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The Confessions of Saint Augustine
AD 401
THE CONFESSIONS OF SAINT AUGUSTINE Translated by Edward Bouverie Pusey
BOOK I
Great art Thou, O Lord, and greatly to be praised; great is Thy power,
and Thy wisdom infinite. And Thee would man praise; man, but a
particle of Thy creation; man, that bears about him his mortality, the
witness of his sin, the witness that Thou resistest the proud: yet
would man praise Thee; he, but a particle of Thy creation. Thou
awakest us to delight in Thy praise; for Thou madest us for Thyself,
and our heart is restless, until it repose in Thee. Grant me, Lord,
to know and understand which is first, to call on Thee or to praise
Thee? and, again, to know Thee or to call on Thee? for who can call on
Thee, not knowing Thee? for he that knoweth Thee not, may call on Thee
as other than Thou art. Or, is it rather, that we call on Thee that
we may know Thee? but how shall they call on Him in whom they have not
believed? or how shall they believe without a preacher? and they that
seek the Lord shall praise Him: for they that seek shall find Him, and
they that find shall praise Him. I will seek Thee, Lord, by calling
on Thee; and will call on Thee, believing in Thee; for to us hast Thou
been preached. My faith, Lord, shall call on Thee, which Thou hast
given me, wherewith Thou hast inspired me, through the Incarnation of
Thy Son, through the ministry of the Preacher.
And how shall I call upon my God, my God and Lord, since, when I call
for Him, I shall be calling Him to myself? and what room is there
within me, whither my God can come into me? whither can God come into
me, God who made heaven and earth? is there, indeed, O Lord my God,
aught in me that can contain Thee? do then heaven and earth, which
Thou hast made, and wherein Thou hast made me, contain Thee? or,
because nothing which exists could exist without Thee, doth therefore
whatever exists contain Thee? Since, then, I too exist, why do I seek
that Thou shouldest enter into me, who were not, wert Thou not in me?
Why? because I am not gone down in hell, and yet Thou art there also.
For if I go down into hell, Thou art there. I could not be then, O
my God, could not be at all, wert Thou not in me; or, rather, unless I
were in Thee, of whom are all things, by whom are all things, in whom
are all things? Even so, Lord, even so. Whither do I call Thee,
since I am in Thee? or whence canst Thou enter into me? for whither
can I go beyond heaven and earth, that thence my God should come into
me, who hath said, I fill the heaven and the earth.
Do the heaven and earth then contain Thee, since Thou fillest them? or
dost Thou fill them and yet overflow, since they do not contain Thee?
And whither, when the heaven and the earth are filled, pourest Thou
forth the remainder of Thyself? or hast Thou no need that aught
contain Thee, who containest all things, since what Thou fillest Thou
fillest by containing it? for the vessels which Thou fillest uphold
Thee not, since, though they were broken, Thou wert not poured out.
And when Thou art poured out on us, Thou art not cast down, but Thou
upliftest us; Thou art not dissipated, but Thou gatherest us. But
Thou who fillest all things, fillest Thou them with Thy whole self?
or, since all things cannot contain Thee wholly, do they contain part
of Thee? and all at once the same part? or each its own part, the
greater more, the smaller less? And is, then one part of Thee
greater, another less? or, art Thou wholly every where, while nothing
contains Thee wholly?
What art Thou then, my God? what, but the Lord God? For who is Lord
but the Lord? or who is God save our God? Most highest, most good,
most potent, most omnipotent; most merciful, yet most just; most
hidden, yet most present; most beautiful, yet most strong, stable, yet
incomprehensible; unchangeable, yet all-changing; never new, never
old; all-renewing, and bringing age upon the proud, and they know it
not; ever working, ever at rest; still gathering, yet nothing lacking;
supporting, filling, and overspreading; creating, nourishing, and
maturing; seeking, yet having all things. Thou lovest, without
passion; art jealous, without anxiety; repentest, yet grievest not;
art angry, yet serene; changest Thy works, Thy purpose unchanged;
receivest again what Thou findest, yet didst never lose; never in
need, yet rejoicing in gains; never covetous, yet exacting usury.
Thou receivest over and above, that Thou mayest owe; and who hath
aught that is not Thine? Thou payest debts, owing nothing; remittest
debts, losing nothing. And what had I now said, my God, my life, my
holy joy? or what saith any man when he speaks of Thee? Yet woe to
him that speaketh not, since mute are even the most eloquent.
