Access to God in Augustines Confessions: Books X-XIII

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Thou hast done this honor to my memory to take up thy abode in it, but I must consider further in what part of it thou dost abide. For in calling thee to mind, I soared beyond those parts of memory which the beasts also possess, because I did not find thee there among the images of corporeal things. From there I went on to those parts where I had stored the remembered affections of my mind, and I did not find thee there. And I entered into the inmost seat of my mind, which is in my memory, since the mind remembers itself also -- and thou wast not there.

For just as thou art not a bodily image, nor the emotion of a living creature such as we feel when we rejoice or are grief- stricken, when we desire, or fear, or remember, or forget, or anything of that kind , so neither art thou the mind itself. For thou art the Lord God of the mind and of all these things that are mutable; but thou abidest immutable over all.

Yet thou hast elected to dwell in my memory from the time I learned of thee. But why do I now inquire about the part of my memory thou dost dwell in, as if indeed there were separate parts in it? Assuredly, thou dwellest in it, since I have remembered thee from the time I learned of thee, and I find thee in my memory when I call thee to mind.

Where, then, did I find thee so as to be able to learn of thee? For thou wast not in my memory before I learned of thee. Where, then, did I find thee so as to be able to learn of thee -- save in thyself beyond me. We go "backward" and "forward" and there is no place. Everywhere and at once, O Truth, thou guidest all who consult thee, and simultaneously answerest all even though they consult thee on quite different things. Thou answerest clearly, though all do not hear in clarity. All take counsel of thee on whatever point they wish, though they do not always hear what they wish.

He is thy best servant who does not look to hear from thee what he himself wills, but who wills rather to will what he hears from thee. Belatedly I loved thee, O Beauty so ancient and so new, belatedly I loved thee. For see, thou wast within and I was without, and I sought thee out there. Unlovely, I rushed heedlessly among the lovely things thou hast made. Thou wast with me, but I was not with thee.

These things kept me far from thee; even though they were not at all unless they were in thee. Thou didst call and cry aloud, and didst force open my deafness. Thou didst gleam and shine, and didst chase away my blindness. Thou didst breathe fragrant odors and I drew in my breath; and now I pant for thee. I tasted, and now I hunger and thirst. Thou didst touch me, and I burned for thy peace. When I come to be united to thee with all my being, then there will be no more pain and toil for me, and my life shall be a real life, being wholly filled by thee.

But since he whom thou fillest is the one thou liftest up, I am still a burden to myself because I am not yet filled by thee. Joys of sorrow contend with sorrows of joy, and on which side the victory lies I do not know. Lord, have pity on me; my evil sorrows contend with my good joys, and on which side the victory lies I do not know. Lord, have pity on me. Behold, I do not hide my wounds. Thou art the Physician, I am the sick man; thou art merciful, I need mercy.

Is not the life of man on earth an ordeal? Who is he that wishes for vexations and difficulties? Thou commandest them to be endured, not to be loved. For no man loves what he endures, though he may love to endure. Yet even if he rejoices to endure, he would prefer that there were nothing for him to endure. In adversity, I desire prosperity; in prosperity, I fear adversity.

What middle place is there, then, between these two, where human life is not an ordeal? There is woe in the prosperity of this world; there is woe in the fear of misfortune; there is woe in the distortion of joy. There is woe in the adversities of this world -- a second woe, and a third, from the desire of prosperity -- because adversity itself is a hard thing to bear and makes shipwreck of endurance.

Is not the life of man upon the earth an ordeal, and that without surcease? My whole hope is in thy exceeding great mercy and that alone. Give what thou commandest and command what thou wilt. Thou commandest continence from us, and when I knew, as it is said, that no one could be continent unless God gave it to him, even this was a point of wisdom to know whose gift it was.

O Love, O my God, enkindle me! Thou commandest continence; give what thou commandest, and command what thou wilt. Obviously thou commandest that I should be continent from "the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life. And since thou gavest it, it was done -- even before I became a minister of thy sacrament. But there still exist in my memory -- of which I have spoken so much -- the images of such things as my habits had fixed there. These things rush into my thoughts with no power when I am awake; but in sleep they rush in not only so as to give pleasure, but even to obtain consent and what very closely resembles the deed itself.

Indeed, the illusion of the image prevails to such an extent, in both my soul and my flesh, that the illusion persuades me when sleeping to what the reality cannot do when I am awake. Am I not myself at such a time, O Lord my God?

And is there so much of a difference between myself awake and myself in the moment when I pass from waking to sleeping, or return from sleeping to waking? Where, then, is the power of reason which resists such suggestions when I am awake -- for even if the things themselves be forced upon it I remain unmoved? Does reason cease when the eyes close?

Is it put to sleep with the bodily senses? But in that case how does it come to pass that even in slumber we often resist, and with our conscious purposes in mind, continue most chastely in them, and yield no assent to such allurements? Yet there is at least this much difference: And it is by this difference between sleeping and waking that we discover that it was not we who did it, while we still feel sorry that in some way it was done in us.

