and found a maiden who
pleased him.
I was to
Now I
went a-wooing; now a betrothal was made, chiefly
through my mother's effort, in order that as soon as I was
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married the saving Baptism might cleanse me, for which
she rejoiced that I was being daily fitted, and saw that her
prayers and Thy Promises were receiving fulfilment in my
faith. But when 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
working of the human spirit, preoccupied with this matter,
would compound; and related them to me, not with that
confidence she used to have when Thou hadst revealed
anything to her, but slighting them. For she said she could
discern, by a certain indescribable savour, which she could
not explain in words, a difference between Thy revelation,
and her soul's own dreams. So I was urged, and a maiden
wooed, who was by two years too young to marry; and since
she pleased me, I was to wait for her.
CHAPTER XIV.
A plan of living in community with his friends soon comes to naught.
AND many of us friends conferring about, and detesting
cares of human life, had debated
now almost resolved on living apart from bustle and
business; and this leisure we were to compass by bringing
into a common fund whatever we might be able to procure,
and by establishing one household out of all; so that through
the sincerity of our friendship, this should not belong to
one, that to another; but the whole thus derived from all,
should as a whole belong to each, and all to all. We
thought there might be some ten persons in this society;
some of whom were very rich, especially Romanianus, our
fellow townsman, from childhood a very familiar friend of
mine, whom the grievous perplexities of his affairs had at
that time brought up to court. He was most urgent för
this project, and had great weight in pressing it, because
his ample fortune far exceeded that of any of the rest. And
we had arranged that two of us annually, as a kind of
officials, should provide all things necessary, the rest being
undisturbed. But when we began to consider whether the
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wives, which some of us already had, others hoped to have,
would allow this, all that plan, which we were so well shap-
ing, 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" (S. Matt. vii.
13) of the world, for many thoughts were in our heart.
"But Thy counsel standeth for ever (Ps. xxxiii. 11).
Out of which counsel Thou didst deride ours, and didst
prepare Thine own; purposing to "give us meat in due
season, and to open Thy hand, and to fill our souls with
benediction" (Ps. cxlv. 15, 16).
">
CHAPTER XV.
He dismisses his mistress, but obtains another.
Μ'
EANWHILE my sins were being multiplied, and my
mistress 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 Africa, 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 wooed, not being so much
a lover of marriage, as a slave to lust, procured another,
though no wife, that so by the convoy of a continuous
custom, the disease of my soul undiminished or even in-
creased, might be sustained and carried on into the realm
of matrimony. 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 benumbed, but more desperate.
CHAPTER XVI.
The fear of death and judgment weighed on him, owing to his belief
in the immortality of the soul.
O Thee be praise, to Thee glory, Thou fount of mercies,
I was becoming more miserable, and Thou nearer.
Thy right hand was continually ready to pluck me out of
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the mire, and to "wash me throughly," 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 throughout all my changes of opinion,
never entirely departed from my breast.
And in my
disputes with my friends Alypius and Nebridius of the
nature of good and evil, I used to hold that Epicurus would,
to my judgment, have won the palm, had I not believed,
that after death there remained a life of the soul, and
durations of requitals, which Epicurus refused to 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 virtue
and beauty, which is 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 found pleasure
in conferring with my friends, nor could I, even according
to the notions I then had of happiness, be happy without
friends, in whatever abundance of carnal indulgence. 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 hard. For Thou alone art rest. And
behold, Thou art at hand, and deliverest us from our
wretched wanderings, and dost set us in Thy Life, and dost
comfort us, and say, “Run; I will carry you; yea I will
bring you to the end; and there also will I carry you."
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CHAPTER I.
پا ہے
Book V33.
HE RECALLS THE BEGINNING OF HIS MANHOOD, TO WIT THE THIRTY-
FIRST YEAR OF HIS AGE: IN WHICH HAVING ABANDONED HIS
MOST SERIOUS ERRORS CONCERNING THE NATURE OF God, and
THE ORIGIN OF EVIL, AND HAVING MADE A MORE ACCURATE
STUDY OF THE SACRED SCRIPTURES, HE ATTAINS AT LAST TO A
TRUE KNOWLEDGE OF GOD, THOUGH NOT YET RIGHTLY UNDER-
STANDING THE INCARNATION OF JESUS CHRIST.
His conception of God, not exactly in the form of a human body, but as
a corporeal substance, diffused through space.
BY
Y this time my evil and wicked youth was dead and
gone; and I was entering upon manhood; growing
baser in vanity, as older in years. But although I 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
form 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 Thee I knew not.
And I, a man, and such a man, sought to conceive of Thee
the sovereign, and only and true God; and I did in my inmost
soul believe that Thou wert incorruptible, and inviolable,
and unchangeable, though not knowing whence or how.
For I saw plainly and was sure, that that which can be cor-
rupted, must be inferior to that which cannot; that which
cannot be injured, I unhesitatingly placed above that which is
capable of injury; and that which suffers no change is better
than that which can be changed. My heart passionately
cried out against all my phantasms, 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
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
III
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 as something
corporeal, throughout space, whether infused into the world,
or diffused through infinity outside the world, yea, even of
that incorruptible, and inviolable, and unchangeable sub-
stance, which I judged better than anything corruptible,
violable, or changeable. Because whatever I severed from
the idea of dimensions, seemed to me to be nothing at all;
but absolutely nothing, not even an empty space, as if some
body were taken away from it, and the space should remain,
emptied of every substance, both earthly, watery, aerial,
and celestial, but yet should remain an empty space, as
though it were a spacious nothing.
I then being thus crass of heart, nor clear even to myself,
whatsoever was not extended over certain spaces, nor dif-
fused, nor condensed, nor swelled out, or did not or could
not receive some of these dimensions, I thought to be
absolutely nothing. For my heart did then range among
such images, as the forms among which my eyes are still
wont to range; and I did not perceive that the very mental
operation, by which I formed these images, was a thing of
a different sort from the images, and could not have formed
them, had not itself been something great. 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 un-
measurable 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
just as the substance of this air, which is above the earth,
offers no such resistance to the light of the sun, that it cannot
pass through it, penetrating it, not by rending or cutting it,
but by filling it wholly so I thought the substance not of
heaven, air, and sea only, but of the earth too, was pervaded
by Thee, so that in all its parts, the greatest as the smallest,
it was penetrable to receive Thy presence, ordering, by a
secret inspiration within and without, all things which Thou
hast created. Such was my theory, for I could conceive no
other; but it was false. For in this way a greater part of
the earth would contain a greater portion of Thee, and a less,
I12
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
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, in proportion to its greater size,
and filling a larger space; and thus shouldest Thou make
the several portions of Thyself present unto the several por-
tions of the world, piecemeal, large in the large, little in the
little. But such art not Thou. But not as yet hadst Thou
enlightened my darkness.
CHAPTER II.
An argument of Nebridius against the Manichæans, upon the question,
"whether God be or be not corruptible."
IT
T was enough for me, Lord, to allege against those de-
ceived deceivers, and dumb praters, since not from
them did Thy word sound; it was surely enough, which
long ago, while we were yet at Carthage, Nebridius used to
propound, at which all we that heard it, were staggered;
"That indescribable nation of darkness, which they 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 it should be answered, it would have
done Thee some hurt,' then Thou wouldest be violable, and
corruptible; but if 'it could do Thee no hurt,' then was no
cause assigned for Thy fighting with it; and fighting in
such wise, as that a certain portion and member of Thee,
even the 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 for
the worse, as to be turned from blessedness into misery, and
to need help, whereby it might be rescued and purified;
and that this was the soul, which Thy Word might aid; being
free might aid the enslaved, pure the defiled, sound the
corrupted; that Word itself being still corruptible, because
It was of one and the same Substance. So then, should
they say that Thou, whatsoever Thou art, that is, Thy
Substance whereby Thou art, art incorruptible, then were
all these sayings false and execrable; but if corruptible,
then the statement itself is false, and at the very first utter
ance to be abhorred." This argument then of Nebridius
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
113
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 think-
ing and speaking of Thee.
CHAPTER III.
That the freedom of the will is the cause of evil.
BUT
UT I also as yet, although I held and was firmly per-
suaded, 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 unde-
filable and unalterable, and in no degree mutable; yet I
did not hold that the cause of evil was explained, and dis-
entangled. And yet whatever it were, I perceived it was
in such wise to be sought out, as should not constrain me
to believe the unchangeable God to be changeable, lest I
should become that evil for which I was seeking. I sought
it out then, thus far free from anxiety, certain of the un-
truth 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 evil rather than that
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 again and again. But it lifted
me a little towards Thy Light, to know that I had a will, as
certainly as that I had life. So then when I did or did not
will anything, I was as sure as possible that none other than
myself did or did not will it, and I came to the point of
noticing that here lay 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

114
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}
ļ
goodness itself? Whence then comes it that I choose the
evil and refuse the good, that so a reason should be found
for my just punishment? Who set this in me, and im-
planted in me this root 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, since his whole angelhood was made good by the
Most Good Creator? By these thoughts I was again thrust.
down and suffocated; yet not so brought down to that hell
of error, where no man confesseth unto Thee, as to think
rather that Thou dost suffer ill, than that man doth it.
CHAPTER IV.
That God is not corruptible: or He would cease to be God.
FOR I was in such wise striving to find out the rest, as
one who had
found, that the incorruptible
must needs be better than the corruptible: and Thee
therefore, whatsoever Thou wert, I confessed to be incor-
ruptible, For never soul was, nor shall be, able to conceive
of any thing better than Thee, who art the sovereign and
the chiefest good. But since most truly and certainly, the
incorruptible is preferable to the corruptible, as I did now
prefer it, then, unless Thou wert incorruptible, I could in
thought have arrived at something which was better than
my God. Where then I saw the incorruptible to be pre-
ferable to the corruptible, there ought I to seek for Thee,
and there observe "whence evil was; " that is, whence
is that corruption, by which Thy substance can by no
means be injured. For in absolutely no way at all doth
corruption injure 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 cor-
rupted is not good. Nor art Thou against Thy will con-
strained to any thing, since Thy will is not greater than Thy
power. For it could only be greater, if Thou Thyself wert
greater than Thyself; for the will and power of God is God
Himself. And what can be unforeseen to Thee, who

}

The Confessions of S. Augustine.
115
knowest all things? and there is no nature, except because
Thou knowest it. And what should we more say, ،،
why
that substance which God is, should not be corruptible,"
seeing that if it were so, it should cease to be God?
CHAPTER V.
Questions concerning the relation of evil to God: since if He be the
sovereign good, He cannot be the cause of evil.
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, what-
soever is visible in it, such as earth, and sea, and air, and
stars, and trees, and mortal creatures; and whatsoever in it
is invisible, as the firmament of heaven, and besides all the
angels and all the spiritual things thereof. But these also,
as though they were bodies, did my imagination arrange in
such and such places; 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 large as I chose, yet bounded on every side;
but Thee, O Lord, I imagined on every part surrounding
and penetrating it, but in every direction infinite: as if
there were a sea, every where, and on every side, through
unmeasured space, one only infinite sea, and it contained
within it some sponge, huge, but finite; that sponge must
needs, in all its parts, be filled from that unmeasured sea:
so I imagined Thy finite creation full of Thee, the Infinite
and I said, Behold God, and behold what God hath created;
and God is good, yea, most mightily and imcomparably
better than all these: but yet He, the Good, created them
good;
and see how doth He surround and fill 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 do we fear and shun what hath no existence?
Even if we fear it idly, yet surely that very fear is evil,
whereby the soul is thus idly goaded and tormented; and
so much a greater evil, as there is nothing to fear, and yet
we do fear. Therefore there is either evil, which we fear,
;



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اول -
or this is itself the evil, namely, that we fear. Whence is it
then? seeing God hath made all these things, and He being
good hath made them 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 out of which He made these
things, and did He give it form and order, and yet leave in
it something 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 Almighty?
Lastly, why would He make any thing at all of it, and not
rather by the same Almighty power cause it entirely to cease
to exist? Or, could it really exist against His will? Or if
it were from eternity, why suffered He it so to be for infinite
spaces of times past, and yet chose so long after to make
something out of it? Or if He now suddenly chose to do
something, an Almighty being would be more likely to do
this; to wit, to cause this evil matter to cease to be, and
that He only should exist, the very 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 establish good matter, whereof to create all
things. For He should not be Almighty, if He could not
create something good except by the assistance of that
matter which Himself had not created. These thoughts
I turned over in my miserable heart, weighed down with
most corrosive anxieties, and a dread of death, ere yet I
should have 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 without form, and vacillating beyond the strict limit
of doctrine; yet did not my mind utterly leave it, but rather
daily drank in more and more of it.

CHAPTER VI.
He rejects astrological divinations.
By this time also I had rejected the lying divinations
and impious ravings of the astrologers. Let Thine
own mercies, out of my very inmost soul, confess unto

The Confessions of S. Augustine.
117
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 knows not death, and the Wisdom which need-
ing no light enlightens the minds that need it, by which
the universe is governed, even to the fluttering leaves of
trees?), Thou didst provide for my obstinacy wherewith I
contended against Vindicianus, an acute old man, and
Nebridius, a young man of admirable talents; the former
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
often had the nature of an oracle, and that out of their
many forecasts, a good part would come to pass, though
the foretellers knew nothing of it, but had only stumbled
upon it by their ready tongue." Thou didst provide then a
friend for me, no negligent consulter of the astrologers; nor
yet well skilled in those arts, but (as I said) a diligent con-
sulter with them: yet he knew something, which he said he
had heard from his father, but 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, being an intimate friend
of his, as to 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 ridiculous and vain 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 affec-
tions 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, in order to` make experiments in this so-
called art. He said then that he had heard of his father,
that when his mother was about to give birth to him, Fir-
minus, a woman-servant of that friend of his father's, was in
the same condition, which could not escape her master's
notice, who took care with most exact diligence to know
the births of his very puppies. And so it fell out that the
L
..
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one for his wife, and the other for his servant, with the most
careful observation, reckoning days, hours, nay, the lesser divi-
sions of the hours, both were delivered at the same instant ;
so that they were constrained to cast the nativity, the one
of his son, the other of his servant, from the same constella-
tions even to the minute. For so soon as the women
began to be in labour, they each gave notice to the other
what was taking place in their houses, and had messengers
ready to send to one another, so soon as the actual birth
had been announced to each of them; and that the an-
nouncement should be immediately made, they had easily
made provision, each in his own domain. 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 his parents' house, in ample circumstances, entered upon
his career along the sunnier paths of the world, increased
in wealth, and was raised to honours; but the slave, without
any relaxation of the yoke of his condition, continued
in servitude to his masters; as he testified of his own
knowledge.
Now when I heard these things, and believed them (the
teller being such as he was), all my hesitancy was swept
away; and first I endeavoured to reclaim Firminus himself
from that curiosity, by telling him, that upon inspecting hist
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, honourable birth, gentle breed-
ing, and liberal education: but if that servant had consulted
me upon the same constellations, since they were his also,
in order that I might also declare what was true for him, to
read in them the meanest lineage, the condition of slavery,
and all else most different and remote from the former fore-
casts; whence then it must happen, that on inspecting the
same stars I should draw opposite conclusions, if I would
say truths; but if I drew the same, I should utter false
predictions thence it followed most certainly, that what-
ever, upon consideration of the constellations, was predicted
truly was predicted not by skill, but by hazard; but that
false predictions were due not to want of skilled knowledge,
but to the misleading nature of the hazard.
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
I 19
An opening thus made, ruminating with myself on the
like things, that no one of those dotards who followed such
a profession, and whom I longed to attack, and confute with
ridicule, might urge against me, that Firminus had informed
me falsely, or his father him; I gave my attention to the
case of those who are born twins, who for the most part
come forth from the womb so near one to other, that the
small interval, whatever force they may argue that it has in
the nature of things, cannot be noted by human observation,
or be at all expressed in those figures which the Astrologer
must inspect, that he may predict the truth. Yet they can-
not be true: for looking into the same figures, he must have
predicted the same of Esau and Jacob, whereas the same
things did not befall both. Therefore he must speak falsely;
or if truly, then, looking into the same figures, he must not
give the same answer. Not by skill then, but by hazard
would he predict the truth. 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 con-
sulter should hear what according to the hidden deservings
of souls, he ought to hear, out of the abyss of Thy righteous
judgment, to Whom let no man say, What is this? Why
that? Let him not, oh! let him not so say; for he is but
man.
CHAPTER VII.
He is terribly distressed about the origin of evil.
OW then, O my Helper, thou hadst loosed me from
those fetters and I sought "whence is evil,” and
found no outlet. But thou sufferedst me not by any waves
of thought to be carried away from the Faith whereby I
believed that Thou art, and that Thy substance is unchange-
able, and that Thou dost exercise Providence and Judgment
upon men; and that in Christ, Thy Son, our Lord, and in
the holy Scriptures, which the authority of Thy Catholic
Church made binding, Thou didst appoint a way of human
salvation unto that life, which shall be after this death.
These things being safe and immoveably fixed in my mind,
I sought anxiously "whence was evil?" What were the
pangs of my labouring heart, what groans, O my God! yet-
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even there were Thine ears open, and I knew it not: and
when in silence I gave my whole strength to the enquiry,
those unspoken sorrows of my soul were strong cries unto
Thy mercy. Thou knewest what I suffered, and no man.
For, what was there of it which I could convey by my
tongue into the ears of my most familiar friends? How
could the whole tumult of my soul, for which neither time
nor utterance sufficed, reach them? Yet the whole entered
into Thy hearing, "which I roared out from the very dis-
quietness of my heart: and my desire was before Thee, and
the light of mine eyes was not with me" (Ps. xxxviii. 9, 10).
For that was within, I was without. That was not in space.
But I was intent upon things which are contained in space,
and found there no space where I might rest; 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 I was higher than they, but
lower than Thou; 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 the mean line of salvation for me, to remain in Thy
Image, and by serving Thee, keep under my body. But
when I rose proudly against Thee, and "ran upon the Lord,
even upon his neck, with the thick bosses of my buckler"
(Job xv. 26), even these inferior things were set above me,
and pressed me down, and nowhere was there respite or
space of breathing. They met my sight on all sides by
heaps and troops, and the images of bodies presented them-
selves to my thoughts, when I would return to Thee, as if
they were saying, "Whither goest thou, unworthy and
defiled?" And these things had grown out of my wound;
for Thou "hast humbled the haughty as one that is
wounded" (Ps. lxxxix. 10), and by my pompous pride I was
separated from Thee; and my face so puffed up, closed
my eyes.
CHAPTER VIII.
By the help of God he little by little draws nigh to truth.
..
UT Thou, O Lord, endurest for ever, and wilt not be
angry with us for ever" (Ps. cii. 13; lxxxv. 5),
because Thou pitiest our dust and ashes, and it was pleasing
BUT T

stine.
121
ormities; and by inward goads
that I should be ill at ease, until
CHAPTER IX.
anifested to my inward sight. Thus, by the
secret touch of Thy medicine, was my swelling abated, and
the troubled and darkened eyesight of my mind, by the
sharp eyesalve of wholesome sorrows, day by day was
healed.
He compares the Platonist teaching concerning the Word, with the
Christian doctrine, which latter he finds by far more excellent.
AND. Thou, willing first to shew me, how Thou "re-
sistest the proud, but givest grace unto the humble"
(1 Peter v. 5), and by what mercy Thou hadst pointed out
to men the way of humility, in that Thy WORD was made
flesh, and dwelt among men; Thou didst provide 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 these words, but to the 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 God, the Word of 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 into 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, even to them that believe
on 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 (cf. S. John
i. 1-14). For I traced in those books, said differently and in
1

[22
I
many ways, that "the Son wa
and thought it not robbery to be eq
naturally He was the Same Substance.
emptied himself, taking the form of a servant, being
in the likeness of men, and found in fashion as a man,
humbled himself, and became obedient unto death, even
the death of the cross: wherefore God exalted Him" from
the dead, "and gave Him a name which is above every
name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, 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" (Phil.
ii. 6 ss.); those books do not contain. For that before all
times and above all times Thy Only-Begotten Son remaineth
unchangeably, co-eternal with Thee, and that “of His ful-
ness 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” (Rom. v. 6), and that "Thou sparedst not
Thine only Son, but deliveredst Him for us all" (Rom.
viii. 32), is not there. "For Thou hast hidden these things
from the wise, and revealed them to babes," that they "that
labour and are heavy laden, might come unto Him, and
He might refresh them," because "He is meek and lowly
in heart" (S. Matt. xi.); "and the meek He guideth in
judgment, and the gentle He teacheth His ways" (Ps. xxv.
9), "looking upon our lowliness and trouble, and forgiving
all our sins" (Ps. xxv. 18). But such as are lifted up upon
the stilts, as it were, of a more elevated teaching, hear not
Him, who saith "Learn of Me, for I am meek and lowly
in heart, and ye shall find rest to your souls " (S. Matt. ix.
29). "Although they knew God, yet they glorify Him not.
as God, nor are thankful, but become vain in their imagina-
tions, and their foolish heart is darkened; professing them-
selves to be wise, they became fools” (Rom. i. 21, 22).
And therefore did I read there also, that they had
"changed the glory of Thy incorruptible nature" into idols
and divers images, "into an image made like unto cor-
ruptible man, and to birds and four-footed beasts, and
creeping things" (Rom. i. 23); namely into that Egyptian
food, for which Esau lost his birthright; since Thy first-
born people worshipped the head of a four-footed beast