Oh! that I might repose on Thee! Oh! that Thou wouldest enter into
my heart, and inebriate it, that I may forget my ills, and embrace
Thee, my sole good! What art Thou to me? In Thy pity, teach me to
utter it. Or what am I to Thee that Thou demandest my love, and, if I
give it not, art wroth with me, and threatenest me with grievous woes?
Is it then a slight woe to love Thee not? Oh! for Thy mercies' sake,
tell me, O Lord my God, what Thou art unto me. Say unto my soul, I am
thy salvation. So speak, that I may hear. Behold, Lord, my heart is
before Thee; open Thou the ears thereof, and say unto my soul, I am
thy salvation. After this voice let me haste, and take hold on Thee.
Hide not Thy face from me. Let me die- lest I die- only let me see
Thy face.
Narrow is the mansion of my soul; enlarge Thou it, that Thou mayest
enter in. It is ruinous; repair Thou it. It has that within which
must offend Thine eyes; I confess and know it. But who shall cleanse
it? or to whom should I cry, save Thee? Lord, cleanse me from my
secret faults, and spare Thy servant from the power of the enemy. I
believe, and therefore do I speak. Lord, Thou knowest. Have I not
confessed against myself my transgressions unto Thee, and Thou, my
God, hast forgiven the iniquity of my heart? I contend not in
judgment with Thee, who art the truth; I fear to deceive myself; lest
mine iniquity lie unto itself. Therefore I contend not in judgment
with Thee; for if Thou, Lord, shouldest mark iniquities, O Lord, who
shall abide it?
Yet suffer me to speak unto Thy mercy, me, dust and ashes. Yet suffer
me to speak, since I speak to Thy mercy, and not to scornful man.
Thou too, perhaps, despisest me, yet wilt Thou return and have
compassion upon me. For what would I say, O Lord my God, but that I
know not whence I came into this dying life (shall I call it?) or
living death. Then immediately did the comforts of Thy compassion
take me up, as I heard (for I remember it not) from the parents of my
flesh, out of whose substance Thou didst sometime fashion me. Thus
there received me the comforts of woman's milk. For neither my mother
nor my nurses stored their own breasts for me; but Thou didst bestow
the food of my infancy through them, according to Thine ordinance,
whereby Thou distributest Thy riches through the hidden springs of all
things. Thou also gavest me to desire no more than Thou gavest; and
to my nurses willingly to give me what Thou gavest them. For they,
with a heaven-taught affection, willingly gave me what they abounded
with from Thee. For this my good from them, was good for them. Nor,
indeed, from them was it, but through them; for from Thee, O God, are
all good things, and from my God is all my health. This I since
learned, Thou, through these Thy gifts, within me and without,
proclaiming Thyself unto me. For then I knew but to suck; to repose
in what pleased, and cry at what offended my flesh; nothing more.
Afterwards I began to smile; first in sleep, then waking: for so it
was told me of myself, and I believed it; for we see the like in other
infants, though of myself I remember it not. Thus, little by little,
I became conscious where I was; and to have a wish to express my
wishes to those who could content them, and I could not; for the
wishes were within me, and they without; nor could they by any sense
of theirs enter within my spirit. So I flung about at random limbs
and voice, making the few signs I could, and such as I could, like,
though in truth very little like, what I wished. And when I was not
presently obeyed (my wishes being hurtful or unintelligible), then I
was indignant with my elders for not submitting to me, with those
owing me no service, for not serving me; and avenged myself on them by
tears. Such have I learnt infants to be from observing them; and that
I was myself such, they, all unconscious, have shown me better than my
nurses who knew it.
And, lo! my infancy died long since, and I live. But Thou, Lord, who
for ever livest, and in whom nothing dies: for before the foundation
of the worlds, and before all that can be called "before," Thou art,
and art God and Lord of all which Thou hast created: in Thee abide,
fixed for ever, the first causes of all things unabiding; and of all
things changeable, the springs abide in Thee unchangeable: and in Thee
live the eternal reasons of all things unreasoning and temporal. Say,
Lord, to me, Thy suppliant; say, all-pitying, to me, Thy pitiable one;
say, did my infancy succeed another age of mine that died before it?
was it that which I spent within my mother's womb? for of that I have
heard somewhat, and have myself seen women with child? and what before
that life again, O God my joy, was I any where or any body? For this
have I none to tell me, neither father nor mother, nor experience of
others, nor mine own memory. Dost Thou mock me for asking this, and
bid me praise Thee and acknowledge Thee, for that I do know?