Is not thy hand, O Almighty God, able to heal all the diseases of my soul and, by thy more and more abundant grace, to quench even the lascivious motions of my sleep? Thou wilt increase thy gifts in me more and more, O Lord, that my soul may follow me to thee, wrenched free from the sticky glue of lust so that it is no longer in rebellion against itself, even in dreams; that it neither commits nor consents to these debasing corruptions which come through sensual images and which result in the pollution of the flesh.

For it is no great thing for the Almighty, who is "able to do. This could come to pass not only in this life but even at my present age. But what I am still in this way of wickedness I have confessed unto my good Lord, rejoicing with trembling in what thou hast given me and grieving in myself for that in which I am still imperfect.

I am trusting that thou wilt perfect thy mercies in me, to the fullness of that peace which both my inner and outward being shall have with thee when death is swallowed up in victory. There is yet another "evil of the day"[] to which I wish I were sufficient. By eating and drinking we restore the daily losses of the body until that day when thou destroyest both food and stomach, when thou wilt destroy this emptiness with an amazing fullness and wilt clothe this corruptible with an eternal incorruption.

But now the necessity of habit is sweet to me, and against this sweetness must I fight, lest I be enthralled by it. Thus I carry on a daily war by fasting, constantly "bringing my body into subjection,"[] after which my pains are banished by pleasure. For hunger and thirst are actual pain. They consume and destroy like fever does, unless the medicine of food is at hand to relieve us. And since this medicine at hand comes from the comfort we receive in thy gifts by means of which land and water and air serve our infirmity , even our calamity is called pleasure.

This much thou hast taught me: But during that time when I pass from the pinch of emptiness to the contentment of fullness, it is in that very moment that the snare of appetite lies baited for me. For the passage itself is pleasant; there is no other way of passing thither, and necessity compels us to pass. And while health is the reason for our eating and drinking, yet a perilous delight joins itself to them as a handmaid; and indeed, she tries to take precedence in order that I may want to do for her sake what I say I want to do for health's sake.

They do not both have the same limit either. What is sufficient for health is not enough for pleasure. And it is often a matter of doubt whether it is the needful care of the body that still calls for food or whether it is the sensual snare of desire still wanting to be served. In this uncertainty my unhappy soul rejoices, and uses it to prepare an excuse as a defense. It is glad that it is not clear as to what is sufficient for the moderation of health, so that under the pretense of health it may conceal its projects for pleasure. These temptations I daily endeavor to resist and I summon thy right hand to my help and cast my perplexities onto thee, for I have not yet reached a firm conclusion in this matter.

The Confessions (Book XIII)

I hear the voice of my God commanding: Thou wilt have mercy that it does not come near me. But "surfeiting" sometimes creeps upon thy servant.

Chapter 1. He Calls Upon God, and Proposes to Himself to Worship Him.

Thou wilt have mercy that it may be put far from me. For no man can be continent unless thou give it. I never was a drunkard, but I have known drunkards made into sober men by thee. It was also thy doing that those who never were drunkards have not been -- and likewise, it was from thee that those who have been might not remain so always.

And it was likewise from thee that both might know from whom all this came. I heard another voice of thine: I heard still another voice: I know how to be abased and I know how to abound. I can do all things through Christ who strengtheneth me. But remember, O Lord, "that we are dust"[] and that thou didst create man out of the dust,[] and that he "was lost, and is found. He was of the same dust -- he whom I loved so much and who spoke of these things through the afflatus of thy inspiration: Give what thou commandest, and command what thou wilt.

This man [Paul] confesses that he received the gift of grace and that, when he glories, he glories in the Lord. I have heard yet another voice praying that he might receive. Thou hast taught me, good Father, that "to the pure all things are pure"[]; but "it is evil for that man who gives offense in eating"[]; and that "every creature of thine is good, and nothing is to be refused if it is received with thanksgiving"[]; and that "meat does not commend us to God"[]; and that "no man should judge us in meat or in drink.

Deliver me from all temptation! It is not the uncleanness of meat that I fear, but the uncleanness of an incontinent appetite. I know that permission was granted Noah to eat every kind of flesh that was good for food; that Elijah was fed with flesh; that John, blessed with a wonderful abstinence, was not polluted by the living creatures that is, the locusts on which he fed.

And I also know that Esau was deceived by his hungering after lentils and that David blamed himself for desiring water, and that our King was tempted not by flesh but by bread.

Augustine’s Confessions, Book 1

And, thus, the people in the wilderness truly deserved their reproof, not because they desired meat, but because in their desire for food they murmured against the Lord. Set down, then, in the midst of these temptations, I strive daily against my appetite for food and drink. For it is not the kind of appetite I am able to deal with by cutting it off once for all, and thereafter not touching it, as I was able to do with fornication.