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66
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" (Ps. cvi. 20). These things found
I here, but I fed not on them. For it pleased Thee, O
Lord, to take away the reproach of inferiority from Jacob,
"that the elder should serve the younger" (Rom. ix. 12);
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, since, wheresoever it was, it was Thine.
And to the Athenians Thou saidst by Thine Apostle, " that
in Thee we live, move, and have our being, as one of their
own poets had said" (Acts xvii. 28). And verily these
books came from thence. But I set not my mind on the
idols of the Egyptains, to which they made Thy gold
minister, "who changed the truth of God into a lie, and
worshipped and served the creature more than the Creator"
(Rom. i. 25).
{
1
CHAPTER X.
In the inmost recess of his heart, things divine begin to grow more clear.
ND being thence admonished to return to myself, I
entered with Thy guidance into my inmost self, and
I was enabled to do so, for Thou wert 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 common light, which shines for all
flesh; nor as it were a greater of the same kind, as though
the brightness of this should shine out more and more
brightly, and with its greatness take up all space. Not such
was this light, but other, yea, far other from all these. Nor
was it above my soul, as oil is above water, nor yet as
heaven above earth: but higher than I, because It made
me; and I below It, because I was made by It. He that
knoweth the Truth, knoweth what that Light is; and he
that knoweth It, knoweth eternity. Charity knoweth It.
O eternal Truth, and true Charity, and beloved Eternity.
Thou art my God, to Thee do I sigh night and day. And
when at first I knew Thee, Thou didst lift me up, that I
might see there was what I might see, and that I was not
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1
yet such as could see it. 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 them that be full grown; grow,
and thou shalt feed upon Me; nor shalt thou transmute
Me into thee, as thou dost the food of thy flesh, but thou
shalt be transmuted into Me." And I learned, that "Thou
for iniquity didst chasten man, and Thou didst make my
soul to consume away like a spider" (Ps. xxxix. 11, Vulg.).
And I said, "Is Truth therefore nothing because it is not
diffused through space finite or infinite?” And Thou
criedst to me from afar; "Yea verily, I AM that I AM”
(Ex. iii. 14). 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" (Rom. i. 20).
CHAPTER XI. .
That creatures are subject to change; and God alone unchangeable.
A¹
ND I beheld the other things below Thee, and I per-
ceived, that they are neither absolutely existent, nor
absolutely non-existent. 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 me fast by God" (Ps. lxxiii. 28); for if
I remain not in Him, I cannot in myself; but "He remain-
ing in Himself, maketh all things new" (Wisd. vii. 27).
And Thou art the Lord my God, since my goods are
nothing unto Thee" (Ps. xvi. 2).
(4
CHAPTER XII.
Whatsoever things the most good God hath made, are truly good.
AND it was manifested unto me, that those things be
good, which yet are corrupted; which neither if they
were supremely good, nor unless they were good, could be
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*
1
corrupted: for had they been supremely good, they would
have been incorruptible, but if they were not good at all,
there would be nothing in them which could 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 will altogether cease to be. For if they shall continue
to be, but can no longer suffer corruption, they shall be
better than before, because they shall abide incorruptibly.
And what could be more monstrous, than to affirm that
things become better by the loss of all their good? There-
fore, if they shall be deprived of all good, they will entirely
cease to 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 corrupt-
ible 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 sub-
stance 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" (Gen. i.)
CHAPTER XIII.
Whatsoever is in heaven and earth, being made good, ought to praise
God.
AND to Thee there is nothing at all evil; and 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 to it. But in the
parts thereof some things, because they harmonise not with
some others, 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,
yet do harmonise with the inferior part, which we call
Earth, having its own cloudy and windy sky harmonious
with itselt. Far be it then that I should say, "These things
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7
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 these do show that "Thou art to
be praised, from the earth, dragons, and all deeps, fire, hail,
snow, ice, and stormy wind, which fulfil Thy word; moun-
tains, and all hills, fruitful trees, and all cedars; beasts, and
all cattle, creeping things, and feathered fowls; kings of the
earth, and all people, princes, and all judges of the earth;
young men and maidens, old men and children, 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" (Ps. cxlviii. 1-12); 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 all together better than those above
alone.
CHAPTER XIV.
"
They only invent the figment of two primary substances, whom some
creature displeaseth.
'HERE is no health in them, whom aught of Thy crea-
ΤΗ
tion 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 deny that
aught was Thine which displeased it. Hence it had
travelled into a notion of two substances, and found 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, hateful to Thee.
But after Thou hadst soothed my head, unknown to me,
and closed "mine eyes that they should not behold vanity"
(Ps. cxix. 37), I ceased somewhat of my former self, and
my madness 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.
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:
CHAPTER XV.
Whatsoever things exist owe their being to God.
ΑΝ
ND 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 art in truth He that holdeth all things in
the hand; and all things are true in so far as they have
being; nor is there any falsehood, unless when that is
thought to be, which is not. And I saw that all things did
harmonize, 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; for that all spaces
of times, both which have passed, and which shall pass,
neither go nor come, but through Thee, working and
abiding.
CHAPTER XVI.
Evil originates not from some substance, but from perverseness of will.
AND I perceived and found it nothing strange, that
pleasant to the
to un-
healthy palate is nauseous; and to eyes diseased the light
is hateful, which to pure eyes is lovely. And Thy righteous-
ness displeaseth the wicked; much more the viper and the
worm, which Thou hast created good, correspond with the
lower orders of Thy Creation, to which also correspond the
wicked themselves; the more so the more unlike they are
to Thee but they correspond to the higher orders also, in
so far as they become liker Thee. And I enquired what
iniquity was, and found it to be no substance, but the per-
version of the will, turned aside from Thee, O God, the
Supreme Substance, towards the lowest things, and "cast-
ing away its bowels" (Ecclus. x. 9), and outwardly swollen.
128
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1
1
CHAPTER XVII.
Above the changing mind, he finds the unchanging Author of Truth.
Α'
:
>>
ND I was amazed that I now loved Thee, and no
phantasm instead of Thee: And yet did I not persist
to enjoy my God; but was borne up to Thee by Thy
beauty, and soon borne down from Thee by mine own weight,
and fell back, with groaning, upon those lower things and
this weight was carnal habit. 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." the body which is corrupted,
presseth down the soul, and the earthly tabernacle weigheth
down the mind that museth upon many things" (Wisd. ix.
15). And most certain I was "that Thy invisible things
from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being under-
- stood by the things that are made, even Thy eternal power.
and Godhead" (Rom. i. 20). For examining, what caused
me to admire the beauty of bodies celestial or terrestial;
and what was of service to me in judging soundly on things
changeable, and pronouncing, "This ought to be thus, this
not; examining, I say, what was the cause of my so
judging, seeing I did so judge, I had found the unchange-
able and true Eternity of Truth, above my changeable
mind. And thus by degrees, I passed from bodies to the
soul, which perceives through the senses of the body; and
thence to its inward faculty, to which the bodily senses
communicate external things; and so far even beasts
possess it; and thence further to the reasoning faculty, to
which is referred for the exercise of judgment upon it, what-
soever is received from the bodily senses. And when this
found itself in me also to be a changeable thing, it raised
itself up to its own understanding, and diverted my thought
from habit, withdrawing itself from those troops of contra-
dictory phantasms; that so it might discover what that
light was, by which it was bedewed, when, without any
doubtfulness, it cried out, "That the unchangeable must
be preferred to the changeable;" whence also it knew the
unchangeable itself, without some knowledge of which, it
could not with certainty have preferred it to the changeable.
And thus with the flash of one trembling glance it arrived
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129

at THAT WHICH IS. And then I saw Thy "invisible things
understood by the things which are made" (Rom. i. 20).
But I lacked strength to fix my gaze thereon; and my
weakness being struck back, I returned to my accustomed
ways, bearing with me naught but a loving remembrance,
and as it were longing for that, the scent of which I had
perceived, but was as yet unable to feed upon.
CHAPTER XVIII.
}}
Jesus Christ, the Mediator, is the one only way of salvation.
AND I continued to seek for a way of gaining strength,
which should enable me to
but I found
it not, until I embraced "that Mediator betwixt God and
men, the Man Christ Jesus, who is over all, God blessed
for ever (1 Tim. ii. 5; and Rom. ix. 5). Who calleth
unto me and saith, “I am the way, the truth, and the life"
(S. John xiv. 6), and mingleth that food which I was unable
to receive, with our flesh. "For the word was made flesh"
(S. John i. 14), that Thy wisdom, whereby Thou hast created.
all things, might provide milk for our infancy. For not
yet did I cling to Jesus, My Lord, humbly grasping his
humility; nor did I yet know of how great a matter his
weakness should be our teacher. For Thy Word, the
Eternal Truth, far above the higher parts of Thy Creation,
raiseth unto Himself them that are cast down: but in this
lower world built for Himself a lowly habitation of our clay,
whereby to abase from themselves such as would be sub-
dued, and bring them over to Himself; healing their swell-
ing pride, and nourishing their love; to the end they might
go on no further in self-confidence, but rather become weak,
seeing before their feet Godhead made weak by sharing
with us our "coats of skins ;" and when wearied, might
throw themselves upon It, and It in Its rising, might uplift
them.
172
6
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CHAPTER XIX.
He did not yet clearly understand that passage of S. John, "The Word
was made Flesh."
BUT
UT I thought otherwise; conceiving only of my Lord.
Christ, as of a man of excellent wisdom, to whom
none could be compared: especially because being wonder-
fully born of a Virgin, to become our example of despising
temporal things for the attainment of immortality, He
seemed through the divine care on our behalf to have
deserved such great authority as our master. But what
mystery there lay in "The word was made flesh" I could
not even imagine. Only I had learned out of what the
Scriptures delivered to us concerning him, that because he
ate, and drank, slept, walked, rejoiced, was sorrowful, dis-
coursed; so surely flesh did not join itself alone 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 utter by
syllables wise sayings, now to keep silence; these are the
properties of a mind and soul that is subject to change.
And should these things be falsely written of Him, all the
rest also would be endangered by the lie, nor would there
remain in those books any saving faith for mankind. Since
then they were written truly, I acknowledged in Christ an
entire humanity; not the body of a man only, nor, with the
body, a living soul without a reasoning spirit, but very man.
And I thought that he was to be preferred before others, not
as being an Incarnation of Truth;* but for a certain excel-
lence of human nature, and for a more perfect participation
of wisdom. 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
But
moved the more slowly towards the Christian Faith.
understanding afterwards, that this was the error of the
* Persona veritatis. This seems to be the sense of this difficult phrase.
-·.
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
131
Apollinarian heretics, he rejoiced 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 refutation of heretics makes more boldly
to stand out what Thy Church judges, and sound doctrine
holds. 'For there must also be heresies, that they which
are approved may be made manifest among the weak" (1
Cor. xi. 19).
CHAPTER XX.
He is glad that his journeying has been from Platonism to the Holy
Scriptures, instead of in the reverse direction.
BUT
UT after then reading the books of the Platonists,
wherein I was taught to seek for incorporeal truth, I
beheld 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 throughout
space, finite or infinite; and that Thou truly art who art the
same ever, in no part and by no motion changing, and that
all other things are from Thee, by this one most certain
proof, that they are of these things I was assured, yet too
weak to enjoy Thee. I prated as one well read; but had
I not sought Thy way in Christ our Saviour, I should have
been not well read, but well nigh dead. For now I began
to wish to seem wise, being filled with mine own punish-
ment, yet I let fall no tear, but rather was puffed up with
knowledge (1 Cor. viii. i.) For where was that charity
building upon the "foundation" of humility,
"which is
Christ Jesus"?(1 Cor. iii. 11). Or when should these books
teach me it? Upon these, I believe, Thou therefore didst
purpose that I should light, before I studied Thy Scriptures,
that it might be imprinted on my memory, how I was
affected by them; and that afterwards when I had been
tamed by Thy books, and my wounds touched by Thy heal-
ing fingers, I might distinguish the difference between pre-
sumption and confession: between those who saw whither
they were to go, yet saw not the way, and the way that
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132
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
leadeth to the beatific country, which is not only to be gazed
upon, but also to be dwelt in. 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 have 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.
CHAPTER XXI.
lie finds in Holy Scripture many consolations and helps, not found in
the writings of the Platonists.
MOST eagerly then did I seize that venerable writing of
>>
and more than all, the Apostle Paul.
And those difficulties, in which I formerly thought he con-
tradicted himself, and that the text of his discourse agreed
not with the testimonies of the Law and the Prophets, I
utterly disappeared. And now the aspect of that pure word
appeared but one; and I learned to "rejoice with trembling
(Ps. ii. 11). So I began; and whatsoever truth I had read
elsewhere, I found here together with the added excellence
of Thy Grace; that whoso sees, may not " so glory as if he
had not received" (1 Cor. iv. 7), not only what he sees, but
also that he is able to see ("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 be made
whole, to retain Thee. And that "he who cannot see afar
off," may yet walk on the way, by which he may come, and
behold, and retain; for, though a man "delight in the law
of God after the inward man," what shall do with that
"other law in his members warring against the law of his
mind, and bringing him into captivity to the law of sin
which is in his members" (Rom. vii. 22, 23). For, "Thou
art righteous, O Lord, but we have sinned and committed
iniquity, and have done wickedly" (Song of the Three
Children, 4, 6), and Thy hand is grown heavy upon us, and
(6
we are justly delivered over" unto that antient sinner, the
king of death; because he prevailed upon our will to be
Kike his will, whereby "he abode not in Thy truth. What


}
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
133
+
shall wretched man do? who shall deliver him from the
body of this death, but only Thy Grace, through Jesus
·Christ our Lord" (Rom. vii. 24, 25), whom Thou hast be-
gotten coeternal, and "formedst in the beginning of Thy
ways" (Prov. viii. 22). "In whom the prince of this world
found nothing worthy of death" (S. John xiv. 30, and S.
Luke xxiii. 15), yet killed he Him; and "the handwriting,
which was contrary to us, was blotted out" (Col. ii. 14).
This those writings contain not. Those pages present not
the image of this piety, the tears of confession, Thy "sacri-
fice, a troubled spirit, a broken and a contrite heart" (Ps.
li. 19), the salvation of the people, the "Bride,” the "City,”
"the earnest of the Holy Ghost," "the Cup of our Re-
demption." 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 defence, I shall
not be greatly moved" (Ps. lxii. 1, 2). No one there hears
Him call, "Come unto Me all ye that labour" (S. Matt. xi.
28). 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"
(S. Matt. xi. 25, 29). For one thing is it, from the wooded
hill-top to gaze upon the land of Peace, and find no way to
it, and in vain to strive towards it, where lies no path, while
all around deserting fugitives lay siege and ambush, with
their prince, "the lion and the dragon" (Ps. xci. 13); but
another, to hold the way that leadeth thither, beneath the
strongholds built by the heavenly commander, where lurk
not now the robbers, who have deserted the heavenly Host:
for they shun it as a torment. These things did wonder-
fully sink into my bowels, when I read that "least of Thy
Apostles" (1 Cor. xv. 9), and had considered Thy works,
and trembled exceedingly.
>>
Uor M