I acknowledge Thee, Lord of heaven and earth, and praise Thee for my
first rudiments of being, and my infancy, whereof I remember nothing;
for Thou hast appointed that man should from others guess much as to
himself; and believe much on the strength of weak females. Even then
I had being and life, and (at my infancy's close) I could seek for
signs whereby to make known to others my sensations. Whence could such
a being be, save from Thee, Lord? Shall any be his own artificer? or
can there elsewhere be derived any vein, which may stream essence and
life into us, save from thee, O Lord, in whom essence and life are
one? for Thou Thyself art supremely Essence and Life. For Thou art
most high, and art not changed, neither in Thee doth to-day come to a
close; yet in Thee doth it come to a close; because all such things
also are in Thee. For they had no way to pass away, unless Thou
upheldest them. And since Thy years fail not, Thy years are one
to-day. How many of ours and our fathers' years have flowed away
through Thy "to-day," and from it received the measure and the mould
of such being as they had; and still others shall flow away, and so
receive the mould of their degree of being. But Thou art still the
same, and all things of tomorrow, and all beyond, and all of
yesterday, and all behind it, Thou hast done to-day. What is it to
me, though any comprehend not this? Let him also rejoice and say,
What thing is this? Let him rejoice even thus! and be content rather
by not discovering to discover Thee, than by discovering not to
discover Thee.
Hear, O God. Alas, for man's sin! So saith man, and Thou pitiest
him; for Thou madest him, but sin in him Thou madest not. Who
remindeth me of the sins of my infancy? for in Thy sight none is pure
from sin, not even the infant whose life is but a day upon the earth.
Who remindeth me? doth not each little infant, in whom I see what of
myself I remember not? What then was my sin? was it that I hung upon
the breast and cried? for should I now so do for food suitable to my
age, justly should I be laughed at and reproved. What I then did was
worthy reproof; but since I could not understand reproof, custom and
reason forbade me to be reproved. For those habits, when grown, we
root out and cast away. Now no man, though he prunes, wittingly casts
away what is good. Or was it then good, even for a while, to cry for
what, if given, would hurt? bitterly to resent, that persons free, and
its own elders, yea, the very authors of its birth, served it not?
that many besides, wiser than it, obeyed not the nod of its good
pleasure? to do its best to strike and hurt, because commands were not
obeyed, which had been obeyed to its hurt? The weakness then of
infant limbs, not its will, is its innocence. Myself have seen and
known even a baby envious; it could not speak, yet it turned pale and
looked bitterly on its foster-brother. Who knows not this? Mothers
and nurses tell you that they allay these things by I know not what
remedies. Is that too innocence, when the fountain of milk is flowing
in rich abundance, not to endure one to share it, though in extremest
need, and whose very life as yet depends thereon? We bear gently with
all this, not as being no or slight evils, but because they will
disappear as years increase; for, though tolerated now, the very same
tempers are utterly intolerable when found in riper years.
Thou, then, O Lord my God, who gavest life to this my infancy,
furnishing thus with senses (as we see) the frame Thou gavest,
compacting its limbs, ornamenting its proportions, and, for its
general good and safety, implanting in it all vital functions, Thou
commandest me to praise Thee in these things, to confess unto Thee,
and sing unto Thy name, Thou most Highest. For Thou art God, Almighty
and Good, even hadst Thou done nought but only this, which none could
do but Thou: whose Unity is the mould of all things; who out of Thy
own fairness makest all things fair; and orderest all things by Thy
law. This age then, Lord, whereof I have no remembrance, which I take
on others' word, and guess from other infants that I have passed, true
though the guess be, I am yet loth to count in this life of mine which
I live in this world. For no less than that which I spent in my
mother's womb, is it hid from me in the shadows of forgetfulness. But
if I was shapen in iniquity, and in sin did my mother conceive me,
where, I beseech Thee, O my God, where, Lord, or when, was I Thy
servant guiltless? But, lo! that period I pass by; and what have I
now to do with that, of which I can recall no vestige?