The bridle of the throat, therefore, must be held in the mean between slackness and tightness. And who, O Lord, is he who is not in some degree carried away beyond the bounds of necessity? Whoever he is, he is great; let him magnify thy name. But I am not such a one, "for I am a sinful man. I am not much troubled by the allurement of odors.

When they are absent, I do not seek them; when they are present, I do not refuse them; and I am always prepared to go without them. At any rate, I appear thus to myself; it is quite possible that I am deceived. For there is a lamentable darkness in which my capabilities are concealed, so that when my mind inquires into itself concerning its own powers, it does not readily venture to believe itself, because what already is in it is largely concealed unless experience brings it to light. Thus no man ought to feel secure in this life, the whole of which is called an ordeal, ordered so that the man who could be made better from having been worse may not also from having been better become worse.

Our sole hope, our sole confidence, our only assured promise, is thy mercy. The delights of the ear drew and held me much more powerfully, but thou didst unbind and liberate me. In those melodies which thy words inspire when sung with a sweet and trained voice, I still find repose; yet not so as to cling to them, but always so as to be able to free myself as I wish.

But it is because of the words which are their life that they gain entry into me and strive for a place of proper honor in my heart; and I can hardly assign them a fitting one. Sometimes, I seem to myself to give them more respect than is fitting, when I see that our minds are more devoutly and earnestly inflamed in piety by the holy words when they are sung than when they are not. And I recognize that all the diverse affections of our spirits have their appropriate measures in the voice and song, to which they are stimulated by I know not what secret correlation.

But the pleasures of my flesh -- to which the mind ought never to be surrendered nor by them enervated -- often beguile me while physical sense does not attend on reason, to follow her patiently, but having once gained entry to help the reason, it strives to run on before her and be her leader. Thus in these things I sin unknowingly, but I come to know it afterward. On the other hand, when I avoid very earnestly this kind of deception, I err out of too great austerity.

Sometimes I go to the point of wishing that all the melodies of the pleasant songs to which David's Psalter is adapted should be banished both from my ears and from those of the Church itself. In this mood, the safer way seemed to me the one I remember was once related to me concerning Athanasius, bishop of Alexandria, who required the readers of the psalm to use so slight an inflection of the voice that it was more like speaking than singing.

However, when I call to mind the tears I shed at the songs of thy Church at the outset of my recovered faith, and how even now I am moved, not by the singing but by what is sung when they are sung with a clear and skillfully modulated voice , I then come to acknowledge the great utility of this custom. Thus I vacillate between dangerous pleasure and healthful exercise.

I am inclined -- though I pronounce no irrevocable opinion on the subject -- to approve of the use of singing in the church, so that by the delights of the ear the weaker minds may be stimulated to a devotional mood. See now what a condition I am in! Weep with me, and weep for me, those of you who can so control your inward feelings that good results always come forth.

As for you who do not act this way at all, such things do not concern you. But do thou, O Lord, my God, give ear; look and see, and have mercy upon me; and heal me -- thou, in whose sight I am become an enigma to myself; this itself is my weakness. There remain the delights of these eyes of my flesh, about which I must make my confession in the hearing of the ears of thy temple, brotherly and pious ears.

Thus I will finish the list of the temptations of carnal appetite which still assail me -- groaning and desiring as I am to be clothed upon with my house from heaven. The eyes delight in fair and varied forms, and bright and pleasing colors. Let these not take possession of my soul! Rather let God possess it, he who didst make all these things very good indeed.

He is still my good, and not these. The pleasures of sight affect me all the time I am awake. There is no rest from them given me, as there is from the voices of melody, which I can occasionally find in silence. For daylight, that queen of the colors, floods all that we look upon everywhere I go during the day. It flits about me in manifold forms and soothes me even when I am busy about other things, not noticing it. And it presents itself so forcibly that if it is suddenly withdrawn it is looked for with longing, and if it is long absent the mind is saddened.

O Light, which Tobit saw even with his eyes closed in blindness, when he taught his son the way of life -- and went before him himself in the steps of love and never went astray[]; or that Light which Isaac saw when his fleshly "eyes were dim, so that he could not see"[] because of old age, and it was permitted him unknowingly to bless his sons, but in the blessing of them to know them; or that Light which Jacob saw, when he too, blind in old age yet with an enlightened heart, threw light on the nation of men yet to come -- presignified in the persons of his own sons -- and laid his hands mystically crossed upon his grandchildren by Joseph not as their father, who saw them from without, but as though he were within them , and distinguished them aright[]: But that corporeal light, of which I was speaking, seasons the life of the world for her blind lovers with a tempting and fatal sweetness.

Those who know how to praise thee for it, "O God, Creator of Us All," take it up in thy hymn,[] and are not taken over by it in their sleep. Such a man I desire to be. I resist the seductions of my eyes, lest my feet be entangled as I go forward in thy way; and I raise my invisible eyes to thee, that thou wouldst be pleased to "pluck my feet out of the net. Thou ceasest not to pluck them out, but I constantly remain fast in the snares set all around me.