Willkin
+
Book VIII.
AT LAST HE REACHES THE RECORD OF HIS THIRTY-SECOND YEAR, BY
FAR THE MOST MEMORABLE OF HIS WHOLE LIFE, IN WHICH HAV-
ING BEEN INSTRUCTED BY SIMPLICIANUS, WITH REFERENCE TO
THE CONVERSION OF OTHERS, AND ON THE REASON FOR SUCH
A COURSE OF ACTION, AFTER A VIOLENT MENTAL STRUGGLE, HIS
WHOLE SPIRIT IS RENEWED, AND HE IS CONVERTED TO GOD.
CHAPTER I.
In the struggle between his devotion to Divine things, and his captivity
to his passions, he consults Simplicianus concerning Spiritual
Renewal.
Maou
O
MY God, let me, with thanksgiving, remember, and
"Let my
confess unto Thee Thy mercies upon me.
bones" be bathed in Thy love, and " say, Lord, who is
like unto Thee" (Ps. xxxv. 10), "Thou hast broken my
bonds in sunder, I will offer unto Thee the sacrifice of
thanksgiving" (Ps. cxvi. 16). 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 every side by Thee" (Job i. 10). Of Thy eternal life I
was now certain, though I saw it in a figure and as “through
a glass" (1 Cor. xiii. 12). And all my doubt as to an in-
corruptible substance, and as to all other substance having
their being from it, was removed; nor did I now desire to
But
be more certain of Thee, but more stedfast in Thee.
for my temporal life, all was wavering, and "my heart had
to be purged from the old leaven" (1 Cor. v. 7). The
Way, the Saviour Himself, well pleased me, but as yet I
was reluctant to journey thereon, by reason of its straitness.
And Thou didst put into my mind, and it seemed good in
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135
my sight, to go to Simplicianus, who appeared to be a good
servant of Thine; and Thy grace shone in him. I had
heard also, that from his youth up, he had most devoutly
lived to Thee. At that time he had grown old, and from
his long years spent in so zealously following Thy ways, he
seemed to me to have had much experience, and to have
learned much; and truly such was he. I wished then that
he would tell me, after learning of my difficulties, what
means would be suitable for one, situated as I was, to walk
in Thy way.
For, I saw the church full; and one went this way, and
another that way. But I did not like to lead a secular life,
and now that my desires ceased to inflame me, as they had
formerly done, with ambition of honour and wealth, the
burden of such a slavery was too great for me to bear. For,
in comparison of Thy sweetness, "and the beauty of Thy
house which I loved" (Ps. xxvi. 8), 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, and especially "would
that all men were even as he himself" (1 Cor. vii. 7). But
I being weak, chose the softer place; and because of this
alone, was distressed and wearied in all beside, and languish-
ing with wasting anxieties, because even in other matters,
which I was unwilling to endure, I was obliged to conform
to the conjugal life, to which, as I had given myself, I was
bound. 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,
"he that is able to receive it, let him receive it" (S. Matt.
xix. 12).
"Surely vain are all men who are ignorant of
God, and could not out of the good things that are seen,
know Him that is" (Wisd. xiii. 1). But I was no longer in
that vanity; I had surmounted it; and, by the consent of
Thy whole creation, had found Thee our Creator, and Thy
Word, God with Thee, and together with Thee and the
Holy Spirit, one God, by whom Thou hast created all
things. There is yet another kind of ungodly, "who know-
ing God, glorified Him not as God, neither were thankful"
(Rom. i. 21). Into this also had I fallen, but "Thy right
hand hath holden me up" (Ps. xviii. 35), and Thou didst
take me thence, and place me where I might recover. For
DorM
136
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
Thou hast said unto man, "Behold, the fear of the Lord
wisdom" (Job xxviii. 28), and, "Be not wise in thine
own eyes" (Prov. iii. 7), because " they that professed
themselves to be wise, became fools" (Rom. i. 22). But I
had now "found the goodly pearl, which, selling all that I
had" (S. Matt. xiii. 46), I ought to have "bought," and I
hesitated.
CHAPTER II.
That holy veteran, Simplicianus, is glad that he has read Plato and the
Scriptures; and tells him how Victorinus the Rhetorician read the
Sacred Books and was converted to the Faith.
STR
TRAIGHTWAY I went to Simplicianus, the father in
receiving Thy grace of Ambrose, who was then
Bishop, and who truly loved him as a father. To him I
related the compass of my errors. But when I mentioned
that I had read certain books of the Platonists, which
Victorinus, formerly Rhetoric Professor of Rome (who had
died a Christian, as I had heard), had translated into Latin,
he rejoiced with me that I had not fallen in with the writings
of other philosophers, full of fallacies, "and deceits, after the
rudiments of this world" (Col. ii. 8); whereas, in those
books, God and His Word are, by every means, suggested.
Then to exhort me to the humility of Christ, "hidden from
the wise, and revealed to babes " (S. Matt. xi. 25); he told
me of Victorinus himself whom while at Rome he had most
intimately known: and what he related of him I will not
pass by in silence. 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
deserved and obtained a statue in the Roman Forum, which
citizens of this world consider a high distinction; he even
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
(C
monster gods of every kind, and barking Anubis, which
once had taken arms against Neptune and Venus, and
Mnou
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Minerva" (Virg. Æn. viii. 698), which Rome once
conquered, now adored, all which the aged Victorinus had
with loud and awsome voice for so many years defended:
he now blushed not to become the child of thy Christ, and
the babe of Thy Font; submitting his neck to the yoke of
humility, and subduing his forehead to the reproach of the
Cross.
>>
O Lord, Lord, "which bowed the heavens and came
down, touched the mountains and they did smoke" (Ps.
cxliv. 5), by what means didst Thou glide into that breast?
He used to read (as Simplicianus said) the holy Scripture,
most studiously examined and searched into all the Chris-
tian writings, and used to say to Simplicianus, not openly,
but privately and confidentially, "Understand that I am
already a Christian." And he would answer, "I will not
believe it, nor will I reckon you among Christians, unless I
see you in the Church of Christ." The other would
laughingly rejoin, "Do walls then make Christians?" And
this he often said, that he was already a Christian; and
Simplicianus often made the same answer, and the jest of
the "walls was by the other often renewed. For he feared
to offend his friends, proud demon-worshippers, from the
height of whose Babylonian dignity, as from "cedars of
Libanus," which "the Lord" had not "yet broken" (Ps.
xxix. 5), he supposed the weight of enmity would rush down
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 con-
fess Him before men" (S. Luke ix. 26), and appeared to him-
self guilty of a heavy offence, in being ashamed of the Sacra
ments of the humility of Thy Word, and not being ashamed
of the sacrilegious rites of those proud demons, which he
had participated in, and had imitated their pride, he grew
ashamed of vanity, and was shamed by Truth, and suddenly
and unexpectedly said to Simplicianus (as himself told me),
"Let us go 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 rites of instruction,
he not long after 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" (Ps. cxii. 10). But the
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"Lord God was the hope " of Thy servant, and "he
regarded not vanities and lying madness" (Ps. xl. 5).
To conclude, when the hour was come for making pro-
fession 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 customary in the case of 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 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 multitudes of madmen."
When, then, he went up to make his profession, all, as they
knew him, uttered his name, one to another, with a cry of
congratulation. And who there knew him not? and a
hushed sound ran through the lips of the rejoicing assembly,
Victorinus! Victorinus! Sudden was the sound of exultation
that they saw him; sudden also the silence of attention,
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 of them that drew him there.
CHAPTER III.
That God and the angels rejoice more over one sinner that repenteth,
than over many just persons.
O
>>
GOOD God, whence is it that men rejoice more over
the salvation of a soul despaired of, and freed from
greater peril, than if there had always been hope of him, or
the peril had been less? For so Thou also, merciful
Father, "dost more rejoice over one that repenteth, than
over ninety and nine just persons that need no repentance.
And with great joy do we listen, when we hear "how the
angels rejoice when the sheep which had strayed, is brought
back upon the shepherd's shoulder," and "how the neigh-
bours rejoice with the woman, who hath found the piece
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" and the
of money, and it is restored to Thy treasury;
festival joy of Thy house moveth us to tears, when in Thy
house the story is read of the "younger son, how he was
dead, and is alive again; was lost, and is found" (S. Luke
xv.) For Thou "rejoicest " in us, and in Thy angels, holy
through holy charity. For Thou art ever the same; for
all things which are not for ever, and changeless, Thou for
ever knowest in the same way.
What then takes place in the soul, when it is more de-
lighted at finding or recovering the things it loves, than if
it had ever had them? yea, and other things witness here-
unto; and all things are full of witnesses, crying out, "So
is it." The victorious general hath his triumph, yet had
gained no victory, had he never fought; and the greater
the peril in the battle, the greater is the joy in the triumph.
The tempest tosseth the mariners, and bodeth shipwreck,
and all grow pallid at impending death; but sky and sea
grow calm, and great are the rejoicings, for great have been
the fears. One beloved is sick, and his pulse gives presage
of evil; all, who desire his restoration, are sick of heart
from sympathy; there is a turn for the better, though as
yet he walks not with his former strength; yet there is such
joy, as was not, when before he walked in health and
strength. And men pursue even the very pleasures of
human life, by troubles, not unlooked for, and falling out
against our will, but self chosen, and voluntary. Eating
and drinking have no pleasure, unless preceded by the pang
of hunger and thirst. Men, given to drink, eat something
rather salt, to excite a feverish craving, which the draught
allays, and the delight ensues. And it hath been contrived,
that brides betrothed should not forthwith be given in
marriage, lest the husband should hold her cheap when
won, for whom delay had not aroused the bridegroom's
sighs.
This law holds in foul and accursed joy; this in permitted
and lawful joy; this in the very purest perfection of friend-
ship; this in him "who was dead, and was alive again;
had been lost and was found." Every where a greater joy
succeeds a greater pain. What means this, O Lord my
God, whereas Thou art to Thyself eternal joy, and some
things around Thee evermore rejoice in Thee? What
means this, that this portion of things alternates betwixt ebb
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and flow, betwixt offences and reconciliations. Is this their
portion, and didst Thou appoint this only for them, when
from the heights of heaven to the depths of earth, from the
beginning to the end of the ages, from the angel to the
worm, from the first motion to the last, Thou wert setting,
each in his own place, and ordering, each in its own season,
all kinds of good, and all Thy righteous works? 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.
CHAPTER IV.
He shows by the example of Victorinus that there is more joy in the
conversion of nobles.
UP
P, 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"?
(S. John i. 9, 12). But if they be less known to the people,
even they that know them, joy less for them. For when
many share the joy, each individual has a richer measure of
joy, because they kindle themselves and mutually inflame.
each other. Again, because those known to many, influence
many towards salvation, and lead the way for 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 preferred 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 (1 Cor. i. 27-28). 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 instead of as formerly,
""
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
141
Saul, was pleased to be called Paul, for a memorial 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.
Inasmuch then as the heart of Victorinus was deemed more
welcome, since the devil had possessed it, as though an
irreducible stronghold, and 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" (S. Matt.
xii. 29), 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” (2 Tim.
ii. 21).
CHAPTER V.
The conflict of will, which hindered his return to God.
BUT when that man of Thine, Simplicianus, related to
me this of Victorinus, I burned to imitate him. And
for this end had he related it. But when he went on to tell
how in the days of the Emperor Julian, a law was made
whereby Christians were forbidden to teach grammar and
oratory; and how he, in deference to this law, chose rather
to forsake the wordy school, than Thy Word, by which Thou
"makest the tongues of them that cannot speak eloquent
(Wisd. x. 21); he seemed to me no more brave than happy,
in having thus found opportunity to forsake all for Thee.
Which thing I was sighing for, bound as I was, not with
another's chain, but by my own enchaining will. My will
the enemy held, and thence had made a chain for me, and
bound me. For of a froward will, was a lust made; and a
lust served, a habit was formed; and habit not resisted, be-
came necessity. By these links, as it were, woven together
(whence I call it a chain), a hard slavery held me bound.
But that new will which had begun to be in me, freely to
worship Thee, and to wish to enjoy Thee, O God, Thou one
sure joy, was not yet able to overcome that earlier will,
strengthened by age. Thus did my two wills, one old, and
})
!
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;
the other new, one carnal, the other spiritual, warred against
each other; and by their discord, squandered 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" (Gal. v. 17). It was I myself in both;
yet more myself, in that which I approved in myself, than
in that which in myself I disapproved. For in the latter, it
was now more the "not myself," because in much I rather
unwillingly endured, than willingly did. But yet habit had
become a more powerful adversary by my own action, since
by my will I had come where I would not be. And who
can justly complain, when just punishment overtakes the
sinner? No longer had I now the excuse, with which I
had formerly been content, that on this ground I did not
yet despise the world, and serve Thee, namely because I
did not certainly perceive the Truth; for now it was cer-
tain. But I still, bound to the earth, refused to fight under
Thy banner, and feared as much to be freed from all hin-
drances, as I ought to have feared to be hindered by them.
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 desire to
awake, and yet overcome, are sunk again in depths of slumber.
And as no one would sleep for ever, and in all men's sober
judgment, waking is better (though often enough a man defers
to shake off slumber, when he feels a drowsy heaviness in his
limbs, and, though half displeased, yet, even after it is time
to rise, too willingly yields to it); so I felt convinced that it
was better for me to devote myself to Thy charity than to
give way to my own lust. But the former satisfied and con-
vinced me; the latter pleased and fettered me. 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" (Eph. v. 14). And when Thou didst on all sides
shew me, that what Thou saidst was true, I, convicted by
the truth, had no answer at all to give but the sluggish and
sluggardly words, "Presently, oh, presently, let me be a
little while." But my "presently, presently," had no pre-
sent; and "let me be a little while went on for a long
while. In vain did “I delight in Thy law after the inward
man, while another law in my members was warring against
the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the
""
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143
law of sin, which was in my members" (Rom, vii. 23). For
the law of sin is the violence of habit, by which an unwill-
ing mind is drawn and holden, but only as it deserves,
since it falleth into it willingly. "Wretched man that I was,
who should deliver me from the body of this death, but Thy
grace only, through Jesus Christ our Lord" (Rom. vii. 25).
CHAPTER VI.
Pontitianus relates how two of his companions were converted by reading
the life and miracles of S. Anthony.
AND how Thou didst release me from the bondage of carnal
desire, in which I was most straitly
and from
the slavery of worldly business, I will now declare, and con-
fess unto Thy name, "O Lord, my helper and my redeemer"
(Ps. xix. 14). With growing anxiety, I was keeping up my
usual pursuits, and daily sighing unto Thee. I attended
Thy Church, whenever free from the business beneath the
weight of which I groaned. Alypius was with me, now after
the third sitting released from his law business, and awaiting
clients 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 pleasant and gentle friend, he would not
slight our request for an office of kindness. But he acted
herein very discreetly, shunning to become known to per-
sonages great according to this world, avoiding the distrac-
tion 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, when Nebridius was absent (I do not
remember why), lo, there came to see me and Alypius, one
Pontitianus, our countryman in so much as he was an
African, holding a high command in the Palace.
I do not
know what his business with us was, and we sat
down to
¿
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converse, and it happened that upon a table for some game,
before us, he observed a book, took, opened it, and greatly
to his surprise, found it the Apostle Paul; for he had
thought it some of those books, which I was wearing myself
in teaching. Whereat smiling, and looking at me, he ex-
pressed 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 one of the faithful, and often bowed himself
before Thee our God in the Church, in frequent and con-
tinued prayers. When then I had told him, that I bestowed
very great pains upon those Scriptures, a conversation arose
from what he told us of Antony the Egyptian Monk: whose
name was in high repute 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 were amazed
to hear of Thy miracles, of so recent a record, and in times
so near our own, so well attested, wrought in the true Faith
and Church Catholic. We all wondered; we, that they
were so great, and he, that we had not heard of them before.
Thence his discourse turned to the flocks in the Monas
teries, and their customs, a sweet smelling savour unte
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 comrades, went out to walk in gardens near the
walls, and there as they happened to stroll about in pairs,
one went apart with him, and the other two wandered by
themselves; and these, in their wanderings, lighted upon a
certain cottage, where dwelt some of Thy servants,
، ، poor
in spirit, of whom is the kingdom of heaven" (S. Matt.
v. 3), and there they found a book, containing the life of
Antony. This one of them began to read, and wondered
and was excited at it; and as he read, to meditate on taking
up such a life, and relinquishing his secular service to serve
Thee. And these two were of those whom they style
agents for the public affairs. Then suddenly, filled with an
holy love, and a sober shame, in anger with himself he cast
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his eyes upon his friend, saying, "Tell me, I pray thee,
what are we so pushing to come at by all these labours of
ours? what are we seeking? For what reason do we render
service? Can our hopes in court rise higher than to be
the favoured friends of the emperor? and in this, what is
there not frail 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 groaned
for awhile, 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 proper cost, of
"forsaking all that they had, and following Thee" (S. Luke
xiv. 26, 35). 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 declining. But they relat-
ing their resolution and purpose, and in what way that
determination arose and was confirmed in them, besought
them not to trouble them, even if they should refuse to join
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.
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CHAPTER VII.
The words of Pontitianus pierce his soul, which sullenly clings to its
old habits.
SUCE
UCH 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 didst thrust me before my eyes, that "I might
find out mine iniquity, and hate it" (Ps. xxxvi. 2). I had
known it, but had hidden it away, crushed it down, and
forgotten it.
But now, the more ardently I loved those, whose health-
ful 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 a zealous desire of wisdom; and still I was defer-
ring to abandon with contempt earthly happiness, and to
devote my leisure to enquiring after that, the mere search
for which, and not even the discovery, ought to be prefer-
able to the treasures and kingdoms of the world in actual
possession, and to the pleasures of the flesh though abound-
ing at my wish. 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 super-
stition, not indeed assured thereof, but as preferring it to
the others which I did not seek with filial devotion, but
opposed with hostile malice.
""
And I had thought, that I therefore deferred from day to
day to abandon with scorn the hopes of this world, and
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}
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 con-
science was to upbraid me. "Where art thou now, my
tongue? Thou usedst to say that thou wouldest not for an
uncertain truth cast off the baggage of vanity. Lo, now it
is certain, and thee that burden still oppresseth, while with
shoulders eased they are getting them wings, who have not
been worn out in the enquiry, like thee, nor meditated
thereon, ten years and more." Thus was I gnawed within,
and exceedingly confounded with an horrible shame, while
Pontititanus 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 stripes of condemnation scourged I not my soul, that
it might follow me, in my striving to go after Thee! But it
still withstood; refused, though not excused itself. All its
arguments had been exhausted, and overthrown; a sullen
alarm remained: and she dreaded, as though it were death,
to be restrained from the flow of habit, by which she was
being wasted to death.
CHAPTER VIII.
Augustine retires into the garden, and is greatly agitated.
Alypius accompanies him.
'HEN in this powerful struggle of my inmost dwelling-
place, which I had strongly aroused together with my
soul, in the "chamber" of my heart, disturbed in counte-
nance as in mind, I fell upon Alypius, and cried out: "What
ails us? what is it? what heardest thou? The unlearned
start up and 'take heaven by force' (S. Matt. xi. 12), and
we with our learning, and without heart, lo, where we wal-
low in flesh and blood! Are we ashamed to follow, because
others are gone before, and not ashamed not even to fol-
low?" Something of this kind, what I know not, I said
and my passion tore me from him, while he held his peace,
gazing at me in astonishment. For the sound of my voice
was strange; and face, cheeks, eyes, colour, intonation,
spoke out my mind more than the words I uttered.
;
A
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}
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
landlord, was not living there. Thither had the tumult of
my breast hurried me, where no man might hinder the
burning strife upon which I had engaged with myself, until
it should end as Thou knewest, but not I. Only that I was
distraught for my well-being, and dying for my very life,
conscious what an evil thing I was, unconscious what good
thing I was shortly to become. I rushed out then into the
garden, and Alypius hurried after me. Neither did my
seclusion seem broken by his presence; or how could
he forsake me so disturbed? We sate down as far away as
we could from the house. I was groaning in spirit, indig-
nant with most restless indignation, that I could not journey
towards Thy Will and Covenant, O my God, towards which
"all my bones were crying out" to go, and were praising to
the skies; but thither one journeyeth not in ships, nor in
chariots, nor on foot, even so far as I had gone from the
house to where we were sitting. For not only to journey
thither, but even to arrive there, was nothing else but to will
to go, but to will strongly and entirely; not to turn and toss,
this way and that, a will maimed and divided against itself,
struggling, one part rising and another sinking.
At last in those passionate hesitations I made many such
bodily notions as men sometimes would do, but are unable
either from want of limbs, or because these are bound with
fetters, or weakened by fatigue, or some other way hindered.
Thus, if I tore my hair, beat my forehead, if locking my
fingers I clasped my knee, because I willed, I did it. But
might have willed, and not done it; if the motive power
of my limbs had not rendered obedience. So many things
then I did, when "to will" was not quite the same as "to
be able;" but I did not then do that which both then I
with an incomparably greater longing wished to do, and
soon, when I willed, should also be able to do; because
soon, when I willed, I should thoroughly will. 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.
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149
CHAPTER IX.
Whence it happens that the body obeys the mind, but the mind obeys
not itself.
THENCE is this strange anomaly? and to what end?
Let Thy mercy shine, and let me ask, if perchance
the secret places of human penalties, and the darkest griefs
of the sons of Adam, may perhaps answer me. Whence is
this strange anomaly? and to what end? The mind com-
mands 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 to will, and
though itself commands, it obeys not. Whence this strange
anomaly? 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: there-
fore doth it not command entirely. For it commandeth
only so far as it willeth; and what it commandeth is not
done only so far 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
For were the will entire, it would not even command
it to be, because it would already be. It is therefore no
anomaly partly to will, and partly not to will, but a disease
of the mind, that it doth not wholly rise, for it is uplifted
by truth, but pressed down by habit. And therefore are
there two wills, because one of them is not entire: and the
one hath, what the other lacketh.
not.
CHAPTER X.
He refutes the Manichæan doctrine that the conflict of wills implies
two conflicting natures and principles, one Good, the other Evil.
"L
>>
ET them perish from Thy presence" (Ps. lxviii. 2),
O God, as perish "vain talkers and seducers
(Tit. i. 10) of the soul: who observing that in deliberating
there were two wills, affirm, that there are two minds in us
!
150
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>>
of two kinds, one good, the other evil. Themselves are
truly evil, when they hold these evil things; and themselves
shall become good if they shall perceive the truth, and
assent unto the truth, that Thy Apostle may say to them,
"Ye were sometimes darkness, but now are ye light in the
Lord" (Eph. v. 8). 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;
for through a fearful arrogance they have gone back farther
from Thee, from "Thee, the true light, which lighteth every
man that cometh into the world (S. John i. 9). Take
heed what you say, and blush for shame: "draw near unto
Him and be lightened, and your faces shall not be ashamed”
(Ps. xxxiv. 5). Myself when I was deliberating upon serving
the Lord my God now, as I had long purposed, it was I
who willed, I who willed not; I, I myself. I neither entirely
willed, nor entirely willed not. Therefore was I at strife
with myself, and torn in twain by myself. And this tearing
in twain befel me against my will, and yet showed, 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" (Rom. vii. 17),* in punishment of a sin more
truly voluntary, because I was a son of Adam.
For if there be as many contrary natures, as there be con-
flicting wills; there shall now be not two only, but many.
If a man hesitates between going to their conventicle or to
the theatre, these folks cry,
"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 are bad that which draws
to them, as well 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 hesitate between his two opposing wills whether he should
go to the theatre or to our church? would not they also
hesitate what answer to make? For either they must con-
fess, which they do not like to do, that it is by his good
will that a man is led to our church, as much as they who
* The "original sin" which dwelt in him, as a penal result of
Adam's fall, rendered him more exposed to temptation, and less
strong to resist. Adam's sin, therefore, was more voluntary" than
Augustine's.
(C
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151
are instructed and involved in their mysteries, are by their
good will led to their meeting; or else they must imagine
that two evil natures and two evil souls are in conflict in one
man: and then their wonted saying, that there is one good,
and another bad, will not be true; or they must be con-
verted 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 con-
flicting wills in one man, that the conflict is between two
contrary sculs, of two contrary substances, from two con-
trary 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 (to
add a third step) to rob another's house, if the opportunity
offers, or, fourthly, to commit adultery, if at the same time
the means of doing so presents itself; if all these objects
should present themselves at the same moment, and all be
equally desired, and yet could not all at once be done:
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.
Similarly 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 we deliberate which
we most of all should choose? yet are they all good, and
are in conflict, till one be chosen, whither the one entire
will may be borne, which before was divided between many.
So also when eternity delights us above, 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 there-
fore is torn in twain with grievous anxiety, while for truth's
sake it prefers the former, but for custom's sake cannot set
aside the latter.
>>
152
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CHAPTER XI.
He describes the violence of his inward struggle, as he sought to resolve
to renounce his old habits.
THUS
HUS 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 slightly held; but yet I 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 should fail to burst that slight
and slender chain, which still remained, and so, it should
recover strength, and bind me the faster. For I said with-
in myself, “Be it done now, be it done now"; and as I
spake, I came near to resolution; now I nearly did it, yet
did it not; but fell not back into my old place, but stood
hard by, and drew my breath. Again I tried, and came a
little nearer; and a little nearer, again and yet again, to
touching, and laying hold of it: yet I came not to it, nor
touched, nor held it, hanging still back from dying unto
death, and living unto life; and the worse, which was my
wont, had more power over me, than the better, which was
unfamiliar: 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 turn me away, but held me in suspense.
Toys of toys, and vanities of vanities, my ancient
mistresses, still held me; they plucked my fleshly 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 what
I have called "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 shames !
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 furtively twitching me, as I
was departing, but to look back on them. Yet they did
retard me, so that I delayed to snatch myself away, and
shake myself free from them, and to leap over whither I
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
153
was called; a violent habit saying to me, "Thinkest thou,
thou canst do without them?"
But now it spake very faintly. For on that side whither
I had set my face, and whither I was trembling to go, there
appeared unto me the chaste dignity of Continency, serene,
. and cheerful, though not wantonly so, modestly enticing 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 boys and girls; there a
youthful multitude, and every age, and sober widows, and
aged virgins; and Continence herself in all, not barren, but
a "fruitful mother of children" (Ps. cxiii. 8), of joys, by
Thee, her Husband, O Lord. And she smiled on me with
a persuasive mockery, as if to 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 that He will withdraw Himself that thou shouldest fall ;
cast thyself fearlessly, He will receive, and will heal thee."
And I blushed exceedingly, for still kept I hearing the
mutterings of those toys; and still kept hanging in hesita-
tion. 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" (Ps. cxix. 85, Vulg.).
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.
66
(6
CHAPTER XII.
The voice which came to him in the garden, and decided his conversion.
BUT when deep reflection had
UT when deep reflection had from the secret store (of
memory) drawn and heaped together all my misery in
the sight of my heart; there arose a mighty tempest, bring-
ing a heavy downpour of tears. And that I might pour it
all out, with its loud lamentations, I rose from Alypius.
Solitude seemed to me better suited to the business of
weeping; so I retired so far that even his presence could
"
1
•
154
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
not be a restraint upon me. Thus was it then with me, and
he perceived it; for something I suppose I had spoken,
wherein the tones of my voice appeared choked with weep-
ing, and so had risen up. He then remained where we
were sitting, lost in amazement. I cast myself down I know
not how, under a certain fig-tree, and gave rein to my tears; ·
and the floods of mine eyes broke forth, "an acceptable
sacrifice to Thee" (Ps. li. 19). 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? O remember not against us former iniqui-
ties" (Ps. lxxix. 5, 8), for I felt that I was holden by them.
I kept on uttering wretched exclamations: How long? how
long, "to-morrow, and to-morrow?" Why not now? why
not this hour make an end of my uncleanness ?
Such words I spake the while I wept in most bitter con-
trition of my heart. And lo, from a neighbouring house I
heard a voice, as of a boy or girl, I know not, singing and
oft repeating, "Take, read; take, read." Instantly, with a
changed countenance, I began to think most intently,
whether boys in any kind of game used to sing such a
phrase; 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 Divine command, to open the
book, and read the first chapter I should find. For I had
heard of Antony, that he had happened to come in during
the reading of the Gospel, and had taken the passage read
as a warning, spoken to himself, "Go, sell all that thou
hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in
heaven, and come and follow me" (S. Matt. xix. 21); and
by such oracle he was forthwith converted unto Thee.
With such an inspiration 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 the passage, upon 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 to
fulfil the lusts thereof" (Rom. xiii. 13, 14). No further
would I read; nor was there need; for instantly at the end
of this sentence, as though my heart were flooded with a
light of peace, all the shadows of doubt melted away.