Passing hence from infancy, I came to boyhood, or rather it came to
me, displacing infancy. Nor did that depart,- (for whither went it?)-
and yet it was no more. For I was no longer a speechless infant, but
a speaking boy. This I remember; and have since observed how I
learned to speak. It was not that my elders taught me words (as, soon
after, other learning) in any set method; but I, longing by cries and
broken accents and various motions of my limbs to express my thoughts,
that so I might have my will, and yet unable to express all I willed,
or to whom I willed, did myself, by the understanding which Thou, my
God, gavest me, practise the sounds in my memory. When they named any
thing, and as they spoke turned towards it, I saw and remembered that
they called what they would point out by the name they uttered. And
that they meant this thing and no other was plain from the motion of
their body, the natural language, as it were, of all nations,
expressed by the countenance, glances of the eye, gestures of the
limbs, and tones of the voice, indicating the affections of the mind,
as it pursues, possesses, rejects, or shuns. And thus by constantly
hearing words, as they occurred in various sentences, I collected
gradually for what they stood; and having broken in my mouth to these
signs, I thereby gave utterance to my will. Thus I exchanged with
those about me these current signs of our wills, and so launched
deeper into the stormy intercourse of human life, yet depending on
parental authority and the beck of elders.
O God my God, what miseries and mockeries did I now experience, when
obedience to my teachers was proposed to me, as proper in a boy, in
order that in this world I might prosper, and excel in tongue-science,
which should serve to the "praise of men," and to deceitful riches.
Next I was put to school to get learning, in which I (poor wretch)
knew not what use there was; and yet, if idle in learning, I was
beaten. For this was judged right by our forefathers; and many,
passing the same course before us, framed for us weary paths, through
which we were fain to pass; multiplying toil and grief upon the sons
of Adam. But, Lord, we found that men called upon Thee, and we learnt
from them to think of Thee (according to our powers) as of some great
One, who, though hidden from our senses, couldest hear and help us.
For so I began, as a boy, to pray to Thee, my aid and refuge; and
broke the fetters of my tongue to call on Thee, praying Thee, though
small, yet with no small earnestness, that I might not be beaten at
school. And when Thou heardest me not (not thereby giving me over to
folly), my elders, yea my very parents, who yet wished me no ill,
mocked my stripes, my then great and grievous ill.
Is there, Lord, any of soul so great, and cleaving to Thee with so
intense affection (for a sort of stupidity will in a way do it); but
is there any one who, from cleaving devoutly to Thee, is endued with
so great a spirit, that he can think as lightly of the racks and hooks
and other torments (against which, throughout all lands, men call on
Thee with extreme dread), mocking at those by whom they are feared
most bitterly, as our parents mocked the torments which we suffered in
boyhood from our masters? For we feared not our torments less; nor
prayed we less to Thee to escape them. And yet we sinned, in writing
or reading or studying less than was exacted of us. For we wanted
not, O Lord, memory or capacity, whereof Thy will gave enough for our
age; but our sole delight was play; and for this we were punished by
those who yet themselves were doing the like. But elder folks'
idleness is called "business"; that of boys, being really the same, is
punished by those elders; and none commiserates either boys or men.
For will any of sound discretion approve of my being beaten as a boy,
because, by playing a ball, I made less progress in studies which I
was to learn, only that, as a man, I might play more unbeseemingly?
and what else did he who beat me? who, if worsted in some trifling
discussion with his fellow-tutor, was more embittered and jealous than
I when beaten at ball by a play-fellow?
And yet, I sinned herein, O Lord God, the Creator and Disposer of all
things in nature, of sin the Disposer only, O Lord my God, I sinned in
transgressing the commands of my parents and those of my masters. For
what they, with whatever motive, would have me learn, I might
afterwards have put to good use. For I disobeyed, not from a better
choice, but from love of play, loving the pride of victory in my
contests, and to have my ears tickled with lying fables, that they
might itch the more; the same curiosity flashing from my eyes more and
more, for the shows and games of my elders. Yet those who give these
shows are in such esteem, that almost all wish the same for their
children, and yet are very willing that they should be beaten, if
those very games detain them from the studies, whereby they would have
them attain to be the givers of them. Look with pity, Lord, on these
things, and deliver us who call upon Thee now; deliver those too who
call not on Thee yet, that they may call on Thee, and Thou mayest
deliver them.