However, thou who "keepest Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep. What numberless things there are: And I, O my God and my Joy, I also raise a hymn to thee for all these things, and offer a sacrifice of praise to my Sanctifier, because those beautiful forms which pass through the medium of the human soul into the artist's hands come from that beauty which is above our minds, which my soul sighs for day and night. But the craftsmen and devotees of these outward beauties discover the norm by which they judge them from that higher beauty, but not the measure of their use. Still, even if they do not see it, it is there nevertheless, to guard them from wandering astray, and to keep their strength for thee, and not dissipate it in delights that pass into boredom.

And for myself, though I can see and understand this, I am still entangled in my own course with such beauty, but thou wilt rescue me, O Lord, thou wilt rescue me, "for thy loving-kindness is before my eyes. Besides this there is yet another form of temptation still more complex in its peril. For in addition to the fleshly appetite which strives for the gratification of all senses and pleasures -- in which its slaves perish because they separate themselves from thee -- there is also a certain vain and curious longing in the soul, rooted in the same bodily senses, which is cloaked under the name of knowledge and learning; not having pleasure in the flesh, but striving for new experiences through the flesh.

This longing -- since its origin is our appetite for learning, and since the sight is the chief of our senses in the acquisition of knowledge -- is called in the divine language "the lust of the eyes. And we do not simply say, "See how it shines," which only the eyes can perceive; but we also say, "See how it sounds, see how it smells, see how it tastes, see how hard it is. From this, then, one can the more clearly distinguish whether it is pleasure or curiosity that is being pursued by the senses.

For pleasure pursues objects that are beautiful, melodious, fragrant, savory, soft. But curiosity, seeking new experiences, will even seek out the contrary of these, not with the purpose of experiencing the discomfort that often accompanies them, but out of a passion for experimenting and knowledge. For what pleasure is there in the sight of a lacerated corpse, which makes you shudder? And yet if there is one lying close by we flock to it, as if to be made sad and pale. People fear lest they should see such a thing even in sleep, just as they would if, when awake, someone compelled them to go and see it or if some rumor of its beauty had attracted them.

This is also the case with the other senses; it would be tedious to pursue a complete analysis of it. This malady of curiosity is the reason for all those strange sights exhibited in the theater. It is also the reason why we proceed to search out the secret powers of nature -- those which have nothing to do with our destiny -- which do not profit us to know about, and concerning which men desire to know only for the sake of knowing. And it is with this same motive of perverted curiosity for knowledge that we consult the magical arts. Even in religion itself, this prompting drives us to make trial of God when signs and wonders are eagerly asked of him -- not desired for any saving end, but only to make trial of him.

In such a wilderness so vast, crammed with snares and dangers, behold how many of them I have lopped off and cast from my heart, as thou, O God of my salvation, hast enabled me to do. And yet, when would I dare to say, since so many things of this sort still buzz around our daily lives -- when would I dare to say that no such motive prompts my seeing or creates a vain curiosity in me?

It is true that now the theaters never attract me, nor do I now care to inquire about the courses of the stars, and my soul has never sought answers from the departed spirits. All sacrilegious oaths I abhor. And yet, O Lord my God, to whom I owe all humble and singlehearted service, with what subtle suggestion the enemy still influences me to require some sign from thee!

But by our King, and by Jerusalem, our pure and chaste homeland, I beseech thee that where any consenting to such thoughts is now far from me, so may it always be farther and farther. And when I entreat thee for the salvation of any man, the end I aim at is something more than the entreating: Now, really, in how many of the most minute and trivial things my curiosity is still daily tempted, and who can keep the tally on how often I succumb? How often, when people are telling idle tales, we begin by tolerating them lest we should give offense to the sensitive; and then gradually we come to listen willingly!

I do not nowadays go to the circus to see a dog chase a rabbit, but if by chance I pass such a race in the fields, it quite easily distracts me even from some serious thought and draws me after it -- not that I turn aside with my horse, but with the inclination of my mind. And unless, by showing me my weakness, thou dost speedily warn me to rise above such a sight to thee by a deliberate act of thought -- or else to despise the whole thing and pass it by -- then I become absorbed in the sight, vain creature that I am.

How is it that when I am sitting at home a lizard catching flies, or a spider entangling them as they fly into her webs, oftentimes arrests me? Is the feeling of curiosity not the same just because these are such tiny creatures? From them I proceed to praise thee, the wonderful Creator and Disposer of all things; but it is not this that first attracts my attention. It is one thing to get up quickly and another thing not to fall -- and of both such things my life is full and my only hope is in thy exceeding great mercy. For when this heart of ours is made the depot of such things and is overrun by the throng of these abounding vanities, then our prayers are often interrupted and disturbed by them.