The Confessions of S. Augustine.
155
Then putting my finger between, or some other mark, I
shut the volume, and with a calm 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" (Rom. xiv. I
which he applied to himself, and disclosed to me.
And by
this admonition was he strengthened; and by a good re-
solution and purpose, quite in accordance with his charac-
ter, wherein he did always very far differ from me, for the
better, without any harassing 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 exulteth, and
triumpheth, and blessed Thee, "Who art able to do above
that which we ask or think" (Eph. iii. 20); for she per-
ceived that Thou hadst given her more for me, than she
was wont to ask, in her sorrowful and tearful groanings
For Thou didst so convert me unto Thyself, that I sought
neither wife, nor any hope of this world, standing in that
rule of faith, where Thou hadst in a vision revealed me to
her so many years before. And Thou didst "turn her
mourning into joy" (Ps. xxx. 11), fuller by far than she had
desired, and by far more dear and chaste, than that of see-
ing my body's offspring, which she was wont to require.
:


f) (
"
11
(C
Book FX.
AUGUSTINE DETERMINES TO ABANDON THE PROFESSION OF RHETORIC,
AND RETIRES TO CASSIACUM TO PREPARE FOR HOLY BAPTISM,
WHICH HE RECEIVES AFTER THE VINTAGE VACATION WITH
ALYPIUS AND ADEODATUS. HE DETERMINES WITH HIS
FRIENDS TO RETURN TO AFRICA; AND JOURNEYS AS FAR AS TO
OSTIA WITH THEM AND WITH HIS MOTHER MONICA.
HE DE-
SCRIBES HER EARLY LIFE AND CHARACTER; HER INFLUENCE
OVER HER HUSBAND; HER JOY IN HIS CONVERSION; HER DEATH
AND BURIAL AT OSTIA, IN AUGUSTINE'S THIRTY-THIRD YEAR.
})
CHAPTER I.
He praises God for His goodness in effecting his conversion.
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" (Ps. cxvi. 17, 18). Let my heart and my tongue
praise Thee; yea, let "all my bones say, O Lord, who is
like unto Thee?" (Ps. xxxv. 10). Let them say, and
answer Thou me, and "say unto my soul, I am thy salva-
tion?" (Ps. xxxv. 3). Who am I, and what am I? What
of evil have my deeds been without, or if not my deeds, my
words, or if not my words, my will? But Thou, O Lord,
art good and merciful, and Thy right hand had respect
unto the depth of my death, and from the bottom of my
heart didst draw out that abyss of corruption. And this
was the whole matter; that I should refuse what I did
choose, and choose what Thou didst choose. But where
throughout that year-long time, and from 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
elper and my Redeemer"? (S. Matt. xi. 30; Ps. xix. 14).

The Confessions of S. Augustine.
157
How sweet did it at once become to me, to be without
sweetnesses of those toys! and what I feared to lose, I now
rejoiced to throw away.
For Thou didst cast them forth
from me, Thou true and supreme sweetness. Thou didst cast
them forth, and Thyself instead didst enter in; Who art sweeter
than all pleasure, though not to flesh and blood; brighter
than all light, but more inward than any secret place;
higher than all honour, but not to them that be high in
their own conceits. Now was my soul free from the biting
cares of compassing and getting, of wallowing amid and
ministering to my lustful foulness; and to Thee did I as a
child babble, my Light, my Wealth, and my Salvation.
CHAPTER II.
He resolves to abandon his Rhetoric Professorship after the vintage
vacation, which was at hand.
AND I resolved in Thy sight, not tumultuously to tear,
but gently to withdraw, the service of my tongue
from the talk market; that boys who thought not on Thy
law, nor on Thy peace, but on foolish lies, and legal con-
flicts, should buy no more from my mouth the weapons for
their raving. And by good hap, but very few days remained
before the vintage vacation; I resolved to endure them, so
as formally to resign, and after having been bought by Thee,
put myself up for sale no more. 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 "vale of misery," and singing that "song of degrees'
(ie., Ps. lxxxiv.), Thou hadst given "sharp arrows," and
">
hot burning coals" against the "deceitful tongue," which
under pretence of giving counsel, gainsayeth us, and under
pretence of love devoureth us, as it doth its meat. Thou
hadst wounded our heart with the arrow of Thy Charity, and
we bore Thy Words as though they transpierced our bowels:
and the examples of Thy servants, whom from being black
Thou hadst turned to shining white, and from dead to
living, were heaped up in the treasury of our reflection, and
burnt up and consumed our heavy torpor, that we might not
1
158
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
sink into the deep and so strongly did they kindle us that
every blast of gainsaying from the "deceitful tongue" could
only fan into more fierce brightness, not extinguish, our
flame. 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 bragging not to wait for the vacation now so near, but
to quit sooner a public profession, practised in sight of all,
so that the gaze of society would be rivetted upon my action,
and they, observing that I was anxious to anticipate the day
of the vacation, so near at hand, would make a great talk
about it, as if I had wanted to be considered some great one.
And what would it have profited me that my purpose should
be the subject of consideration and discussion, and that
our good should be evil spoken of" (Rom. xiv. 16).
(C
Moreover, in this very summer, from excessive literary
labour, my lungs began to give way, to draw deep breaths
with difficulty, to give evidence of their diseased state by
pains in the chest, and to prove unequal to the effort of
clear and lengthy speech: this had at first troubled me, for
it almost constrained me, of necessity, to lay down the bur-
den of that professorship, or, if I could be cured and recover,
at least to take a rest. But when there arose and was con-
firmed in me an utter determination to "be still, and see
that Thou art the Lord" (Ps. xlvi. 10), Thou knowest, O
my God, how I even began to rejoice that this secondary,
but not false excuse was ready to my hand, might temper
the annoyance of those who wished for the sake of keeping
me as their son's master, to prevent my becoming my own.
Full then of such joy, I endured till that interval of time
were run out; it may have been some twenty days; but yet
some courage was involved in the endurance, because the
covetousness which hitherto shared with me the burden of
this heavy business, had gone, and I should have remained
to my overwhelming, 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 ser-
vice, I suffered myself to sit even one hour in the chair
of falsehood. 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?
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
159
CHAPTER III.
Verecundus, though not yet a Christian, offers his country house for a
time, though sorry that the conversion of Augustine and Alypius will
deprive him of their companionship: Nebridius is glad to hear of it,
though himself not yet converted.
VE
VERECUNDUS was tormented with anxiety, concerning
this our blessed state, for by reason of the bonds in
which he was most straitly held, he saw that he should be
deprived of our companionship, he being not yet a Christian,
though his wife was one of the faithful: yet it was by her,
as a fetter more stringent than the rest, that he was hindered
from the journey upon which we had set out. For he would
not, he said, be a Christian on any other terms than on those
he could not be admitted on. However, he offered us cour-
teously to remain at his country-house, so long as we should
stay there. Thou, O Lord, shalt reward him in "the resurrec-
tion of the just" (S. Luke xiv. 14), seeing Thou hast already
given him "the lot" of the righteous (Ps. cxxv. 3). For al-
though, in our absence, at the time we were at Rome, he was
seized with bodily sickness, and having been made, during it,
a Christian, and one of the faithful, he departed this life; so
"hadst Thou mercy not on him only, but on us also" (Phil.
ii. 27), lest remembering the exceeding kindness of our
friend towards us, yet unable to number him among Thy
flock, we should be racked with intolerable sorrow. Thanks
unto Thee, our God, we are Thine Thy exhortations and
consolations declare Thee, Thou Faithful Keeper of Pro-
mises. Requite unto Verecundus, for his country-house at
Cassiacum, where we found rest in Thee from the turmoil
of the world, the delight of Thy Paradise, which blossometh
ever (since Thou hast forgiven his sins upon earth) in "the
mount filled with curds, Thy mount, the mount of abund-
ance" (Ps. lxviii. 15, an old rendering).
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 coming forth from that error,
he was then in the same state of belief as we; not as yet
endued with any Sacraments of Thy Church, but a most
ardent seeker after truth. And not long after our con-
160
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
version and regeneration by Thy Baptism, being then him-
self a faithful Catholic, and serving Thee in perfect chastity
and continence amongst his people in Africa, after his whole
household like himself had become Christian, him didst
Thou release from the flesh; and now he liveth in "Abra-
ham's bosom" (S. Luke xvi. 22). Whatever that be, which
is signified by that bosom, there liveth 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 used much to
question me, a poor ignorant creature. Now lays he not
his ear to my mouth, but his spiritual mouth unto Thy
fountain, and drinketh in wisdom, as much as he can
receive, according to his thirst, infinitely blessed. Nor do
I think that he is so inebriated therewith, as to be forgetful
of me; seeing Thou, Lord, of whom he drinketh, dost re-
member 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 receive the Faith in
the state of life he was in, namely the married state; and
awaiting Nebridius to follow us, which, being so near, he
could do, and indeed was on the point of doing, when lo!
at last, those days rolled by; for long and many did they
seem, by reason of my love of restful freedom, until I could
sing from my very marrow, "My heart hath said unto Thee,
I have sought Thy face: Thy face, Lord, will I seek”
(Ps. xxvii. 8).
CHAPTER IV.
At Cassiacum, after resigning his professorship, he find's great comfort
in the Psalms. He dwells much upon Psalm iv. He experiences
great pain, from which God's mercy set him free.
AND the day came, wherein I was indeed to be freed of
my Rhetoric Professorship, from which in thought I
had been already freed. And it was done. Thou didst
rescue my tongue, whence Thou hadst before rescued my
heart, and I blessed Thee, rejoicing; and went with all my
friends 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
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•
1
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
time suffice to record 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
didst completely tame me; and how Thou didst make me
plain, "bringing low the mountains and hills of my thoughts,
and making my crooked places straight, my rough places.
smooth" (Is. xl. 4); and how Thou also didst subdue Aly-
pius, the brother of my heart, 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 redolent of the "cedars" of
the Schools, which now "the Lord hath broken" (Ps. xxix.
5) than the healthful herbs of the Church, which are the
serpents' bane.
With what accents did I address Thee, O my God, when
I read the Psalms of David, those faithful songs, and sounds
of devotion, which admit no proud spirit, while yet a Cate-
chumen, and a novice in Thy real love, resting in that villa,
with Alypius a Catechumen, my mother clinging to us, she
that wore a woman's habit with the faith of a man, the calm-
ness of age, the love of a mother, the devotion of a Christian.
What accents did I utter unto Thee in those Psalms, and
how was I by them kindled towards Thee, and on fire to
recite them, if possible, throughout the whole circle of the
earth, to subdue the pride of the human race. And yet they
are sung through the whole world, and "there is none hid
from Thy heat" (Ps. xix. 6). With what vehement and
bitter sorrow was I indignant against the Manichæans! and
yet I felt pity for them, for they knew not those Sacraments,
those medicines, and were mad against the antidote, by
which they might have been made sane. Would that they
had then been somewhere near me, and without my know-
ing 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;
Thou didst enlarge me when I was in distress. Have mercy
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4
upon me, O Lord, and hear my prayer."* Would they could
hear, without my knowing that they heard, so that they
might not think that I was speaking for their sakes, what I
uttered on these words; because indeed neither should I say
the same words, nor in the same way, if I were conscious of
being heard and seen by them, nor if I spake them would
they so receive them, as when I spake by and for myself
defore Thee, out of the natural affection of my spirit.
I trembled for fear, and again was on fire with hope, and
with rejoicing in Thy mercy, O Father; and all these
emotions poured forth through mine eyes, and my voice,
when Thy Good Spirit turned towards us, and saith, "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" (V. 4), 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" (S. John vii. 39), and the prophecy
cried, "How long, slow of heart? why do ye love vanity,
and seek after leasing? Know this, that the Lord hath
magnified His Holy One."
It cries out,
How long?" It
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 with gravity and vigour, in the bitterness
of my remembrance. Would that they had heard them,
who yer "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 of the flesh He died for us, "Who also
maketh intercession for us" unto Thee (Rom. viii. 34).
(C
I read on, “Be angry, and sin not" (conf. Ps. iv. 4, and
(C
* Psalm iv. I. The other verses in this Psalm are treated in this
chapter; and this reference will suffice. "V" will indicate the Vulgate
reading.
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}
<<
Eph. iv. 26). And how was I moved, O my God, who had
now learned to be angry with myself for things past, that
for the future I might not sin; and to be justly angry,
because it was not another nature of the race of darkness
which sinned for me, as they say who are not angry at
themselves, "but treasure up unto themselves wrath against
the day of wrath, and revelation of Thy righteous judgment'
(Rom. ii. 5). Nor were my "good things" now without,
nor sought with the eyes of flesh in yonder sun; for they
that would have, joy from without soon become empty, and
are poured out on the things which are seen, and temporal,
and in their famished thoughts do lick their very shadows.
Oh that they were wearied out with their want, and said,
"Who will shew us any good?" And we would say, and
they hear, "The light of Thy countenance is sealed upon
us" (V.). For we are not "that light which lighteneth every
man" (S. John i. 9), but we are enlightened by Thee; that
'we, who were sometimes darkness, may be light in Thee"
(Eph. v. 8). Oh that they could see the Inward Light
eternal, which I, having tasted, did gnash my teeth that I
could not shew them, so long as they brought me their
heart in their eyes roving abroad from Thee, while they
said,
"Who will shew us any good?" For there, where I
was angry within myself in my chamber, where I felt com-
punction, when I had "sacrificed," slaying the old man in
me, and beginning to meditate upon my renewal, and
"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, and recognised
its truth within: nor did I wish to be increased in earthly
good, wasting time and wasted by it, when I might possess
in Thy Eternal Simplicity other "corn, and wine, and oil."
And with a cry from the depth of my heart, I cried aloud
in the following verse, O "in peace," O "in The Self-Same!"
(V.). O what said he, "I will lay me down and take my
rest," for who shall hinder us, when "shall be brought to
pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in
victory"? (1 Cor. xv. 54). And Thou, who indeed "changest
not" art that "Self-Same," and in Thee is rest which for-
getteth all toil, for there is none other with Thee, nor are
we to seek those many other things, which are not what
Thou art: "for Thou Lord only hast made me dwell in
F 2
>>
1
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hope." I read, and glowed; nor found I what to do to
those deaf and dead, of whom myself had been, a pestilent
person, a bitter and a blind barker against those writings,
which are honied with the honey of heaven, and luminous
with Thine own light: and I "consumed away" over the
enemies of this Scripture.
When shall I recall all which passed in those days of
leisure? Yet neither have I forgotten, nor will I pass over
the severity of Thy scourge, and the wonderful swiftness of
Thy mercy.
Thou didst at that time excruciate me with
pain in my teeth; and when it had grown so bad, that I
could not speak, it rose up into my heart to bid all my
friends who were there, to pray for me to Thee, the God of
all manner of health. And I wrote it on the waxen tablet,
and gave it them to read. So soon as with suppliant de-
votion we had bent our knees, that pain fled. But what
pain? or how fled it? I was afraid, I confess it, O my
Lord, my God; for I had never, from my earliest age,
suffered the like. Thus in this deep was Thy will dis-
covered 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 had not yet been remitted to me by means of
Thy Baptism.
CHAPTER V.
S. Ambrose advises him to study the prophecies of Isaiah which, as yet,
were too hard for him.
WH
HEN the Vintage vacation was over, I intimated to
the Milanese that they should appoint some other
seller of words for their scholars, both because I had chosen
to become Thy servant, and because I was no longer equal
to that profession, by reason of the difficulty of breathing,
and the pain in my chest. And by letters I signified to
Thý Prelate, the holy man Ambrose, my former errors and
present solemn purpose, that he might advise me what
portion of Thy Books I ought especially to read, to become
readier and fitter for receiving so great grace. He recom
mended Isaiah the Prophet: I believe, because he is clear,
beyond others, in foretelling the Gospel and the calling of
the Gentiles. But I, not understanding the first lesson of
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165
this book, and imagining the whole to be like it, laid it by,
to be resumed when more exercised in the Lord's inspired
word.
CHAPTER VI.
His Baptism with Alypius and Adeodatus. The character of Adeodatus.
THE
'HENCE, 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,
even to the point of treading barefoot, with unwonted
daring, the icy soil of Italy. We joined with us the boy
Adeodatus, the son, 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 abund-
antly 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. Î
confess unto Thee Thy gifts. There is a book of ours entitled
The Master; therein he converses with me. Thou knowest,
that all which is there put into the mouth of my interlocutor
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 artificer of
such wonders? Soon didst Thou remove his life from the
earth and I now remember him with the greater confidence,
fearing nothing for his childhood or youth, nor for him at
all. Him we joined with us, to reckon his birth in Thy
grace from the same time with us, to be brought up in Thy
discipline; and we were baptised, and anxiety about our
past life fled away. 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, sharply affected by the
voices of Thy Church that sweetly resoundeth ! Those
tones flowed into mine ears, and the Truth distilled into
my heart, whence the affections of my devotion overflowed,
and tears ran down, and it was well with me with them.
:
}
f
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;
CHAPTER VII.
The rise of Chanting at Milan. The Arian persecution under Justina
stayed upon the discovery of the bodies of S. Gervasius and Protasius.
7
NOT
OT long had the Church of Milan begun to practise
this kind of consolation and exortation, the brethren
giving great care to the tuneful harmony of voices and
hearts. For it was a year, or not much more, since Justina,
mother of the Emperor Valentinian, a child, persecuted Thy
servant Ambrose, on account of her heresy, to which she
had been 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 in prayers. We,
though as yet unmelted by the heat of Thy Spirit, were
nevertheless excited by the alarm and tumult of the city.
Then it was first instituted that according to the custom of
the eastern regions, Hymns and Psalms should be sung, lest
the people should faint through the fatigue of sorrow; and
from that day to this the custom has been retained; and
to-day many, indeed almost all Thy congregations through-
out other parts of the world follow us herein.
Then didst Thou by a vision discover to Thy renowned
Bishop, where the bodies of Gervasius and Protasius the
martyrs lay hid, which Thou hadst in Thy secret treasury kept
hidden, and incorrupt throughout so many years, whence
Thou mightest in due season bring them forth, to stay this
feminine but royal fury. For when they were discovered
and dug up, and with fitting honour translated to the Am-
brosian Basilica, not only were those whom unclean spirits
vexed cured, and the devils made to confess themselves, but
a certain man, who had for many years been blind, a citizen,
and well known throughout the city, as soon as he had
enquired and heard the reason of the tumultuous rejoicing
of the people, leaped up, and begged his guide to lead him
thither. When led there he entreated to be admitted to
touch with a handkerchief the bier of the "death of Thy
Saints, precious in Thy sight" (Ps. cxvi. 5). And when he
had done this, and put it to his eyes, they forthwith were
opened. Thence did fame spread abroad; thence did Thy
praises more brightly shine; thence the mind of that enemy,
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167
though not enlarged to the soundness of faith, was yet re-
strained from the fury of persecution. Thanks to Thee, O
my God. Whence and whither hast Thou thus led my re-
membrance, that I should confess these things also unto
Thee, which, great though they be, I had passed by in forget-
fulness? And yet then, when "the savour of Thy ointments"
was so fragrant, did we not run after Thee" (Čant. i. 3, 4).
Therefore did I weep the more at the singing of Thy hymns,
who once panted after Thee, and at length breathed in Thee,
as far as breath of life can gain access to this our house of
grass.
CHAPTER VIII.
He relates the incidents of his mother's early life and education.
TH
>>
HOU "that makest men of one mind to dwell in one
house (Ps. lxviii. 6), didst unite with us Euodius
also, a young man of our own city. He while discharging
the office of agent of public affairs, was converted to Thee
and baptised before us, and abandoned his worldly warfare
to gird himself for Thine. We were together about to dwell
together in our holy resolution. We enquired what place.
would more usefully engage us as Thy servants; and were
together on our way back to Africa. And when we had
come to Ostia on the Tiber, my mother died. 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 tem-
poral light, and in heart, that I might be born to Light
eternal. Not her gifts, but Thine in her, will I speak of;
for neither did she make nor educate herself. Thou didst
create her nor did her father and mother know what a one
should come from them. And the rod of Thy Christ, the
discipline of Thine only Son, in a faithful household, a good
branch of Thy Church, taught her in Thy fear. Neverthe-
less she was wont to lay her training not so much to the
account of her mother's diligence, as to that of a certain
decrepit maid-servant, who had carried her father when a
child, as little ones are often carried on the backs of older
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girls. For which reason, and for her great age, and excel-
lent conversation, she was in that Christian household held
in great respect by the heads of the family. On this account
the charge of her master's daughters was committed to her,
and she heedfully exercised it, and was earnest, in restrain-
ing them when necessary with a holy severity, in teaching
them with sober judgment. For, except at those hours.
wherein they were most temperately fed at their parents'
table, she would not suffer them, though parched with thirst,
to drink even water; guarding against the formation of a
bad habit, and adding this wholesome advice; "You 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 pantries, water will seem insipid; but the habit
of drinking will remain." By such reasonable instruction,
and her authority to command, she curbed the greed of
childhood, and regulated the very thirst of the girls to a
becoming moderation, so that they no longer wished for
what they should not.
And yet there had stolen upon her (so Thy handmaid
told me, her son), there had stolen upon her a craving for
wine. For when she, in the usual way, as though a sober
maiden, was bidden by her parents to draw wine out of
the cask, holding the cup under it, she would sip
with the tips of her lips, where it lies open above,
before pouring the wine into the flask, just a little drop, for
she could not do more, from the reluctance of her feelings.
Nor did she do this from any desire of drinking too much,
but out of the overflowing extravagances of youth, which
bubbled up in playful impulses, and which in youthful
spirits are generally repressed by the gravity of their elders.
And thus by adding daily littles to that little (for "he that
contemneth small things shall fall by little and little "
Ecclus. xix. 1), 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
restraint? Would aught avail against a secret disease,
unless Thy healing care, O Lord, kept watch over us?
Father, mother, and teachers 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