Even while we are in thy presence and direct the voice of our hearts to thy ears, such a great business as this is broken off by the inroads of I know not what idle thoughts. Shall we, then, also reckon this vain curiosity among the things that are to be but lightly esteemed? Shall anything restore us to hope except thy complete mercy since thou hast begun to change us? Thou knowest to what extent thou hast already changed me, for first of all thou didst heal me of the lust for vindicating myself, so that thou mightest then forgive all my remaining iniquities and heal all my diseases, and "redeem my life from corruption and crown me with loving-kindness and tender mercies, and satisfy my desires with good things.

And so in truth it was, though I knew it not when I feared to take it up. But, O Lord -- thou who alone reignest without pride, because thou alone art the true Lord, who hast no Lord -- has this third kind of temptation left me, or can it leave me during this life: It is, rather, a wretched life and an unseemly ostentation. It is a special reason why we do not love thee, nor devotedly fear thee. Therefore "thou resistest the proud but givest grace to the humble. And yet certain offices in human society require the officeholder to be loved and feared of men, and through this the adversary of our true blessedness presses hard upon us, scattering everywhere his snares of "well done, well done"; so that while we are eagerly picking them up, we may be caught unawares and split off our joy from thy truth and fix it on the deceits of men.

In this way we come to take pleasure in being loved and feared, not for thy sake but in thy stead. By such means as this, the adversary makes men like himself, that he may have them as his own, not in the harmony of love, but in the fellowship of punishment -- the one who aspired to exalt his throne in the north,[] that in the darkness and the cold men might have to serve him, mimicking thee in perverse and distorted ways. But see, O Lord, we are thy little flock. Possess us, stretch thy wings above us, and let us take refuge under them.

Be thou our glory; let us be loved for thy sake, and let thy word be feared in us. Those who desire to be commended by the men whom thou condemnest will not be defended by men when thou judgest, nor will they be delivered when thou dost condemn them. But when -- not as a sinner is praised in the wicked desires of his soul nor when the unrighteous man is blessed in his unrighteousness -- a man is praised for some gift that thou hast given him, and he is more gratified at the praise for himself than because he possesses the gift for which he is praised, such a one is praised while thou dost condemn him.

In such a case the one who praised is truly better than the one who was praised. For the gift of God in man was pleasing to the one, while the other was better pleased with the gift of man than with the gift of God. By these temptations we are daily tried, O Lord; we are tried unceasingly. Our daily "furnace" is the human tongue. In this matter, thou knowest the groans of my heart and the rivers of my eyes, for I am not able to know for certain how far I am clean of this plague; and I stand in great fear of my "secret faults,"[] which thy eyes perceive, though mine do not.

For in respect of the pleasures of my flesh and of idle curiosity, I see how far I have been able to hold my mind in check when I abstain from them either by voluntary act of the will or because they simply are not at hand; for then I can inquire of myself how much more or less frustrating it is to me not to have them. This is also true about riches, which are sought for in order that they may minister to one of these three "lusts," or two, or the whole complex of them. The mind is able to see clearly if, when it has them, it despises them so that they may be cast aside and it may prove itself.

But if we desire to test our power of doing without praise, must we then live wickedly or lead a life so atrocious and abandoned that everyone who knows us will detest us? What greater madness than this can be either said or conceived? And yet if praise, both by custom and right, is the companion of a good life and of good works, we should as little forgo its companionship as the good life itself. But unless a thing is absent I do not know whether I should be contented or troubled at having to do without it.

What is it, then, that I am confessing to thee, O Lord, concerning this sort of temptation? What else, than that I am delighted with praise, but more with the truth itself than with praise. For if I were to have any choice whether, if I were mad or utterly in the wrong, I would prefer to be praised by all men or, if I were steadily and fully confident in the truth, would prefer to be blamed by all, I see which I should choose. Yet I wish I were unwilling that the approval of others should add anything to my joy for any good I have. Yet I admit that it does increase it; and, more than that, dispraise diminishes it.

Then, when I am disturbed over this wretchedness of mine, an excuse presents itself to me, the value of which thou knowest, O God, for it renders me uncertain. For neither had Thou stood in need of me, nor am I such a good as to be helpful unto You, my Lord and God ; not that I may so serve You as though You were fatigued in working, or lest Your power may be less if lacking my assistance nor that, like the land, I may so cultivate You that You would be uncultivated did I cultivate You not but that I may serve and worship You, to the end that I may have well-being from You; from whom it is that I am one susceptible of well-being.

For of the plenitude of Your goodness Your creature subsists, that a good, which could profit You nothing, nor though of You was equal to You, might yet be, since it could be made of You. For what did heaven and earth, which You made in the beginning, deserve of You? Let those spiritual and corporeal natures, which Thou in Your wisdom made, declare what they deserve of You to depend thereon — even the inchoate and formless, each in its own kind, either spiritual or corporeal, going into excess, and into remote unlikeness unto You the spiritual, though formless, more excellent than if it were a formed body; and the corporeal, though formless, more excellent than if it were altogether nothing , and thus they as formless would depend upon Your Word, unless by the same Word they were recalled to Your Unity, and endued with form, and from You, the one sovereign Good, were all made very good.

How have they deserved of You, that they should be even formless, since they would not be even this except from You? Or how could the inchoate spiritual creature deserve of You, that even it should flow darksomely like the deep — unlike You, had it not been by the same Word turned to that by Whom it was created, and by Him so enlightened become light, although not equally, yet conformably to that Form which is equal unto You?

For as to a body, to be is not all one with being beautiful, for then it could not be deformed; so also to a created spirit, to live is not all one with living wisely, for then it would be wise unchangeably. But it is good for it always to hold fast unto You, lest, in turning from You, it lose that light which it has obtained in turning to You, and relapse into a light resembling the darksome deep.

For we have been Your judgments, which are like the great deep. But as it had not deserved of You that it should be such a life as could be enlightened, so neither, when it already was, has it deserved of You that it should be enlightened. For neither could its formlessness be pleasing unto You, unless it became light — not by merely existing, but by beholding the illuminating light, and cleaving unto it; so also, that it lives, and lives happily, it owes to nothing whatsoever but to Your grace ; being converted by means of a better change unto that which can be changed neither into better nor into worse; the which Thou only art because Thou only simply art, to whom it is not one thing to live, another to live blessedly, since You are Yourself Your own Blessedness.

What, therefore, could there be wanting unto Your good, which You Yourself art, although these things had either never been, or had remained formless — the which You made not out of any want, but out of the plenitude of Your goodness, restraining them and converting them to form not as though Your joy were perfected by them? For to You, being perfect, their imperfection is displeasing, and therefore were they perfected by You, and were pleasing unto You; but not as if You were imperfect, and were to be perfected in their perfection. But Your incorruptible and unchangeable will, which in itself is all-sufficient for itself, was borne over that life which You had made, to which to live is not all one with living happily, since, flowing in its own darkness, it lives also; for which it remains to be converted unto Him by whom it was made, and to live more and more by the fountain of life, and in His light to see light, and to be perfected, and enlightened, and made happy.

Many things have we said of the heaven of heavens, and of the earth invisible and formless, and of the darksome deep, in reference to the wandering defects of its spiritual deformity, were it not converted unto Him from whom was its life, such as it was, and by His enlightening became a beauteous life, and the heaven of that heaven which was afterwards set between water and water. And under the name of God , I now held the Father , who made these things; and under the name of the Beginning, the Son , in whom He made these things; and believing, as I did, that my God was the Trinity, I sought further in His holy words, and behold, Your Spirit was borne over the waters.

But what was the cause , O Thou true-speaking Light? Unto You do I lift up my heart, let it not teach me vain things; disperse its darkness, and tell me, I beseech You, by our mother charity, tell me, I beseech You, the reason why, after the mention of heaven, and of the earth invisible and formless, and darkness upon the deep, Your Scripture should then at length mention Your Spirit?

Was it because it was meet that it should be spoken of Him that He was borne over, and this could not be said, unless that were first mentioned over which Your Spirit may be understood to have been borne? For neither was He borne over the Father , nor the Son , nor could it rightly be said that He was borne over if He were borne over nothing. That, therefore, was first to be spoken of over which He might be borne; and then He, whom it was not meet to mention otherwise than as having been borne.

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Why, then, was it not meet that it should otherwise be mentioned of Him, than as having been borne over? To whom shall I tell this? How speak of the weight of lustful desires, pressing downwards to the steep abyss? And how charity raises us up again, through Your Spirit which was borne over the waters? To whom shall I tell it? For neither are there places in which we are merged and emerge. What can be more like, and yet more unlike?

They be affections, they be loves; the filthiness of our spirit flowing away downwards with the love of cares, and the sanctity of Yours raising us upwards by the love of freedom from care; that we may lift our hearts unto You where Your Spirit is borne over the waters; and that we may come to that pre-eminent rest, when our soul shall have passed through the waters which have no substance.

The angels fell, the soul of man fell and they have thus indicated the abyss in that dark deep, ready for the whole spiritual creation, unless You had said from the beginning, Let there be light, and there had been light, and every obedient intelligence of Your celestial City had cleaved to You, and rested in Your Spirit, which unchangeably is borne over everything changeable. Otherwise, even the heaven of heavens itself would have been a darksome deep, whereas now it is light in the Lord. For even in that wretched restlessness of the spirits who fell away, and, when unclothed of the garments of Your light, discovered their own darkness, dost Thou sufficiently disclose how noble You have made the rational creature; to which nought which is inferior to You will suffice to yield a happy rest, and so not even herself.

For Thou, O our God , shall enlighten our darkness; from You are derived our garments of light, and then shall our darkness be as the noonday. Give Yourself unto me, O my God , restore Yourself unto me; behold, I love You, and if it be too little, let me love You more strongly.