i
CHAPTER IX.
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169
tr
hard and a sharp taunt, like a surgeon's knife out of Thy
secret store, and with one piercing cut clear away that
corruption? For a maid-servant with whom she used to
go to the cellar, quarrelling by hap with her little mistress
when alone with her, threw up this fault at her, calling her
with most insulting bitterness a wine-bibber." Stung with
this taunt she saw the foulness of her fault, and instantly
condemned and forsook it. As flattering friends corrupt,
so wrangling enemies oftentimes correct. But Thou dost
reward them, not according to what Thou doest by their
means, but according to their own intentions. For she in
her anger sought to vex her young mistress, not to amend
her; and did it in private, either because the time and
place of the quarrel so found them; or else lest she herself
might run some risk, because she had not revealed it earlier.
But Thou, Lord, Governor of all in heaven and earth, who
turnest to Thy purposes the depths of torrents, ruling the
turbulent tide of the ages, didst heal one soul by the dis-
order of the other; let not any then when he observes this
ascribe it to his own influence, even if another, whom he
wishes to be reformed, is reformed by some word of his.
ex
The married life of Monica; her discretion and wifely duty.
ROUGHT 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 concerned herself to gain him unto Thee, preaching
Thee unto him by her conduct, in which Thou didst make
her fair, and reverently amiable, and admirable unto her
husband. And she so endured his infidelities towards her,
that she never had any quarrel with her husband for that
cause. For she looked for Thy mercy upon him, that
believing in Thee, he might be made chaste. In addition
to this, as he was easy in his generosity, so was he passionate
in temper: but she had learnt, not to resist an angry
husband, not in deed only, but not even in word. Only
when he was calmed and quieted, and she saw her oppor-

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J
tunity, she would give an explanation of her actions, if
haply he had been unadvisedly aroused. In a word, while
many matrons, whose husbands were more good tempered,
bearing on their ill-used faces traces of blows, would in con-
versation with their friends, find fault with 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
thenceforward, remembering their position, they ought not
to be arrogant towards their masters." And when they,
knowing what a fierce tempered 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 quarrel between them, even for one
day, and confidentially asking the reason, she taught them
her rule, which I have given above. Those wives who
followed it, when they had tried it, were delighted: and
those who did not follow it, when they were put in their
places, were annoyed.
Her mother-in-law also, at first by whisperings of evil.
servants incensed against her, she so overcame by rendering
her services, and by perseverance in meek endurance, that
she of her own accord told her son of the meddling tongues
of the servants, through which the domestic peace betwixt
her and her daughter-in-law had been disturbed, asking him
to punish them. Then, when in compliance with his
mother, and for the well-ordering of the family, and the
harmony of its members, he had with stripes corrected those
told of, according to the will of her that told of them, she'
warned them to expect the like recompense, if any desiring
to please her, should speak ill of her daughter-in-law to her;
and, none now venturing, they lived together with a remark-
able sweetness of mutual kindness.
This great gift also didst Thou bestow, O my God, my
mercy, upon that good slave of Thine, in whose womb Thou
didst create me, that between any disagreeing and dis-
cordant parties where she was able, she shewed 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
}
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
171
never would repeat anything from one to the other, unless
it were something that might have the effect of reconciling
them. A small good this might appear to me, did I not to
my grief know numberless persons, who through some hor-
rible and wide-spreading contagion of sin, not only betray
to angry foes, the words of angry foes, but even add things
never said; whereas contrariwise to a humane man, it ought
to seem a small matter not to arouse or increase enmity by
evil speaking, even if one has not striven by kindly speech
to allay it; as was her wont, who was taught by Thee her
inmost Master, in the school of her heart.
Finally, her own husband, towards the very end of his
earthly life, did she gain unto Thee; nor had she to com-
plain of that in him as a believer, which before he was a
believer she had endured from him. She was also the ser-
vant of Thy servants; whosoever of them knew her, did in
her much praise and honour and love Thee; because he
would perceive Thy Presence in her heart by the testimony
of the fruits of her holy conversation. 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" (1 Tim. v. 4, &c.), so often "travailing
in birth of them" (Gal. iv. 19), as she saw them go astray from
Thee. Lastly, O Lord, since by Thine own gift Thou sufferest
Thy servants to speak, she had such care of all of us, who,
before she fell asleep in Thee, used to live in companion-
ship together, after receiving the grace of Thy baptism, as
though she had been the mother of us all; so she served
us, as though she had been our daughter.
CHAPTER X.
A conversation upon the Happiness of the Saints with Monica at Ostia.
AS now the day drew near, on which she was about to
depart out of this life, which day Thou didst know,
though we knew it not, it fell out, as I believe, through Thy
Providence, working in Thy hidden ways, that she and I
alone together, were standing leaning upon a certain window,
from which there was a view of the garden within the house
which sheltered us, there at Ostia on the Tiber, where apart
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The Confessions of S. Augustine.
from the throng, after the fatigue of our long journey we
were recruiting ourselves for our voyage. Together we two
held converse very sweet, and "forgetting those things
which were behind, and reaching forth unto those things
which were before" (Phil. iii. 13), we were discussing
between us in the presence of the truth, which Thou art,
of what kind would be that eternal life of the Saints, which
"eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered
into the heart of man" (1 Cor. ii. 9). But with the mouth
of our heart we were panting for the heavenly streams of
Thy fount, "the fountain of life, which is with Thee" (Ps.
xxxvi. 9), that besprinkled thence according to our capacity
we might in some measure meditate upon so great a matter.
And when our converse drew to such an end, that the
utmost delight of the bodily senses, in the clearest material
light, by the side of the enjoyment of that life seemed un-
worthy not only of comparison with it, but even to be
named with it; raising ourselves with a more glowing
emotion towards the "Self-Same" (Ps. iv. 8, Vulg.), we
wandered step by step through all material things, and even
the very heaven whence sun and moon and stars shed their
light upon the earth. And further still we climbed, in inner
thought, and speech, and in wonder of Thy works, and we
reached to our own minds, and passed beyond them, so as
to touch the realm of plenty never failing, where Thou
feedest Israel for ever in the pasture of the truth, and where
life is that Wisdom, by which all things are made, both
those which have been, and those which shall be; and
Itself is not made, but is now as it was and ever shall be;
or rather in it is neither "hath been nor “shall be,” but
only "is," since It is eternal. For "hath been" and "shall
be" spell not eternity. And while we thus speak and pant
after it, with the whole stress of our hearts we just for an
instant touched it, and we sighed, and left there bound the
"first fruits of the spirit" (Rom. viii. 23), and then returned
to the broken murmurs of our own mouth, where the word
hath its beginning and its end. And what is like unto Thy
Word, our Lord, who abideth in Himself, nor groweth old,
and maketh all things new? We were saying then; "if to
any one should grow hushed the tumult of the flesh, hushed
the images of earth, and of the waters, and the air, hushed
too the poles, and if the very soul should be hushed to
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
173
盘
​itself, and were by cessation of thought of self to pass beyond
itself; if all dreams, and imaginary revelations, every tongue
and every token, were hushed, and whatsoever falls out
through change; if to any, such should be wholly hushed to
silence, since could any hear them, they all say "We made
not ourselves, but He made us, who abideth for ever," and
this said, if now they should cease to speak, because they
had inclined our ears to Him, who made them, and He
Himself by Himself should speak, not through them, but of
Himself, that so we should hear His Word, not uttered by
a tongue of flesh, nor by voice of angel, nor by thunder of
a cloud, nor by a parable of comparison, but Himself, whom
in these we love, if, I say, we should hear Him, without
these, as now we strained ourselves, and in the flight of
thought touched upon the eternal Wisdom that abideth
over all things; if this were continued, and other visions of
a nature by far inferior were taken away, and this one alone
should ravish, and absorb, and enwrap the beholder of it
amid inward joys, so that life everlasting might be of such
a kind, as was that one moment of comprehension for which
we sighed; were not this an "Enter Thou into the joy of
thy Lord" (S. Matt. xxv. 21)? And when shall that be?
Shall it be when "we all shall rise again, but shall not all
be changed" (1 Cor. xv. 51, Vulg.). Such things I said,
and if not in this manner and in these words, yet O Lord
Thou knowest, that on that day, when we were speaking of
such things, and this world with all its delights, amid such
converse, was beginning to grow but cheap to us, then said
she, "My son, as for myself, I delight no longer in anything
in this life. What yet here I may do, and why I linger
here, I know not, now that the hope of this life has died
within me. There was but one thing for which I longed
to tarry here a while, that I might see thee a Catholic
Christian before my death. And this my God hath given
me even more abundantly, so that I even see thee His
servant, and able to despise mere earthly happiness.
do I here?"
What
}
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CHAPTER XI.
His Mother's Death.
WH
HAT answer I made her unto these things, I remem-
ber 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 consciousness; and looking on me.
and my brother standing by her, said to us inquiringly,
"Where was I?" And then looking fixedly on us, who
were stunned with grief, said, "Will ye here bury your
mother?" I held my peace and refrained my weeping;
but my brother spake something to the effect that he wished,
as the happier lot for her, that not thus on her journey but
in her own country she might die. When she heard this,
with an anxious look she chid him with her eyes, for that
he still "savoured such things," and then looking upon me;
"saith she, "what he saith ;" and soon after to us
both, "Lay," she saith, "this body anywhere; let not the
care for that any way disquiet you: this only I ask of you,
to remember me at the Lord's altar, wherever you be."
And having delivered this thought in what words she could,
she held her peace, and laboured for breath, as the disorder
increased.
CC
But I, considering Thy gifts, Thou unseen God, which
Thou dost implant in the hearts of Thy faithful people, and
thence come forth wondrous fruits, did rejoice and give
thanks to Thee, recalling what I before knew, how careful
and anxious she had ever been, as to her grave, which she
had provided and prepared for herself beside the body of
her husband. For because they had lived in great harmony
together, she also wished (so little can the human mind
grasp things divine) to have this addition to that happiness,
and to have it remembered among men, that it had been
permitted her, after her pilgrimage beyond the sea, that the
mingled earthly dust of this wedded pair should be buried
in 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

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175
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 the courage which Thou hadst given to her,
though 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; neither need I fear that at the
end of the world He will not know whence to raise me up
again." On the ninth day then of her sickness, in the
fifty-sixth year of her age, and the three and thirtieth of
mine, was that devout holy soul delivered from the body.
((
CHAPTER XII.
His deep sorrow, and how he restrained it. His mother's burial, and the
offering for her of the Holy Sacrifice.
I
CLOSED her eyes; and there flowed withal a mighty
sorrow into my heart, and overflowed to tears, and at
the same time, by the violent constraint of my will, mine
eyes sucked in the stream again, even to drought, and in
such a struggle it went very ill with me. But as soon as
she breathed her latest breath, the boy Adeodatus burst out
into a loud lament; then, checked by us all, held his peace.
In like manner, also, something of the child in me, which
was inclining to tears, was checked and silenced by the
manly voice of my heart. For we thought it not meet to
celebrate that funeral with tearful lamentations and groans,
since with such often is bewailed some unhappiness of them
that die, or their supposed utter destruction. But she died
not unhappily, nor did she die utterly. This we knew, both
by the witness of her character, by her "faith unfeigned,"
and by reasons which were certain.
What then was it which did grievously pain me within,
but the fresh wound received from the sudden breaking of
that most sweet and dear habit of living together? I re-
joiced indeed in her testimony, when in the course of her
last illness, caressing me as I rendered her some little
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I
services, she called me "dutiful," and dwelt with much.
loving affection upon never having heard any harsh or un-
kind word uttered against her by my mouth. 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 the Psalm, "My song shall
be of mercy and judgment, unto Thee O Lord will I sing"
(ci. 1); to which the whole household made response. And
when they heard what was going forward, many brethren and
religious women came together; and while they whose duty
it was, made the customary preparations for burial, I apart
from them, where I becomingly could do so, 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, though they knew
it not, and listened intently, imagining that I was without
any sense of grief. But in Thy ears, where none of them
heard, I blamed the weakness of my feelings, and restrained
the flood of my grief, which yielded a little to me, and then
again was borne upon me with a rush, though not so as to
provoke an outbreak of tears, nor even a change of counten-
ance; but I knew what I was repressing in my heart. And
since it much displeased me that these accidents of our
humanity, which must befall in the due order and appointed
lot of our condition, should so affect me, with another grief
I grieved over my grief, and was fretted with a double
sorrow.
And behold, the corpse was carried to the burial; we
went and returned without tears. For not even in those
prayers which we poured forth unto Thee, when the Sacri-
fice of our redemption was offered on her behalf, when now
the corpse was by the grave's side, as the custom there is,
previous to its being laid therein-not even in those prayers
did I weep; 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
*
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
177
no deceiving Word. It seemed also good to me to go and
bathe, having heard that "bath" (balneum) hence derived
its name, namely from the Greek Baλavetov, because it drives
anxiety from the mind. And this also I confess unto Thy
mercy, "Father of the fatherless" (Ps. lxviii. 5), that I
bathed and was the same as before I bathed. For the
bitterness of my grief did not pass in sweat from my heart.
Then I slept, and rose up again, and found my sorrow
diminished not a little; and as I lay lonely on my bed, I
recalled the truthful verses of Thine Ambrose. For Thou
art
The God who hast created all,
And hold'st the outspread sky in thrall,
Who deck'st the day with beauteous light,
With gracious slumber robest the night;
That so, to wearied limbs, sweet rest
For daily tasks may bring new zest,
And comfort minds worn out with grief,
While sorrow's burdens find relief.
And then by little and little I recovered my former
thoughts of Thy handmaid, and her conversation towards
Thee devout, towards us kind and compliant, and holy,
whereof I was suddenly deprived: and I was minded to
weep in Thy sight, concerning her and for her; concerning
myself, and for myself. And I gave my tears which I had
restrained till now leave to flow as they would, and prepared
in them a resting place for my heart; 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. Let who will read it, and
interpret it as he will; even if he shall find it a sin that I
wept for my mother for a little part 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.
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$
CHAPTER XIII.
He trays for his mother; and requests for her the prayers of such as
shall read his "Confessions."
A¹
T last, that wound of my heart was healed, which might
have seemed blameworthy for the earthliness of its
affection, and I pour out unto Thee, our God, in behalf of
that Thy handmaid, a far different kind of tears, flowing
from a spirit stricken by the remembrance of the dangers of
every soul that "in Adam dieth” (1 Cor. xv. 22). And
although she "in Christ had been made alive," even before
her release from the flesh, and had so lived that Thy Name
was praised in her faith and conduct, yet dare I not say that
from the time when Thou didst regenerate her by baptism,
no word had issued from her mouth contrary to Thy Com-
mandment. Thy Son, the Truth, hath said, "Whosoever
shall say unto his brother, Thou fool, shall be in danger of
hell fire" (S. Matt. v. 22). But woe even to the men whose
lives deserve praise, if without mercy Thou shouldest search
them through. But since Thou "art not extreme to mark
what is done amiss" (Ps. cxxx. 3), we confidently hope to
find with Thee some place of indulgence. But whosoever
reckons up his real merits to Thee, what reckons he up to
Thee, but Thine own gifts? O that men would know them-
selves to be but men; and that "he that glorieth, would
glory in the Lord” (2 Cor. x. 17).
I therefore, O my Praise and my Life, God of my heart,
laying aside for a while her good deeds, for which rejoicing.
I render thanks to Thee, do now entreat Thee for the sins
of my mother. Hearken unto me, through the Medicine of
our wounds, Who hung upon the tree, and now "sitting at
Thy right hand maketh intercession to Thee for us " (Rom.
viii. 34). I know that she dealt mercifully, and "from her
heart forgave her debtors their debts; do Thou also forgive
her debts (S. Matt. xviii. 35), whatever she may have con-
tracted in so many years, since the water of salvation. For-
give her, Lord, forgive, I beseech Thee; "enter not into
judgment with her" (Ps. cxliii. 2). "Let mercy rejoice
against judgment" (S. James ii. 13), since Thy words are
true, and Thou hast promised "mercy unto the merciful'
n
t
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
179
(S. Matt. v. 7). Since they became so by Thy gift to them,
"Who wilt have mercy on whom Thou wilt have mercy, and
wilt have compassion on whom Thou wilt have compassion"
(Rom. ix. 15).
And, I believe, Thou hast already done what I ask Thee;
but "accept, O Lord, the free-will offerings of my mouth"
(Ps. cxix. 108). 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 did she desire a choice
monument, or feel anxious for a grave in her own land.
These things she enjoined us not; but desired only that a
memorial of her might be made at Thine Altar, which she
had served without missing one day, whence she knew was
dispensed the Sacred Host, by Which the "hand-writing that
was against us, is blotted out" (Col ii. 14), through Which
the enemy was triumphed over, who reckoning up our
offences, and seeking what to lay to our charge, "found
nothing in Him" (S. John xiv. 30), in Whom we conquer.
Who shall restore to Him the innocent blood?
Who repay
Him the price wherewith He bought us, that so he may
take us out of His hand? Unto this Sacrament of our
redemption, Thy handmaid bound her soul by the bond of
faith. Let none tear her from Thy protection : let neither
"the lion nor the dragon" interpose himself by force or
fraud. For she will not answer that her debt is naught, lest
she be convicted and held by the crafty accuser: but she
will answer, that "her debts 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 no other; whom she served, "bringing
forth fruit with patience" (S. Luke viii. 15) unto Thee, that
she might gain him also for 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 have in re-
membrance at Thine Altar, Monica Thy handmaid, with
Patricius, her sometime husband, through whose flesh Thou
didst bring me into this life, how, I know not. May they
with devout affection remember them, in this transitory light
my parents, under Thee, our Father, in the Catholic mother,
my brethren, and in that heavenly Jerusalem (for which Thy
"
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I
people sigh in their pilgrimage from their going out even
unto their return thither), my fellow-citizens; that so her
last request to me may be more richly granted in the prayers
of many obtained by means of my Confessions, than it
could be through my own prayers.
:
8