I cannot measure my love , so that I may come to know how much there is yet wanting in me, ere my life run into Your embracements, and not be turned away until it be hidden in the secret place of Your Presence. This only I know , that woe is me except in You — not only without, but even also within myself; and all plenty which is not my God is poverty to me. But was not either the Father or the Son borne over the waters? If we understand this to mean in space, as a body, then neither was the Holy Spirit ; but if the incommutable super-eminence of Divinity above everything mutable, then both Father, and Son, and Holy Ghost were borne over the waters.

Why, then, is this said of Your Spirit only? Why is it said of Him alone? As if He had been in place who is not in place, of whom only it is written, that He is Your gift? In Your gift we rest; there we enjoy You. Our rest is our place. Love lifts us up there, and Your good Spirit lifts our lowliness from the gates of death. In Your good pleasure lies our peace. The body by its own weight gravitates towards its own place. Weight goes not downward only, but to its own place. Fire tends upwards, a stone downwards.

They are propelled by their own weights, they seek their own places. Oil poured under the water is raised above the water; water poured upon oil sinks under the oil. Out of order, they are restless; restored to order, they are at rest. My weight is my love ; by it am I borne wherever I am borne. By Your Gift we are inflamed, and are borne upwards; we wax hot inwardly, and go forwards. We ascend Your ways that be in our heart, and sing a song of degrees; we glow inwardly with Your fire, with Your good fire, and we go, because we go upwards to the peace of Jerusalem; for glad was I when they said to me, Let us go into the house of the Lord.

There has Your good pleasure placed us, that we may desire no other thing than to dwell there forever. Happy creature, which, though in itself it was other than You, has known no other state than that as soon as it was made, it was, without any interval of time, by Your Gift, which is borne over everything mutable, raised up by that calling whereby Thou said, Let there be light, and there was light. And this is so spoken as if it had been fleeting and darksome before; that so the cause whereby it was made to be otherwise might appear — that is to say, being turned to the unfailing Light it might become light.

Let him who is able understand this; and let him who is not, ask of You. Why should he trouble me, as if I could enlighten any man that comes into the world? Which of us understands the Almighty Trinity? And yet which speaks not of It, if indeed it be It? Rare is that soul which, while it speaks of It, knows what it speaks of. And they contend and strive, but no one without peace sees that vision. I could wish that men would consider these three things that are in themselves.

These three are far other than the Trinity; but I speak of things in which they may exercise and prove themselves, and feel how far other they be. In these three, therefore, let him who can see how inseparable a life there is — even one life, one mind , and one essence ; finally, how inseparable is the distinction, and yet a distinction. Surely a man has it before him; let him look into himself, and see, and tell me.

But when he discovers and can say anything of these, let him not then think that he has discovered that which is above these Unchangeable, which Is unchangeably, and Knows unchangeably, and Wills unchangeably. And whether on account of these three there is also, where they are, a Trinity; or whether these three be in Each, so that the three belong to Each; or whether both ways at once, wondrously, simply, and vet diversely, in Itself a limit unto Itself, yet illimitable; whereby It is, and is known unto Itself, and suffices to Itself, unchangeably the Self-same, by the abundant magnitude of its Unity — who can readily conceive?

Who in any wise express it? Who in any way rashly pronounce thereon? For Thou correctest man for iniquity, and Your judgments are a great deep. And because our soul was troubled within us, we remembered You, O Lord, from the land of Jordan, and that mountain equal unto Yourself, but little for our sakes; and upon our being displeased with our darkness, we turned unto You, and there was light.

And, behold, we were sometimes darkness, but now light in the Lord. What a light of beauty will that be when we shall see Him as He is, and those tears be passed away which have been my meat day and night, while they continually say unto me, Where is your God? And so say I too, O my God , where are You? Behold where You are!

Chapter 2. All Creatures Subsist from the Plenitude of Divine Goodness.

In You I breathe a little, when I pour out my soul by myself in the voice of joy and praise, the sound of him that keeps holy-day. And yet it is cast down, because it relapses and becomes a deep, or rather it feels that it is still a deep. Unto it does my faith speak which You have kindled to enlighten my feet in the night, Why are you cast down, O my soul? And why are you disquieted in me? In the morning I shall stand in Your presence, and contemplate You; I shall for ever confess unto You. Between whom and us, in this as yet uncertain state of human knowledge , Thou only dividest, who provest our hearts and callest the light day, and the darkness night.

But what have we that we have not received of You? As it is said, For heaven shall be folded up like a scroll; and now it is extended over us like a skin. For Your divine Scripture is of more sublime authority, since those mortals through whom You dispensed it unto us underwent mortality. Whence as a skin have You stretched out the firmament of Your Book; that is to say, Your harmonious words, which by the ministry of mortals You have spread over us. For by their very death is that solid firmament of authority in Your discourses set forth by them more sublimely extended above all things that are under it, the which, while they were living here, was not so eminently extended.

You had not as yet spread abroad the heaven like a skin; You had not as yet announced everywhere the report of their deaths. Let us look, O Lord, upon the heavens, the work of Your fingers; clear from our eyes that mist with which You have covered them. There is that testimony of Yours which gives wisdom unto the little ones. Perfect, O my God , Your praise out of the mouth of babes and sucklings.

Nor have we known any other books so destructive to pride , so destructive to the enemy and the defender, who resists Your reconciliation in defense of his own sins. I know not, O Lord, I know not other such pure words which so persuade me to confession, and make my neck submissive to Your yoke, and invite me to serve You for nought. Let me understand these things, good Father. Book VI Chapter I His mother having followed him to Milan, declares that she will not die before her son shall have embraced the Catholic faith. Chapter IV He recognises the falsity of his own opinions, and commits to memory the saying of Ambrose.

Chapter V Faith is the basis of human life; man cannot discover that truth which holy scripture has disclosed. Chapter VI On the source and cause of true joy,—the example of the joyous beggar being adduced. Chapter IX Innocent Alypius, being apprehended as a thief, is set at liberty by the cleverness of an architecht. Chapter X The wonderful integrity of Alypius in judgment. Chapter XI Being troubled by his grievous errors, he meditates entering on a new life. Chapter XIII Being urged by his mother to take a wife, he sought a maiden that was pleasing unto him.

Chapter XIV The design of establishing a common household with his friends is speedily hindered. Chapter XV He dismisses one mistress, and chooses another. Chapter XVI The fear of death and judgment called him, believing in the immortality of the soul, back from his wickedness, him who aforetime believed in the opinions of Epicurus. Book VII Chapter I He regarded not god indeed under the form of a human body, but as a corporeal substance diffused through space. Chapter V Questions concerning the origin of evil in regard to God, who, since he is the chief god, cannot be the cause of evil.

Chapter VI He refutes the Divinations of the astrologers, deduced from the constellations. Chapter VII He is severely exercised as to the origin of evil. Chapter IX He compares the doctrine of the Platonists concerning the Logos with the much more excellent doctrine of Christianity. Chapter X Divine things are the more clearly manifested to him who withdraws into the recesses of his heart. Chapter XI That creatures are mutable and God alone immutable. Chapter XIV Being displeased with some part of God's creation, he conceives of two original substances.

Chapter XV Whatever is, owes its being to God. Chapter XVI Evil arises not from a substance, but from the perversion of the will. Book VIII Chapter I He, now given to divine things, and yet entangled by the lusts of love, consults simplicanus in reference to the renewing of his mind. Chapter II The pious old man rejoices that he read plato and the scriptures, and tells him of the rhetorician victorinus having been converted to the faith through the reading of the sacred books Chapter III That God and the Angels rejoice more on the return of one sinner than of many just persons.

Chapter IV He shows by the example of victorinus that there is more joy In the conversion of nobles. Chapter V Of the causes which alienate us from God. Chapter VII He deplores his wretchedness, that having been born thirty-two years, he had not yet found out the truth. Chapter IX That the mind commandeth the mind, but it willeth not entirely. Chapter X He refutes the opinion of the Manich a eans as to two kinds of minds,—one good and the other evil. Chapter XI In what manner the spirit struggled with the flesh, that it might be freed from the bondage of vanity.

Chapter XII Having prayed to God, he pours forth a shower of tears, and, admonished by a voice, he opens the book and reads the words in Rom. Chapter II As his lungs were affected, he meditates withdrawing himself from public favour. Chapter III He retires to the villa of his friend Verecundus, who was not yet a Christian, and refers to his conversion and death, as well as that of Nebridius.

Chapter IV In the country he gives his attention to literature, and explains the Fourth Psalm in connection with the happy conversion of Alypius. He is troubled with toothache. Chapter V at the recommendation of Ambrose, he reads the prophecies of Isaiah, but does not understand them. Chapter VIII Of the conversion of Evodius, and the death of his mother when returning with him to Africa; and whose education he tenderly relates. Chapter IX He describes the praiseworthy habits of his mother; her kindness towards her husband and her sons. Chapter X A conversation he had with his mother concerning the kindom of heaven.

Chapter XI His mother, attacked by fever, dies at Ostia. Chapter XII How he mourned his dead mother. Chapter II That all things are manifest to God. That confession unto him is not made by the words of the flesh, but of the soul, and the cry of reflection. Chapter IV That in his confessions he may do good, he considers others.

Chapter V That man knoweth not himself wholly. Chapter VI The love of God, in his nature superior to all creatures, is acquired by the knowledge of the senses and the exercise of reason. Chapter IX Not only things, but also literature and images, are taken from the memory, and are brought forth by the act of remembering. Chapter X Literature is not introduced to the memory through the senses, but is brought forth from its more secret places.

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