1

Book X.
HE DESCRIBES WHAT HE HAD BECOME SINCE HIS CONVERSION:
PROFESSING HIS LOVE TO GOD; AND SEEKS AMONG THE FACUL-
TIES OF THE SOUL THE MEANS BY WHICH WE KNOW GOD.
ESPECIALLY HE DISCUSSES THE NATURE OF THE MEMORY,
HIMSELF
HE EXAMINES
WITH
WHEREIN GOD DWELLeth.
REGARD TO THE TRIPLE LUST OF THE FLESH, OF THE EYES,
AND OF PRIDE OF LIFE, AND CONFESSES THAT HIS WHOLE TRUST
IS IN CHRIST JESUS, THE MEDIATOR BETWEEN GOD AND MAN.
CHAPTER I.
He desireth to know God.
L
ET me know Thee, O my Creator, "let me know Thee,
Power
even as also I am known" (1 Cor. xiii. 12).
of my soul, enter into it, and fit it for Thyself, that Thou
mayest have and hold it "without spot or wrinkle" (Eph. v.
27). This is my hope, "therefore do I speak" (Ps. cxvi.
10); and in this hope do I rejoice, when I rejoice health-
fully. The other things of this life are the less to be be-
wailed, the more they are bewailed; and the more they are
tɔ be bewailed, the less men bewail them. For behold,
Thou desirest truth" (Ps. li. 6), and "he that doeth it,
cometh to the light" (S. John iii. 20). This would I do in
my heart before Thee in confession: and in my writing,
before many witnesses.
CHAPTER II.
Though God knoweth the depths of our nature, it is good to make confes-
sion unto him.
A¹
ND from Thee, O Lord, “in whose eyes is naked”
(Heb. iv. 13) the abyss of man's conscience, what
could be hidden in me though I were unwilling to confess
1
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!
it? For I should hide Thee from myself, not myself from
Thee. But now, since my groaning beareth witness that I
am displeasing to 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 utterances 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 devout, to
confess unto Thee is nothing else than not to ascribe
it to myself: because Thou, O Lord, "dost bless the
righteous" (Ps. v. 13), but first Thou "justifiest him when
ungodly" (Rom. v. 10). 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 anything 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.
CHAPTER III.
With what intent he maketh confession before men of his present
condition.
WHAT
HAT then have I to do with men, that they should
hear my confessions, as if they could "heal all my
infirmities"? (Ps. ciii. 3). The race is curious to know the
lives of others, backward to correct 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 "? (1 Cor. ii. 11). 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" (1 Cor. xiii. 7), especially among those, whom
ނ
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
183.
THERE ARE
knitting to itself, it maketh one, I also, O Lord, will even
so make confession to Thee, that men may hear, to whom
I am unable to prove whether I confess the truth, yet they
whose ears charity openeth to me, believe me.
But do Thou, my inmost Physician, make plain unto me,
what fruit I may pluck from this action. For the con-
fessions of my past sins, which Thou hast "forgiven and
covered" (Ps. xxxii. 1), 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 may not slumber
in despair, and say, "I can't," but awake in the love of
Thy mercy and the sweetness of Thy grace, whereby, every
one that is weak is made strong, when by means of it he
becomes conscious within himself of his own weakness, and
it delighteth the good to hear the past sins of them, that
now have abandoned them; but it delights them not
because they are evil, but because they were, and are so
no longer. With what fruit then, O Lord my God, to
whom day by day my conscience confesseth, trusting rather
in the hope of Thy mercy than in its own innocence, with
what fruit, I ask, 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 described. But what
I now am, at the very time of making these confessions,
many 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
they can penetrate neither with eye, nor ear, nor mind;
they are even willing to believe; but will they know?
For charity, whence they gain their goodness, telleth
them that in my confessions I lie not; and she in them,
believeth me.
CHAPTER IV.
He declares what results he hopeth for from his Confessions.
Are they
BUT for what fruit do they desire this?
desirous to rejoice with me when they have heard
how near to Thee I draw by Thy bounty, and to pray for
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>
me when they have heard how much I am hindered by my
own weight? To such will I discover myself. For it is no
small fruit, O Lord my God, "that by many thanks should
be given to Thee on our behalf" (2 Cor. i. 11), and that
Thou shouldest be entreated by many for us. Let the
fraternal spirit love in me, what Thou teachest is to be
loved, and lament in me, what Thou teachest is to be
lamented. This let a fraternal spirit do, not a stranger's,
not that of the "strange children, whose mouth talketh of
vanity, and their right hand is a right hand of iniquity”
(Ps. cxliv. 11), but that fraternal spirit which, when it
approveth me, rejoiceth for me, and when it disapproveth
me, sorroweth for me; because whether it approveth or
disapproveth, it loveth me. To such will I discover myself;
at that which is good in me let them draw breath with joy,
at what is ill, let them breathe a sigh. All my good is
Thy appointment, and Thy gift; all my evil mine own
faults, and Thy judgments. For the one let them draw
breath with joy, for the other let them sigh-and let their
hymn and their lamentation both ascend into Thy Presence,
from their fraternal hearts, which are Thy censers. But do
Thou, O Lord, rejoicing in the sweet perfume of Thy Holy
Temple, “have mercy upon me after Thy great goodness
(Ps. li.), for Thy Name's sake; and by no means forsaking
what Thou hast begun, make perfect my imperfections.
">
>>
This is the fruit of my confessions, not of what I have
been, but of what I am, that I may confess this not only
before Thee, with a secret "rejoicing with trembling
(Ps. ii. 11), and a secret sorrowing with hope, but also in
the ears of the sons of men who believe, the companions of
my joy, and partakers of my mortality, fellow citizens and
fellow pilgrims with me, whether they are gone before, or
follow after, or tread with me the path of life. These are
Thy servants, my brethren, whom Thou hast willed to
be Thy sons; my masters, whom Thou hast bidden me
serve, if I would live with Thee, of Thee. But this Thy
Word were all too little for me, did it in speech alone
enjoin, and not in deed prevent. And this I do both in
deeds and words, this I do "beneath Thy wings" in peril
too great, were not my soul subdued to Thee beneath Thy
wings, and my weakness known to Thee. I am but a little
one, but my Father ever liveth, and my Guardian is
(( suffi-
$
i
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
185
cient for me." For He is the same who hath begotten
and doth guard me; and Thou Thyself art all my good;
Thou Almighty, Who art with me, yea, before I am with
Thee. To such then as Thou biddest me serve, will I
discover, not what I have been, but what I now am and
what I yet may be. But yet "I judge not mine own self"
(1 Cor. iv. 3). Thus therefore I would be heard.
CHAPTER V.
Our confessions cannot but be imperfect; for man knoweth not himselj
as God knoweth.
66
'OR "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
not even "the spirit of man that is in him," itself "knoweth"
(1 Cor. ii. 11). But Thou, Lord, who hast made him,
knowest all concerning 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 in truth " now we see through a glass darkly," not yet
"face to face” (1 Cor. xiii. 12); and therefore so long as I
wander far off from Thee, I am more present with myself
than with Thee; and yet I know that Thou canst in no way
suffer harm. But what temptations I can resist, what I
cannot, I know not. Yet 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" (1 Cor. x. 13).
I will confess then what I know of myself, I will confess
also what I know not of myself; since what I do know of
myself, I know by Thy shining upon me; and what I know
not of myself, I know not only, until "my darkness be
made as the noon-day" (Is. lviii. 10) in Thy countenance.
1
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CHAPTER VI.
He searcheth throughout the material creation, wherein he findeth not
God; though it speaketh of Him.
N°
OT 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" (Rom. i. 20). But more deeply "wilt
Thou have mercy on whom Thou wilt have mercy, and wilt
have compassion on whom Thou wilt have compassion"
(Rom. ix. 15), or else the heaven and the earth declare Thy
praises to deaf ears. But what do I love, when I love
Thee? not beauty of the body, nor harmony of time, nor
the brilliancy of light, so pleasant to these eyes, nor sweet
melodies of every kind of song, nor the sweet scent of
flowers, and perfumes, and spices, not manna and honey,
not limbs inviting to fleshly embrace. Not these do I love,
when I love my God; and yet I love a kind of light, and
melody, and fragrance, and food, and embrace, when I love
my God, the light, melody, fragrance, food, embrace of my
inward man: where there shineth upon my soul, what space
containeth not, and where resoundeth what time stealeth
not away, and where is fragrance that a breath scattereth
not, and where there is flavour that eating lesseneth not, and
where there is an embrace that satiety rendeth not asunder.
This I love, when I love my God.
،،
And what is this? I asked the earth, and it answered me,
I am not He;" and all that therein is confessed the same.
asked the sea and the depths, and the creeping things with
life, and they answered, "We are not thy God, seek thou
above us." I asked the breezy gales; and the airy universe,
and all its denizens replied, "Anaximenes is mistaken. I
am not God." I asked heaven, sun, moon, stars, "neither
are we," say they, "the God whom thou seekest." And I
said unto all things which stand about the gateways 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 study of them was my question
to them; their beauty their response to me. And I turned
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
187
myself unto myself, and said to myself, "What art thou?"
And I answered, “A man.” And behold, in me there con-
front me soul and body, the one without, the other within.
Which is it of these, wherein I ought to seek my God, whom
I had already sought through the body from earth even to
heaven, as far as I could send as messengers the beams of
mine eyes.
But that which is within is the better; for to it
all the bodily members made report, as to a president and
judge, concerning the several responses of heaven and earth,
and all things therein, which said "We are not God, but He
made us." The inner man knew this by the agency of the
outer-my inward self knew this, I myself, I, the living soul
through the senses of my body. I questioned the whole
fabric of the world about my God; and it replied to me,
I am not He, but He made me."
s
Is not this beauty manifest to all whose perception is
sound? why then speaks it not the same to all? Animals
small and great see it, but they cannot question it because
reason is not placed in the seat of judgment over their
senses, to receive their reports. But men can ask, so that
"the invisible things of God are clearly seen, being under-
stood by the things that are made" (Rom. i. 20); but by
love of them, they are made subject unto them; and being
subject, cannot judge. Nor yet do the creatures answer
such as ask, unless they can judge: they do not indeed
change their tone, that is their appearance, because one only
looks upon them, while another looks upon and ques-
tions them, so as to present one appearance to the one,
another to the other; but having the same appearance
to each, to one it is dumb, to the other it is eloquent; or
rather to all it is eloquent: but they only understand who
compare its tone, perceived without, with the truth within.
For the truth saith unto me, "Neither heaven, nor earth
nor any material thing 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.
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CHAPTER VII.
Neither doth he find God in any vital or sentient faculty within himself.
WHA
HAT 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" (Ps. xxxii. 9),
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 render sentient
that flesh, which the Lord hath fashioned for me; which
bids the eye not to hear, and the ear not to see; but the
former, that I may see by it, the latter that I may hear by
it and the other senses respectively their own positions
and functions, all of which are different, while I, the one
living mind, act through them. I will pass beyond this
power of mine also; for this also have the horse and mule,
for they also perceive through the body.
CHAPTER VIII.
He seeketh Him in his memory; and describeth its wonders.
I
WILL pass then beyond this power of my nature also,
And I
rising by degrees unto Him, who made me.
come to the fields and spreading courts of memory, where
are treasures of unnumbered impressions of things of every
kind, stored by the senses. There is hoarded even what we
imagine, whether by increasing or diminishing, or in any
way varying what sense hath observed; and whatever else
hath been entrusted to it, and laid up, which forgetfulness
hath not yet swallowed up and buried. When I am there
I require what I will, to be brought forth, and some things
appear forthwith; for some things the search is longer, and
they seem to be dragged out of some more secret retreats;
some things rush forth in crowds, and while another is
being hunted up, and sought after, leap into notice, as
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And
though they were saying "Is it not us by chance?"
with my heart's hand I brush them from the face of my
recollection, until what I want looks out from the clouds,
and comes forth from its lurking places into sight. Other
things are easily suggested, and in an unbroken order, when
called for, the antecedents make way for the consequents,
aud as they depart, are put away, ready to come forth again,
when I shall desire. All this happens when I tell a thing
got by heart.
There all things are kept distinct, and
according to their kind, as many as have been brought in,
each through his own approach: as light, and all colours
and material forms, through the eyes; but through the ears
all kinds of sounds; all odours through the approach of the
nostrils; all flavours by the approach of the mouth; but by
the general perception of the whole body, what is hard,
what soft, what hot or cold, smooth or rough, heavy or
light, whether external or internal to the body. All these
doth that vast hall of memory (and I know not what secret
and untold passages she hath) receive to bring forth at need,
and to examine again; all of which enter through their own
gateways, and are laid up in her; nor do they themselves
enter, but impressions of things perceived by sense are
ready there, for reflection to recall them. And who can
tell how these images were fashioned? though it is clear
enough by what senses they have been seized, and hidden
away within. For even while I am dwelling in darkness
and in silence, in my memory, if I choose it, I can call up
colours, and distinguish between white and black, and
whatsoever others I will; nor do sounds rush in to disturb
my meditation upon what was drawn in by my eyes, though
they too are there, and seem to be put away and remain
hidden in a place apart. For I call for them too at my
pleasure, and there they are forthwith.
And though my
tongue be still, and my throat silent, I sing as much as I
like; and those images of colours, which are there no less,
do not thrust themselves forward, nor interrupt, when
another treasure, which poured in at the ears, is again being
dealt with. So also I recall other things, which have been
imported and stored up through my other senses, just as I
please and the scent of lilies I can distinguish from that
of violets, though actually smelling nothing; and I can
prefer honey to mead, the smooth to the rough, though at
:
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the moment making use of neither taste nor touch, but
only of remembrance.
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This I do within, in the huge hall of my memory. For
there the heaven, and the earth, and the sea, with all that in
them is which I have been able to discern by sense, are
ready to my hand, saving only such things as I have for-
gotten. There also I meet with myself, and I remember
myself, what I did, and when, and where, and in what way,
when I did it, I was affected by it. There are all things I
remember, whether such as have arisen within my own
experience, or those to which I have given credit. More-
over out of the same copious store I weave in with the
past varying impressions of things either experienced, or
such as I have believed from my own experience; and
from these again forecast actions, events, and hopes; and
I èxercise myself in them all, as though really present
again. 'This or that will I do," I say to myself, in that
vast secret chamber of my mind, filled with images of things
so many and so great, "and this or that will follow." "O
that it might be that or the other!" "God forbid this or
that.' Such things within myself I say, and while I am
saying them the images of all are before me, out of that
same treasury of memory, nor could I say them at all if
they were wanting there. Great is that power of memory,
too great, my God, that wide and unbounded sanctuary.
Who can come at the depth of it? And this is a power of
my soul, and belongs to my nature, nor can I even myself
take in the whole of what I am. Therefore the mind is
too narrow to contain itself. And where can that portion
of it be, which itself cannot take in? Is it outside itself,
and not in itself? How then is it that it cannot take it in?
A great amazement arises with me, upon this; surprise
astounds me. And men travel to enjoy the heights of
mountains, and the mighty billows of the sea, and the wide
flowing tides of rivers, and the expanse of ocean, and the
circuits of the stars, and leave themselves behind, and feel
no wonder that though I speak of all these things, I do not
see them with mine eyes; and yet I could not speak of
them, did I not see within in my memory, in those spaces
so vast, mountains, and billows, and rivers, and stars, which
I have seen, and ocean, of which I have heard, as though I
were looking upon them without. Yet I did not swallow
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them up by looking at them, when I saw them with these
eyes: nor are they themselves within me, but their images.
And I know from what bodily sense each impression in me
hath been derived.
CHAPTER IX.
In what way the liberal sciences may be said to be in the memory.
BUT n
UT not only these things doeth that unmeasured
spaciousness of my memory contain. Here too are
all those things which I have learnt of the liberal sciences,
and not forgotten, put back as it were in an inward place,
which is no place; nor have I there the images of these
things, but the things themselves. For what literature is,
what skill in discussion, how many kinds of questions there
are, what ever I know about these things, is in such a
manner contained in my memory, that I do not keep the
image, and leave the thing itself without, neither hath it
sounded and passed by, as a voice imprinted through the
ears by some impress, whereby it might be recalled as
though it still sounded, when it hath already ceased to
sound or as a sweet odour affects the organ of smell, while
it is passing by, and being dissipated in the air, whence it
casts upon the memory an image of itself, which we recall
in recollection; or as food, which certainly hath no taste
when it hath reached the stomach, still has a sort of taste
in the memory. Indeed these things themselves are not
admitted to it, but only their images are caught with
wonderful speed, and are laid by, as though in wonderful
cabinets, and wonderfully brought forth again by recollecting
them.
CHAPTER X.
Of the channels through which literature has access to the memory.
BUT
UT when I hear that there are three kinds of questions :
namely, whether a thing is ? what it is? of what kind
it is? I retain indeed images of the sounds, of which these
words are composed, and I know that they themselves have
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passed through the air with a vibration, and exist no longer;
but the things themselves, signified by those sounds, I have
neither touched upon with any bodily sense, nor have I seen
them anywhere beyond my mind: and in my memory I
have stored away not their images but themselves, and
whence they found entrance to me let them tell if they can.
For I pass through all the doors of my flesh, nor find I
through which of them they made their entry. For the
eyes say, "if they are coloured, we ushered them in;" the
ears say, "if they sounded, they were declared by us;" the
nostrils say, "if they have any smell, they passed through
by us;" the sense of taste says, "if they have no flavour,
ask me nothing about them;" touch says, "if it have not
bulk, I have not handled it, and if I have not handled it, I
have not shown it in. Whence and how have they found
entrance to my memory? I know not how; for when I
learnt them, I did not believe them in another's mind, but
recognised them in my own, and proved their truth, and
entrusted them to it, just as if putting them away some-
where, whence I could fetch them out when I chose. There
therefore they were, even before I had learned them,
but in memory they were not. Where then were they? or
why when they were spoken, did I assent to them and say
"It is so, it is true," unless they were already in my memory,
but so far off, and so concealed, as if in very secret corners,
that unless dragged out by the suggestion of another, I
could not even by chance think of them.
-
CHAPTER XI.
How things are learnt by the memory.
WH
HEREFORE we conclude that to learn those things,
whose images we do not imbibe through our senses,
but discern themselves by themselves within us, but without
images as they are, is nothing else than to collect as it were
by thought, those things which the memory held though
promiscuously and without arrangement, and to provide by
heedful consideration, that they may be placed ready to
hand in that same memory, where before they were lurking
scattered and neglected, so as to easily occur to the mind once
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familiarised with 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 more distant secret
chambers, that they must, as though new, be thought out
again from thence (for other abode they have none), and be
driven together again, that they may be known; that is to say,
they must as it were be collected together from their disper-
sion: whence the word "to cogitate" is derived. For "cogo"
and "cogito" (i.e., "I drive together," and "I ponder upon ")
have the same connection as "ago" with "agito," and "facio'
with "factito." But the mind has claimed this word for its
own exclusive use, so that not what is collected elsewhere,
but only what is collected in the mind, that is, is "driven
together," can properly be described as "pondered upon."
CHAPTER XII.
Of the memory of numbers.
THE memory containeth also reasons and laws innumer-
able of numbers and dimensions, none of which hath
any bodily sense impressed; seeing they have neither colour,
nor sound, nor scent, nor taste, nor bulk. I have heard the
sound of the words whereby when discussed they are de-
noted: but the sounds are of one kind, the things them-
selves are quite different. For the sounds differ in Greek
and in Latin; but the things are neither Greek nor Latin,
nor any other language. I have seen the lines of craftsmen ;
as fine as possible, like the gossamer of a spider; but these
things are of another kind; they are not the images of those
which my fleshly eye has made known to me.
He only
knoweth them, who without any conception of any kind of
body hath recognised 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.
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CHAPTER XIII.
Of the memory of remembrances; and of the memory of the emotions
of the mind.
ALI
LL these things I keep in my memory, and how I learnt
them I keep in my memory. Many things also most
falsely objected against them have I heard, and keep in my
memory, which though they be false, yet is it not false that
I remember them; and I remember also that I have dis-
tinguished between those truths and these falsehoods alleged
against them. And I perceive that to distinguish between
them now, and to remember that I have often distinguished
between them, when I have many times pondered over them,
are quite different things. I remember therefore both that I
have often understood these things; and also, I stow away in
my memory what I now discern and understand, that here-
after I may remember that I understood it now. Therefore
I remember also the fact that I have remembered; so that
if afterwards I recall that I have now been able to remem-
ber, I shall certainly recall it by the power of memory. The
emotions also of the mind this same memory contains,
though not in the same way as the mind itself holds them,
when it is enduring them; but in a very different manner,
according to its own power. For without rejoicing I
remember that I did rejoice ; and without sorrow I recollect
sometime afraid " I recall
my past sorrows; and that I was
without present fear; and I call to mind an ancient desire
without renewal of desire. Nay, on the contrary, I am
sometimes glad when I remember past sorrow, and sorry
when recalling joy.
CHAPTER XIV.
That the recollection of certain emotions doth not awaken similar
emotions.
AND this is not remarkable with regard to the body; for
mind is one thing, body
I
joy remember some past pain of body, it is not so wonder-
ful; but here is the marvel, in that memory itself is mind.
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1
for when we are bidding one to hold anything in memory,
we say,
"See that you keep it in mind;" and when we
forget, we say, “It was not in my mind," or, "It slipped
out of my mind," calling the memory itself the mind. Since
then this is so, how is it, that when with joy I remember
my past sorrow, the mind hath joy, and the memory
sorrow; but the mind has joy by reason of the gladness in
it, while the memory is not sad by reason of the sorrow
that is in it? Does the memory perchance not belong to
the mind? Who will say so? The memory then is a sort
of belly of the mind, and joy and sadness a kind of food,
sweet or bitter; when these are entrusted to the memory,
they are passed into a kind of belly; and there they can be
stowed, but can no longer have a flavour. Ridiculous it is
to imagine these to be alike; and yet are they not utterly
unlike.
But see I am drawing upon my memory, when I say
there are four emotions of the mind, desire, joy, fear,
sorrow; and whatever discussion I may hold upon them,
by dividing each into its subordinate species, and by defin-
ing it, it is there that I find what to say, and thence I pro-
duce it yet am I not moved by any of these emotions,
when by calling them to mind, I remember them; and even
before I recalled them, and dealt with them again, they
were there; and therefore could they, by recollection, thence
be brought. Perchance, then, as meat from the belly by
rumination, so by recollection these are brought up again
from the memory. Why then is not the sweetness of joy,
or the bitterness of sorrow, tasted in the mouth of his
thought by the disputant, that is, by him who remembers?
Is the comparison unlike in this, because not in all respects
like? For who would willingly speak of such things if as
often as we name grief or fear, we should be compelled to
be sad or fearful? And yet we could 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 bodily
senses, but notions of the very things themselves which we
have received through no fleshly gateway, but which the
mind itself perceiving by the experience of its own passions,
committed to the memory, or the memory of itself retained,
though they were not entrusted to it.
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CHAPTER XV.
That images of things present as well as absent are retained in the
memory.
BUT
UT 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 in my memory, I should not know what to say of
it, neither in discussion about it could I distinguish it 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, understand what was
being spoken of, unless the same image were retained by
the power of memory, 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 itself; there it is itself when I remember it.
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 ?
CHAPTER XVI.
Of the memory of forgetfulness.
WHA
7HAT, when I name forgetfulness, and withal recognise.
what I name? whence should I recognise it, unless
I remembered it? I am not speaking of the sound of the
name, but of the thing which it signifies: and if I had
forgotten this, I certainly should not be able to recognise
what the sound meant. 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 by which I remember,
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•
forgetfulness which I remember. But what is forgetfulness,
but the privation of memory? How then is it present that
I remember it, since when it is present I cannot remember?
But if we remember anything, we keep it in memory; but
unless we remembered forgetfulness, we could not in any
way realise, upon hearing that word, the thing which it
denotes. Forgetfulness therefore is retained in the memory.
It is present then that we may not forget, yet when it is
present, we forget. Is it 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 com-
prehend how it is?
Lord, I, truly, toil therein, yea and toil in myself; I am
become a difficult soil, demanding excessive "sweat." For
we are not now exploring tracts of sky, or measuring the
distances of the stars, or enquiring into the gravity of the
earth. It is I myself who remember, I a rational mind.
It would not be so wonderful if something not myself were
so far out of my reach. But what is nearer to me than
myself? And lo, the power 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 in my memory, on purpose that I should
not forget? Either is most absurd. What third course is
there? How can I say that the image of forgetfulness is
retained by my memory, not forgetfulness itself, when I re-
member it? How could I say this either, sceing that when
the image of anything 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 the faces of men I
have seen, and things reported by the other senses; thus,
too, 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 go over
again in my mind, when they were gone and I remembered
them. If then this forgetfulness is retained in the memory
through its image, not through itself, then plainly, itself was
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once present, that its image might be received. But when
it was present, how did it sketch its image in the memory,
seeing that by its presence it obliterates even what it finds
already jotted down? And yet, in whatever way, although
that way be incomprehensible and inexplicable, yet certain
am I that I remember even that very forgetfulness, wherein
what we remember is overwhelmed.
CHAPTER XVII.
Though the power of memory be vast and wonderful, he passeth beyond
it in his search after God.
GR
REAT is the power of memory, a fearful thing, O my God,
a deep and boundless manifoldness; and this thing
is the rational mind, and this am I myself. What am I then,
O my God? What nature am I? A life various and mani-
fold, and vast exceedingly. 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 cer- ·
tain notions or impressions, as the emotions of the mind,
which, even when the mind doth not undergo, the memory
retaineth, while yet whatsoever is in the memory, is also in
the mind-through all these do I run, and flit hither and
thither; I penetrate them as far as I can, and there is no
limit. So great is the power of memory, so great the power
of life in mortal 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 even attain unto Thee, O sweet Light. What
sayest Thou to me? See, I am mounting up through my
mind towards Thee who abidest above me and I now will
pass beyond this power of mine which is called memory,
desirous to reach unto Thee, where Thou mayest be
reached; 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
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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?
CHAPTER XVIII.
How what is lost, must still remain in the memory, that it may be
found again.
F I find Thee without my memory, then have I not
Thee in my remembrance. And how shall I find Thee
if I have Thee not in remembrance? For the woman that
had lost her groat (S. Luke xv. 1) and sought it with a
light; unless she had remembered it, could not have found
it. For when it was found, whence should she know
whether it were the same, if she had no remembrance of it?
I remember to have sought and found many a lost 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 was offered me which I was seeking.
And had I not remembered it, whatever it was, even had it
been offered to me I should not have found it, for I should
not have been able to 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, yet, like some visible body, its image is still re-
tained within, and it is sought until it is restored to sight,
and when it has been found, it is recognised by its cor-
respondence with the inward image; nor do we say that
we have found what was lost, unless we recognise it; nor
can we recognise it, unless we remember it. This thing
then was lost only to the eyes; in the memory it was
retained.
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CHAPTER XIX.
That forgotten things are not wholly lost by the memory; or if
wholly lost cannot be recovered.
BUT what when the memory itself loses anything, which
""
happens when we forget, and seek to recollect?
where do we finally search but in the memory itself? and
there, if one thing be perchance offered instead of another,
we reject it, until we meet with that of which we are in
search, and when we have met with it, we say, "This is it;
which we should not say unless we recognised it, nor recog-
nise it unless we remembered it. But we had certainly for-
gotten it. Or is it that it had not entirely escaped us? but
by some portion which we retained, the other part was
sought for; because the memory perceived that it was not
making the wonted associations, and as though halting
through the maiming of its wonted operation, kept pressing
for the restoration of what was missing? For instance, if
we see with our eyes, or only think of somebody we know,
but forget his name, and are trying to recall it, if any other
should occur to us, it does not connect itself with him,
because we have never been accustomed to associate it with
him, and we therefore reject it, until that comes back to us
And
whereon at once our usual recognition easily settles.
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 give
credit to it as a novelty, but remember it, and acknowledge
that it is as stated to us. 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 still
remember that we have forgotten. So we cannot even seek
what is lost, if we have utterly forgotten it.
CHAPTER XX.
With what manner of desire men seek the Blessed Life; and whai
knowledge they have of it.
For when I seek
"I will seek
For my body
OW then do I seek Thee, O Lord?
Thee, my God, I seek the blessed life.
Thee that my soul may live" (Amos v. 6).
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liveth by my soul; and my soul by Thee. How then do I
seek the blessed life? for it is not mine until I can say,
there where I ought to say it, "It is enough"? How do I
seek it? Is it by remembrance as though I had for-
gotten it, yet still retained that I had forgotten it? or
by desiring to learn it as a thing unknown, whether
I had never known it, or so forgotten it, as not even to
remember that I had forgotten it? Is not the blessed life
that which all desire, so that there is absolutely none that
does not desire it? Where have they known it, that they
so desire it? where seen it that they so love it? Truly we
have it, how, I know not. Yea, there is another way, where-
in when one hath it, for the time he is happy; and there
are those who are happy in hope. These have it in a lower
degree, 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; but that they do-will it 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 doubtful whether it be in the memory; because if it be
there, then we must have formerly been happy. Whether
each individually, or all in that man who first sinned, “in
whom also we all died" (1 Cor. xv. 22), and from whom we
are all born with misery, I now enquire not; but only,
whether the blessed life be in the memory? for we could
not love it, unless we knew it. We hear the name, and
confess that we all desire the thing itself; it is not the mere
sound that charms us. For when a Greek hears it in Latin,
he is not charmed because he knows not what is said; but
he would be as pleased as we are 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 pant to
attain. Know therefore it is to all, for could they with one
voice be asked, "would they be happy?" they would
answer without any hesitation that "they would." And this
could not be, unless the thing itself whereof it is the name,
were retained in their memory.
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CHAPTER XXI.
Whence do we derive our memory of the blessed life?
one, who has seen it, re-
members Carthage? No. For the blessed life is not
Is it as
seen with the eye, because it is not material.
we remember numbers then? No. For he that has these
in his knowledge, seeks no further to attain them: but the
blessed 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 become so, although
except from some inward knowledge they would not be de-
lighted, nor wish to become the like, unless they were
delighted. But the blessed life we do not by any bodily
Is it as we re-
sense know by our experience from others.
member joy? Perhaps it may be. For even when sad I re-
member my joy, so doth the wretched the happy life; 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, sometimes with disgust, sometimes with regret, according
to the various nature of the things, on account of which I
remember that I have rejoiced. For even from foul things
have I been pervaded with a sort of joy; which now recalling,
I detest and execrate; sometimes also from good and honour-
able things; and I now recall them with regret, although
perchance no longer present; and therefore with sadness I
recall former joy.
BUT
UT is it in the same way as
Where then and when did I experience my blessed life,
that I should remember and love, and crave for it? Nor is
it I alone, or some few besides, but absolutely all would
fain be happy. And unless we knew of it by some certain
knowledge, we should not wish for it with so certain a will.
But how is it that if two men were asked whether they
would like to enlist for soldiers, one, perchance would
answer that he would, the other, that he would not; but if
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203
they were asked, whether they would be happy, both would
instantly without any hesitation say they would; and for no
other reason would the one enlist, and the other not, but
that they might 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. And since this is a thing
which none can say that he has never experienced, it is
therefore found in the memory, and recognised whenever
the name of a blessed life is mentioned.
CHAPTER XXII.
The true joy of the blessed life.
FA
'AR 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"
(Is. xlviii. 22), but to those who worship Thee for Thine
own sake, whose joy Thou Thyself art. And this is the
blessed life, to rejoice to Thee, of Thee, for Thee; this it is,
and there is no other. For they who think there is another,
pursue some other joy, and not the true. But their will is
not turned away from some shadow of joy.
1
CHAPTER XXIII.
That all desire joy in the truth.
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
blessed life, do not truly desire the blessed life. Or do all
men desire this, but "because the flesh lusteth against the
Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh, so that they cannot
do the things that they would" (Gal. v. 17), they fall upon
that which they can, and are content therewith; because,
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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." But the blessed 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"
(Psa. xxvii. 1, xlii. 11). This blessed life all desire; this
life which alone is blessed, all desire; joy in the truth all
desire. I have met with many that would fain deceive;
who would choose to be deceived? no one. Where
then did they know this happy life, save where they knew
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 rejoicing in the truth, then also do they
love the truth; but they could not love it, were there not
some notice of it in their memory. Why then do they not
rejoice 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, lest
darkness come upon them" (S. John xii. 35).
But why doth "truth bring forth hatred," and why is that
man of thine that preacheth truth become their enemy,
seeing that the blessed life is loved, which is nothing else
than rejoicing in the truth: unless it be that truth is loved
only in such a sort, that they who love something else than
it, want what they love to be the truth; and because they
are unwilling to be deceived, are unwilling to be convinced
that they have been deceived? Therefore, for the sake of
that thing, which instead of truth they love, they hate the
truth. They love her, when she enlightens; but they hate
her when she rebukes. For since they would not be de-
ceived, and would deceive, they love her, when she manifests
herself, but hate her when she manifests 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
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205
it, that itself should not be hidden from the Truth; but the
Truth is hid from it. Yet even thus whilst wretched, it
would rather rejoice in truths than in falsehoods. Happy
then will it be, when, no distraction interposing, it shall
rejoice in that one Truth, by which all things are true.
CHAPTER XXIV.
He delighteth that he hath found God, abiding in his memory.
SER
EE how far I have travelled 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, from the time I learned Thee. For
since I learned Thee, I have not forgotten Thee. For
where I found Truth, there found I my God, the very
Truth; which since I learned, I have not forgotten. Since
then I learned Thee, Thou abidest in my memory; and
there do I find Thee, when I called Thee to remembrance,
and delight in Thee. These are my holy delights, which
Thou hast given me in Thy mercy, looking upon my poverty.
CHAPTER XXV.
Where and how God dwelleth in his memory.
BUT
JT where in my memory abidest Thou, O Lord,
where abidest Thou there? what manner of lodging
hast Thou formed there for Thyself? what sort of
sanctuary hast Thou built for Thyself? Thou hast given
this honour to my memory, to abide in it; but in what
quarter of it Thou abidest, that am I now 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 material things: and I came to those parts to
which I committed the affections of my mind, nor did I find
Thee there. And I entered into the very seat of my mind,
which it hath in my memory, inasmuch as the mind remem-
bers itself also, and Thou wast not there; for as Thou art
not a corporeal image, nor the affection of a living being
1
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(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 learned
Thee. And why seek I now, in what place thereof Thou
dwellest, as if there were in truth places therein? Certainly
Thou dwellest in it, because I have remembered Thee ever
since I learned Thee; and there I find Thee, when I call
Thee to remembrance.
CHAPTER XXVI.
That God is not in any place; and who is His best servant.
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 keep watch over all that consult Thee,
and at once respond, though they consult Thee concerning
divers matters. 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 does not so much look to hear from Thee
what accords with his will, but rather to will what he hath
heard from Thee.
CHAPTER XXVII.
Absent from God, he is attracted by His beauty.
Too
'OO late I loved Thee, Beauty so old and yet so new,
too late I loved Thee! And behold, Thou wert
within, and I without, and there I sought Thee; and in my
deformity rushed amidst those beauteous forms which Thou
hadst made. Thou wert with me, but I was not with Thee.
Things held me far from Thee, which unless they had their
being in Thee, had no being. Thou didst call, and cry
aloud, and break through my deafness. Thou didst blaze
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Thou wert
I
forth, and shine, and scatter my blindness.
fragrant, and I drew in my breath, and pant for Thee.
tasted, and I hunger and thirst. Thou didst touch me, and
I burned for Thy peace.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
That the life on earth is full of trials.
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 struggle
with joyous sorrows: and on which side standeth victory, I
know not.
Woe is me! Lord, have mercy upon me. My
evil sorrows struggle with my good joys; and on which side
standeth victory, I know not. Woe is me! Lord, have
mercy upon me. Woe is me! lo! I hide not my wounds;
Thou art the Physician, I the sick; Thou merciful, I miser-
able. "Is not the life of man upon earth all trial?" (Job
vii. 1, O.V.). Who liketh troubles and difficulties? Thou
biddest us endure them, not love them. None loveth what
he endureth, though he loveth to endure. For even though
he rejoiceth that he endureth, he would none the less prefer
that there were nothing 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 hard, and patient endurance suffereth ship-
wreck. Is not the "life of man upon earth all trial:" with-
out any intermission ?
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CHAPTER XXIX.
He putleth his hope in the mercy of God.
AND all my hope is nowhere but in Thy exceeding great
ency.
}
mercy. Grant what Thou dost command, and com-
mand what Thou wilt. Thou dost enjoin upon us contin-
"And when I perceived," saith one, "that no man
could be continent, except God gave it, this also was a
point of wisdom to know whose gift it was" (Wisd. viii. 21
Vulg.). 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! enkindle me.
Thou dost command continency. Grant what Thou com-
mandest, and command what Thou wilt.
CHAPTER XXX.
Concerning fleshly desire, and the extent to which it still can influence
him.
ΤΗ
THOU
U dost indeed command me to be continent from
"the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the am-
bition of the world" (1 John ii. 16). Thou hast commanded
to abstain from concubinage; and concerning marriage itself
hast counselled a better course than 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 spoken much) the images of such
things, as my habit hath fixed there; and when I am awake
they haunt me, though they have lost their power, but in my
sleep, not only do they present themselves, 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 per-
suade to that which when waking, the true cannot. Am I
not then myself, O Lord my God? And yet how much
difference there is betwixt myself and myself, within that
moment wherein I pass from hence to sleep, or from sleep
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
209
return hither. Where is reason then, which, awake, re-
sisteth such suggestions? And should the things themselves
be urged on it, it remaineth unshaken. Is it closed up with
the eyes? does it slumber 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 falleth out otherwise, upon
waking we return to peace of conscience: and by this very
difference discover that we did not, what yet we grieve to
know was some way done in us.
Is not Thine hand mighty, O Almighty God, to heal all
the weaknesses 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, set free from the bird-
lime of concupiscence; that it be not rebellious against
itself, and that even in dreams not only it may not commit
those debasing corruptions, through carnal images, to the
defilement of the flesh, but not even consent unto them. For
that nothing of this sort should have, over the pure affec-
tions 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" (Eph. iii. 20). But what I yet am in this kind of my
evil, have I confessed unto my good Lord; "rejoicing with
trembling" (Ps. ii. 11), 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 that ful-
ness of peace, which my outward and inward man shall have
with Thee, when "death hath been swallowed up in victory"
(I Cor. xv. 54).
CHAPTER XXXI.
Concerning greed and drunkenness.
THE
HERE is another "evil of the day," would that it were
"sufficient unto it" (S. Matt. vi. 34). For by eating
and drinking we repair the daily decays of our body, until
Thou "destroy both meats and belly" (1 Cor. vi. 13), when
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Thou shalt slay my want with a wondrous sufficiency, and
"shalt put on this incorruptible the clothing of incorruption
everlasting" (1 Cor. xv. 54). But now the necessity is
sweet unto me, and against this sweetness do I fight, lest I
be taken captive; and carry on a daily war by fastings;
often "bringing my body into subjection" (1 Cor. ix. 27),
and my pains are driven away by pleasure. For hunger
and thirst are a sort of pain; they burn and kill like a fever,
unless the medicine of nourishments come to our aid. But
since this is at hand from the comfort of Thy gifts, with
which earth and water and air serve our weakness, our
calamity is termed pleasure.
This hast Thou taught me, that I should set myself to
take food as physic. But while I am passing from the dis-
comfort of emptiness to the content of satisfaction, 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 though health
be the cause of eating and drinking, yet a dangerous enjoy-
ment waiteth thereon like a lackey, and oftentimes endeav-
ours to precede it, so as to be the real cause of what I say
I do, or wish to do, only for health's sake; nor is the same
moderation in both. For what is enough for health, is too
little for pleasure. And it is often uncertain, whether it be
the necessary care of the body which gives an appetite for
more support, or whether a sensual and deceptive greed is
tendering its service. In this uncertainty the unhappy soul
grows cheerful, and therein prepares the defence of an
excuse, glad that it is not manifest how much may suffice
for the moderate need of health, but that beneath the cloak
of health it may conceal the matter of enjoyment. These
temptations I daily endeavour to resist, and I call on Thy
right hand for my preservation, and refer my uncertainties
to Thee; because my discretion in this matter is not yet
established.
I hear the voice of my God commanding, "Let not your
hearts be overcharged with surfeiting and drunkenness "
(S. Luke xxi. 34). 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
be far from me. For "no one can be con-
tinent unless Thou give it." Many things thou givest to us,
{
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211
}
who pray; and whatever good thing we received before we
prayed, we received from Thee and in order that we might
afterwards know this did we receive it. A drunkard I never
was; but I have known drunkards made sober by Thee.
From Thee then it was, that they who never were such,
should not so be, as it was from Thee that they should not
always continue such, who have been such; whose doing
also it was that both should know whose doing it was.
heard another voice of Thine, "Go not after thy lusts, but
refrain thyself from thine appetites " (Ecclus. xviii. 30). Yea
by Thy favour have I heard that which I have much loved ;
"neither if we eat, have we the more ; neither if we eat not,
shall we have the less " (1 Cor. viii. 8). That is to say,
I
are.
neither shall the one make me rich nor the other miserable.
I heard also another, "for I have learned in whatsoever
state I am, therewith to be content; I know both how to
abound and how to suffer need. I can do all things
through him, which strengtheneth me" (Phil. iv. 11-13).
Behold a soldier of the heavenly camp, not dust such as we
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 breath of Thy inspiration,
was of the same dust. "I can do all things," saith he,
through Him that strengtheneth me." Strengthen me
that I may be able. Grant what Thou commandest, and
command what Thou wilt. He confesses to have received,
and when "he glorieth, he glorieth in the Lord” (1 Cor.
i. 30). Another have I heard begging that he might re-
ceive; "Take from me," saith he, "greediness of the belly
(Ecclus. xxiii. 6); whence it appeareth, O my holy God,
that Thou givest, when what Thou commandest to be done
is done,
(6
>>
Thou hast taught me, good Father, that "to the pure, all
things are pure" (Tit. i. 15); but that "it is evil for that
man who eateth with offence" (Rom. xiv. 20), and, that
66
every creature of Thine is good, and nothing to be refused,
if it be received with thanksgiving" (1 Tim. iv. 4); and,
that “meat commendeth us not to God" (1 Cor. viii. 8)
and, that.“no man should judge us in meat or in drink"
(Col. ii. 16); and, that "he that eateth, let him not despise.
him that eateth not; and let not him which eateth not
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judge him that eateth" (Rom. xiv. 3). These things have
I learned, thanks be to Thee, praise to Thee, my God, my
Master, that knockest at my ears, that enlightenest my
heart. Take me out of all temptation. I fear not the
uncleanness of meat, but the uncleanness of greediness.
I know that Noah was permitted to eat all kind of flesh that
was good for food; that Elijah was fed with flesh; that
John, endued with wonderful 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 his longing for water; and that our King
was tempted, not concerning flesh, but bread. And there-
fore the people in the wilderness also deserved to be re-
proved, not for desiring flesh, but because, in the desire for
food, they murmured against the Lord.
Placed then amid these temptations, I strive daily against
concupiscence in eating and drinking. For it is not a thing.
that I can determine to cut off once for all, and never to
touch again, as I could in the matter of concubinage. The
reins of the throat then must be held in a moderation
neither too loose nor too strict. And who is he, O Lord,
who is not some little carried beyond the bounds of neces-
sity? whoever he is, he is a great one; let him magnify
Thy Name.
But I am not such, for "I am a sinful man.'
Yet do I too magnify Thy name; and "He maketh inter-
cession to Thee" (Rom. viii. 34), for my sins, who "hath
overcome the world" (S. John xvi. 33); numbering me
among the "weak members of His body;" because "Thine
eyes have seen that which is imperfect, and in Thy book
shall all be written" (Ps. cxxxix. 16).
CHAPTER XXXII.
Concerning the attractions of pleasant odours.
WITH
ITH the attraction of pleasant odours, I am not much
concerned. When absent, I do not miss them;
when present, I do not refuse them; yet I am always ready
to do without them. So I seem to myself; perchance I am
deceived. For that also is a deplorable darkness, in which
my ability is hidden from me, so that my mind, enquiring
}
1
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213
7.
1
into herself concerning her own powers, does not reckon
herself to be readily trustworthy, because what is really in
her is mostly concealed, unless revealed by experience.
And no one ought to be free from anxiety in this life, the
whole of which is called a "trial," lest he who could be
made better from being worse, may not also from being
better become worse. Our only hope, only confidence,
only sure promise, is Thy mercy.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
Concerning temptations arising from love of sweet music.
THE
'HE delights of the ear had enmeshed me more firmly
and had subdued me; but Thou didst release me,
and set me free. Now in those tones, of which Thy words
are the life, when they are sung with a sweet and accom-
plished voice, I find some little satisfaction; though I am
not so fast holden of them but that I can arouse myself,
when I will. But still, they do demand a place of some
honour in my heart, together with the phrases themselves,
to gain an entrance for which to me they live, and I have
difficulty in assigning to them their proper place. For
sometimes I seem to myself to give them more honour than
is seemly, feeling our minds to be more religiously and fer-
vently raised unto a flame of devotion, by the holy words
themselves when thus sung, than when not; and that all the
emotions of our spirit, in accordance with their own variety,
have measures suited to them in expression and melody, by
some secret and hidden correspondence with which they
are called forth. But this gratification of my flesh, to
which my mind ought not to be resigned to its weakening,
doth oft beguile me, the sense not so waiting upon reason,
as patiently to follow her; but though for her alone it has
deserved admission, it attempts to outrun her, and to take
the lead. Thus in these things I sin without perceiving it;
but afterwards I perceive it.
But sometimes in avoiding, without sufficient moderation,
this very deception, I err in too great strictness; and some-
times to that degree, as to wish the whole melody of sweet
music, to which the Psalms of David are generally set, to
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be banished from my ears, aye, and from those of the
Church itself; and that mode seems to me safer, which I re-
member to have been often told me of Athanasius, Bishop
of Alexandria, who made the reader of the psalm intone
with so slight an inflection of voice, that it was more like
recitation than chanting. Yet again, when I remember the
tears which I poured forth at the chants of Thy church, in
the beginnings of my recovery of the Faith, and how even
now I am moved, not with the singing, but with the things
sung, when they are sung with a clear voice and well suited
melody, I realise again the great advantage of this insti-
tution. Thus I hesitate between the danger of mere enjoy-
ment, and my experience of their wholesomeness; and I
am more drawn, though not now declaring an irrevocable
opinion, to approve of the custom of chanting in 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 singing, than with the words
which are being sung, I confess that I sin grievously, and
then I would prefer not to hear the chanter. See now how
I am placed. Weep with me, and weep for me, ye who
order aright the good within, whence actions proceed. You
who do not so act, these things do not affect. But Thou, O
Lord my God, hearken; behold, and see, and “have mercy
and heal me" (Ps. vi. 2), Thou, in whose presence I am
made an enigma to myself; and "this is my infirmity"
(Ps. lxxvii. 10).
CHAPTER XXXIV.
}
Concerning pleasures of the eyes.
THE
HERE remains the pleasure of these eyes of my flesh,
concerning which I will make confessions which the
ears of Thy temple, ears fraternal and devout, may hear,
and so bring to an end the temptations of the "lust of the
flesh," which yet assail me, "groaning, and desiring to be
clothed upon with my house which is from heaven" (2 Cor.
v. 2). The eyes love fair and varied forms, and bright and
pleasing colours. Let not these possess my soul; let
God rather possess it, who made these things very good
inked, yet is He my good, not they. And these affect me,
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215
waking, the whole day, nor is any rest given me from them,
as there is from musical, sometimes, in silence, from all
voices. For the light, the very queen of colours, suffusing
all that we behold, wherever I am through the day, charms
me by its varied play, even when busy upon something else,
and not thinking of it. Indeed so greatly doth it ingratiate
itself, that if it be suddenly withdrawn, it is regretfully
sought for; and if absent long, saddeneth the mind.
O Thou Light, which Tobias saw, when though these eyes
were blinded, he used to teach his son the way of life; and
went before him on the foot of charity, never straying; or
which Isaac saw, his fleshly "eyes being dim" and closed by
old age, when it was permitted him to bless his sons without
recognising them, but in blessing to recognise them; or
which Jacob saw, when he also, blind through great age,
with illumined heart, threw light upon the tribes of the
people that should be, foreshewn in the persons of his sons;
and laid his hands upon his grandsons by Joseph, mystically
crossed, not as their father by his outward eye wanted to
correct them, but according to his own inward discernment!
This is light, one it is, and one are all who see and love it.
But that corporeal light of which I was speaking 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 God who hast created all,”* take it up in
that hymn of Thine, 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
entangled; and I lift up mine invisible eyes to Thee, that
Thou wouldest" pluck my feet out of the net” (Ps. xxv. 15),
Thou dost repeatedly pluck them out, for they are ensnared.
Thou ceasest not to pluck them out, though I often am
taken in snares scattered on all sides; because "Thou
that keepest Israel shalt neither slumber nor sleep" (Ps.
cxxi. 4).
What numberless things made by various arts and crafts,
in vestures, shoes, vessels, and manufactures of all kinds,
pictures too, and divers images, and these far exceeding all
necessary and moderate use and all pious meaning, have
men added to the enticements of the eyes; outwardly
* See ante, Book ix., cap. xii.
216
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
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
Beauty, do hence also sing a hymn to Thee, and do sacrifice
praise to Him who sanctifieth me; because those beautiful
things which are conveyed through men's souls to the hands
of artificers, come from that Beauty, Which is above our
souls, for which my soul by day and night doth sigh. But
those who make and those who pursue these outward
beauties draw thence indeed the means of appreciating them,
but draw not thence the means of using them. And He is
there, though they perceive Him not, that so they might
not wander, but "keep their strength for Thee" (Ps. lviii.
10, Vulg.), and not scatter it abroad upon delicious weari-
nesses. And I, though I speak and see this, entangle my
steps with these beauties; but Thou pluckest me out, O
Lord, Thou pluckest me out; "because Thy loving-kindness.
is before my eyes" (Ps. xxvi. 3). For I am taken miserably,
and Thou pluckest me out mercifully, though sometimes,
when I had fallen lightly upon them, I perceive it not;
sometimes with pain, because I had stuck fast in them.
CHAPTER XXXV.
Concerning the temptation of curiosity.
то
this is added another form of temptation more mani-
foldly dangerous. For besides that lust of the flesh
which consists in the delight of all senses and pleasures,
wherein its slaves, who go far from Thee, waste and perish,
there is in the soul, by means of the same senses of the
body, a certain vain and curious desire, cloaked under the
title of knowledge and science, not of delighting in the
flesh, but of acquiring experience through the flesh. And
because this is situated in the appetite for knowing, and
the eyes are chief among the senses as sources of knowledge,
it is called in the Divine language, "The lust of the eyes
(1 S. John ii. 16). For, to see, belongeth properly to
the eyes alone. Yet we make use of this word also of the
other senses, when we employ them in seeking knowledge.
For we do not say, hark how it flashes, or smell how it
""
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
217
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 shines, which the eyes alone can perceive; but also,
see how it sounds, see how it smells, see how it tastes, 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 first place, the
other senses by a sort of comparison adopt for themselves,
when they are seeking a knowledge of anything.
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, the opposites also of all these,
for the sake of making trial of them, not with the object of
undergoing annoyance, but from the lust of experiment and
knowing. For what pleasure is there in seeing in a mangled
corpse what makes one shudder? And yet if it be lying
near, they flock thither, to be made sad, and to turn pale.
They even fear that they may see it in their dreams; as if
any one forced them to see it when they were awake, or any
report of its beauty induced them. Thus also in the other
senses, which it were long to go through. From this
disease of curiosity are certain marvels exhibited in
shows. Hence men go on to search out the hidden
powers of nature (which is beyond us), which to know
profits not, and wherein men desire nothing but to know.
Hence is it also, if any perverted knowledge, for the same
end, is sought by means of arts magical. Hence also, in
religion itself, is God tempted, when signs and wonders are
demanded of Him, not desired for any purpose of salvation,
but only for the attainment of knowledge.
In this so vast forest, full of snares and perils, behold
many of them I have cut away, and driven from my heart,
as Thou hast granted me to do, O God of my salvation.
And yet when dare I say, since so many things of this kind
clamour on every side about our daily life-when dare I
say, that nothing of this sort engages my attention, or
causes in me an empty interest? True, the theatres do not
now carry me away, nor care I to know the transits of the
stars, nor did my soul ever seek oracles from ghosts; all
sacrilegious rites I detest. From Thee, O Lord my God, to
whom I owe humble and single-hearted service, by what
}
218
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
devices and suggestions doth the enemy tamper with me, so
that I may seek 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 salva-
tion of any, my end and intention is far different. Thou
givest and wilt give me the will to follow Thee, who doest
what Thou wilt.
Notwithstanding, in how many most petty and contemp-
tible things is our curiosity daily tempted, and how often we
give way, who can recount? How often do we at first
appear to bear with people, telling idle tales, so as not to
"offend the weak," and then little by little render an eager
attention? I am not now a spectator of a dog coursing a
hare, when it is done in the circus; but yet in a field, if I
happen to be passing by, that sport will possibly divert my
mind from some great subject of thought, and direct it to
itself, not forcing me to stray from the road, with the body
of my beast, but in the inclination of my mind. And
unless Thou, having shown me my infirmity, didst speedily
admonish me either through the sight itself, by some con-
templation to rise towards Thee, or altogether to despise
and pass it by, I grow dull and stupid over it. What,
when sitting at home, a lizard catching flies, or a spider en-
tangling them as they rush into her nets, ofttimes takes my
attention? Is it true that the thing is not the same, because
the creatures are but small? I go on from them to praise
Thee the wonderful Creator and Orderer of all things, but
this is not what I begin to take notice of. 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 exceeding great
mercy. For when our heart becomes the receptacle of such
things, and entertains the throngs of this abundant vanity,
this causes often interruptions and distractions in our
prayers, 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 trifling thoughts, I know not whence,
1
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
219
CHAPTER XXXVI.
Concerning the love of praise, and fear of blame.
we then account this also among things of no
importance, or shall aught restore us 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 dost heal me of the desire of excusing myself, so
that Thou mayest be merciful to all my other "iniquities,
and heal all my infirmities, and redeem my life from cor-
ruption, and crown me with mercy and pity, and satisfy my
desire with good things" (Ps. ciii. 3-5), 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 upon me.
But, O Lord, Thou who art alone a 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 it comes that men do
not entirely love Thee, nor purely fear Thee. And there-
fore"Thou resistest the proud, and givest grace to the
humble" (1 S. Peter v. 5); yea, Thou dost "thunder" above
the ambitions of the world, and the “foundations of the hills
shake" (Ps. xviii. 7). Because now certain duties of human
society make it necessary to be loved and feared of men, the
adversary of our true blessedness presseth upon us, every-
where spreading his snares of "well-done, well-done;" that
while we greedily gather them, we may through our heed-
lessness be taken, and lay down our joy in Thy truth, and
rest it in the deceit of men; and take pleasure in being
loved and feared not for Thee, but instead of Thee; and
thus having been made like him, he may have them for his
own, not in the fellowship of charity, but as partakers of his
torment, who determined to “set his throne in the north ”
(Is. xiv. 14), that dark and chilled they might serve him
who in a perverted and crooked way doth imitate Thee.
But we, O Lord, behold we are Thy "little flock" (S. Luke
is
220
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
xii. 32), possess Thou us. Stretch out Thy wings, and let
us flee beneath them. Be Thou our glory; let us be loved
for Thee, and Thy word feared in us. He that would be
praised of men, when Thou blamest, will not be defended
of men, when Thou judgest; nor delivered, when Thou
condemnest. But when it is not "the sinner that is praised
in the desires of his soul, nor he that doeth unrighteousness
that is blessed" (Ps. ix. 24, Vulg.), but 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 blamest. And
better then is he who gave the praise, than he who is
praised. For God's gift in man pleased the one, while
man's gift pleased the other more than God's.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
He confesseth that he loveth praise; but suggests that there may be
a right use of it.
BY
Y these temptations we are assailed daily, O Lord;
without ceasing are we assailed. Our daily "furnace
is the tongue of men. And in this kind also Thou com-
mandest us continency. Give what Thou commandest,
and command what Thou wilt. Thou knowest the groan-
ing of my heart to Thee concerning this matter, and the
rivers 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 power of examin-
ing myself; in this hardly any. For I see, in regard of the
pleasures of the flesh, and vain curiosity for knowledge, how
far I have attained the power of refraining my mind, when
I am without them, whether by my own choice, or through
their absence. For then I ask myself how much more or
less troublesome it is to me, not to have them? Even
riches, which are sought on this account, that they may
make provision for some one or two, or all of these three
lusts, 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 what can we do so as to be free from
-~
>>
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
221
praise, and so put it to the test? 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 both is and ought to be the
accompaniment of good living and good works, it behoves
us to forsake its company no more than the good life itself.
Yet I do not perceive whether I could calmly or impatiently
bear to 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 delight in praise,
but in truth itself, more than in praise? For were I asked
whether I should prefer to be in some frenzy, or in error
about all things, and so to receive the praise of all men;
or to be firm, and most confident in the truth, and yet to
receive the blame of all, I know which I should choose.
But yet I am unwilling that the commendation of a stranger's
words should even increase my joy for any good in me.
Yet I own, it does not only increase it, but blame also
diminishes 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 restrain our regard, but also righteousness,
that is, whereon to bestow it, and hast willed us to love not
Thee only, but our neighbour also; often, when I am
delighted with the praise of some one of good understand-
ing, I seem to myself to be taking delight in the profit, or
hope of it, of my neighbour, and on the other hand, to
be grieved for evil in him, when I hear him blame either
what he is ignorant of, or what is good.
good. For sometimes I
am grieved at my own praise, either when those things be
praised in me, in which I am displeasing to myself: or when
lesser and slight good things are more highly esteemed
than they ought to be. But again, how do I know? Am I
so affected for this reason, namely that I do not like my
commender to differ from me about myself: not because I
am anxious for his advantage, but because those same good
things which please me in myself, please me more when
they please another also? For somehow I am not praised
when my opinion of myself is not praised, since indeed
either those things are praised, which displease me; or
those more, which please me less. Am I then doubtful of
myself in this matter?
222
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
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 Thee, 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 unsound. 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 my-
self," 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"
(Ps. cxli. 5, Vulg.); " I am poor and needy" (Ps. cxix. 22),
but better while in hidden groanings I displease myself,
and seek Thy mercy, until what is lacking in my defective
state here newed and perfected, even unto that peace which
the eye of the proud knoweth not.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
That vain-glory sometimes hideth beneath an appearance of contempt of
itself.
YET the word, which cometh out of the mouth, and deeds.
known to men, bring with them a most perilous
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
a man glories more vainly of the very contempt of vain
glory; and so it is no longer contempt of vain-glory,
whereof he glories. For he doth not despise it when he
glories inwardly.
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
223
CHAPTER XXXIX.
Of self-complacency.
ΤΗ
'HERE is another evil within, arising from the same
kind of temptation; whereby men become vain from
self-complacency, though they please not, or displease, or do
not care to please others. But pleasing themselves, they
much displease Thee, not only because they take 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 deserts; or even if as though from Thy grace, yet
not rejoicing with fellowship, but even grudging them to
others. In all these and the like perils and travails, Thou
seest the trembling of my heart; and I rather feel that my
wounds are healed by Thee, than that they are not inflicted
by myself.
CHAPTER XL.
He summeth up his former description of his search after God, and de-
clares the sweetness of complete communion with God, sometimes
vouchsafed to him.
WHERE
HERE 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 took counsel with Thee? With my outward senses, as I
could, I surveyed the world, and observed the life, which
my body hath from me, and these my senses. Thence I
entered into the recesses of my memory, those manifold and
spacious chambers, wonderfully furnished with innumerable.
stores; and I considered, and was afraid, and could discern
nothing of them without Thee, and found that none of them
was Thee. Nor was I myself, who found out these things,
who went over them all, and endeavoured to distinguish
them, and to appraise them all according to their proper
worth, taking some things upon the report of my senses,
questioning about others which I felt to be mingled with
myself, distinguishing and enumerating the reporters them-
selves, and in the wide resources of my memory busying
myself with some things, storing away others, drawing out
224
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
others; nor yet was I myself when I did this, .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 they ought to
be valued. And I heard Thee directing and commanding
me; and this I often do. This is my delight, and as often
as I can get relaxation from works of necessity, I fly to this
pleasure. Nor in all these which I run over consulting
Thee, can I find any safe place for my soul, except in Thee,
in whom my scattered powers are may be gathered, so that
nothing of my being may depart from Thee. And some-
times 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 could ever be which
this life would not be. But by the weights of my miseries
I fall back again into those lower things, and am sucked
back by my wonted habits, and am holden fast, and greatly
weep, but am greatly holden. So great a power hath the
burden of habit. Here I can stay, but would not; there I
would be, but cannot; both ways, miserable.
CHAPTER XLI.
He summeth up his confession with regard to the triple lust.
]
'HUS then have I considered the diseases of my sins in
that threefold lust, and I have called on Thy right
hand for my salvation. 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" (Ps. xxxi. 22). Thou art the Truth who presidest
over all, but I through my covetousness would not indeed
lose 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 vouch-
safest not to be possessed together with a lie.
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
225
CHAPTER XLII.
Of the deceits of the Devil, which overtake them who seek for Angelic
Mediation.
WHOM
HOM could I find to reconcile me to Thee? must I
go canvassing the Angels? by what prayer? by what
sacraments? Many endeavouring to return unto Thee, and
of themselves unable, have, as I hear, tried this, and fallen
into a desire of curious visions, and have been accounted
worthy of such delusions. For they, being high minded,
sought Thee by the pride of learning, swelling out rather,
than smiting upon, their breasts, and so by the likeness of
their own state of heart, brought down upon themselves the
"powers of the air" (Eph. ii. 2), the fellow-conspirators and
companions 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 it was the
Devil "transforming himself into an Angel of light" (2 Cor.
xi. 14); and it much enticed proud flesh, that he had no
fleshly body. 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 men, he should be
too far away from God: or if in both like God, too far away
from men; and so not be a mediator. That deceiving
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, namely, that not being clothed with the
mortality of flesh, would vaunt himself for immortal. But
since 'the wages of sin is death' (Rom. vi. 23); this also
he hath in common with men, that with them he should be
condemned to death."
H
226
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
·
CHAPTER XLIII.
The Man Christ Jesus the only Mediator between God and Man. In
Him his soul is satisfied.
BUT
UT the true Mediator, Whom in Thy secret mercy
Thou hast shewed to the humble, and didst send,
that by His example also they might learn that same humi-
lity, that "Mediator between God and man, the Man Christ
Jesus" (1 Tim. ii. 5), appeared betwixt mortal sinners and
the immortal Just One; sharing with men, mortality, with
God, righteousness: so that since the wages of righteous-
ness is life and peace, He might by a righteousness con-
joined with God, make void that death of justified sinners,
which it was His will to share in common with them.
Hence He was shewed forth to holy men of old; that they
too through faith in His Passion to come, as we through
faith in it passed, might be saved. In so far as He was
man, He was a Mediator; in that He was the Word, He
was not in a middle place, because equal with God, and
God with God, and together [with the Holy Spirit] one God.
"2
How hast Thou loved us, O good Father, who "sparedst
not Thine only Son, but deliveredst Him up for us un-
godly!" (Rom. viii. 32). How hast Thou loved us, for
whom, "He that thought it not robbery to be equal with
Thee, was made subject even to the death of the cross
(Phil. ii. 6). He alone "free among the dead" (Ps. lxxxviii.
5), "having power to lay down His life, and power to take
it again" (S. John x. 18): 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 sons instead of servants, by
being begotten of Thee, and becoming servant to us.
Rightly 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" (Rom. viii. 34),
otherwise I should despair. For many and great are those
infirmities of mine, many they are, and great; but Thy
medicine is greater. We might think that Thy Word was
far removed from any union with man, and despair of our-
selves, had He not been "made flesh and dwelt among us
(S. John i. 14).
"9
The Confessions of S. Augustine.
227
>>
Affrighted with my sins and the burden of my misery, I
had devised in my heart, and purposed to "flee to the wil-
derness;" but Thou didst forbid me, and strengthen me,
saying, "Therefore Christ died for all, that they which live
should not henceforth live unto themselves, but unto Him
which died for them" (2 Cor. v. 15). See, Lord, I “cast
my care upon Thee" that I may live, and I will "consider
the wondrous things of Thy law (Ps. cxix. 18). Thou
knowest my unskilfulness, and my weakness; teach me, and
heal me.
He, Thine only Son, "in Whom are hid all the
treasures of wisdom and knowledge" (Col. ii. 3), hath re-
deemed me with His blood. "Let not the proud speak
evil of me;" because I think upon the price of my Re-
demption, and eat and drink, and communicate it; and
being "poor," I desire to be satisfied from Him amongst
those who "eat and are satisfied. And they shall praise
the Lord that seek Him" (Ps. xx. 26). *
* The remaining three books in the Latin text consist entirely of a
commentary upon the early chapters of Genesis, and are seldom´pub-
lished with the "Confessions.'
>>
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