As a boy, then, I had already heard of an eternal life, promised us
through the humility of the Lord our God stooping to our pride; and
even from the womb of my mother, who greatly hoped in Thee, I was
sealed with the mark of His cross and salted with His salt. Thou
sawest, Lord, how while yet a boy, being seized on a time with sudden
oppression of the stomach, and like near to death- Thou sawest, my God
(for Thou wert my keeper), with what eagerness and what faith I
sought, from the pious care of my mother and Thy Church, the mother of
us all, the baptism of Thy Christ, my God and Lord. Whereupon the
mother my flesh, being much troubled (since, with a heart pure in Thy
faith, she even more lovingly travailed in birth of my salvation),
would in eager haste have provided for my consecration and cleansing
by the health-giving sacraments, confessing Thee, Lord Jesus, for the
remission of sins, unless I had suddenly recovered. And so, as if I
must needs be again polluted should I live, my cleansing was deferred,
because the defilements of sin would, after that washing, bring
greater and more perilous guilt. I then already believed: and my
mother, and the whole household, except my father: yet did not he
prevail over the power of my mother's piety in me, that as he did not
yet believe, so neither should I. For it was her earnest care that
Thou my God, rather than he, shouldest be my father; and in this Thou
didst aid her to prevail over her husband, whom she, the better,
obeyed, therein also obeying Thee, who hast so commanded.
I beseech Thee, my God, I would fain know, if so Thou willest, for
what purpose my baptism was then deferred? was it for my good that the
rein was laid loose, as it were, upon me, for me to sin? or was it not
laid loose? If not, why does it still echo in our ears on all sides,
"Let him alone, let him do as he will, for he is not yet baptised?"
but as to bodily health, no one says, "Let him be worse wounded, for
he is not yet healed." How much better then, had I been at once
healed; and then, by my friends' and my own, my soul's recovered
health had been kept safe in Thy keeping who gavest it. Better truly.
But how many and great waves of temptation seemed to hang over me
after my boyhood! These my mother foresaw; and preferred to expose
to them the clay whence I might afterwards be moulded, than the very
cast, when made.
In boyhood itself, however (so much less dreaded for me than youth), I
loved not study, and hated to be forced to it. Yet I was forced; and
this was well done towards me, but I did not well; for, unless forced,
I had not learnt. But no one doth well against his will, even though
what he doth, be well. Yet neither did they well who forced me, but
what was well came to me from Thee, my God. For they were regardless
how I should employ what they forced me to learn, except to satiate
the insatiate desires of a wealthy beggary, and a shameful glory. But
Thou, by whom the very hairs of our head are numbered, didst use for
my good the error of all who urged me to learn; and my own, who would
not learn, Thou didst use for my punishment- a fit penalty for one, so
small a boy and so great a sinner. So by those who did not well, Thou
didst well for me; and by my own sin Thou didst justly punish me. For
Thou hast commanded, and so it is, that every inordinate affection
should be its own punishment.
But why did I so much hate the Greek, which I studied as a boy? I do
not yet fully know. For the Latin I loved; not what my first masters,
but what the so-called grammarians taught me. For those first
lessons, reading, writing and arithmetic, I thought as great a burden
and penalty as any Greek. And yet whence was this too, but from the
sin and vanity of this life, because I was flesh, and a breath that
passeth away and cometh not again? For those first lessons were
better certainly, because more certain; by them I obtained, and still
retain, the power of reading what I find written, and myself writing
what I will; whereas in the others, I was forced to learn the
wanderings of one Aeneas, forgetful of my own, and to weep for dead
Dido, because she killed herself for love; the while, with dry eyes, I
endured my miserable self dying among these things, far from Thee, O
God my life.
For what more miserable than a miserable being who commiserates not
himself; weeping the death of Dido for love to Aeneas, but weeping not
his own death for want of love to Thee, O God. Thou light of my
heart, Thou bread of my inmost soul, Thou Power who givest vigour to
my mind, who quickenest my thoughts, I loved Thee not. I committed
fornication against Thee, and all around me thus fornicating there
echoed "Well done! well done!" for the friendship of this world is
fornication against Thee; and "Well done! well done!" echoes on till
one is ashamed not to he thus a man. And for all this I wept not, I
who wept for Dido slain, and "seeking by the sword a stroke and wound
extreme," myself seeking the while a worse extreme, the extremest and
lowest of Thy creatures, having forsaken Thee, earth passing into the
earth. And if forbid to read all this, I was grieved that I might not
read what grieved me. Madness like this is thought a higher and a
richer learning, than that by which I learned to read and write.
But now, my God, cry Thou aloud in my soul; and let Thy truth tell me,
"Not so, not so. Far better was that first study." For, lo, I would
readily forget the wanderings of Aeneas and all the rest, rather than
how to read and write. But over the entrance of the Grammar School is
a vail drawn! true; yet is this not so much an emblem of aught
recondite, as a cloak of error. Let not those, whom I no longer fear,
cry out against me, while I confess to Thee, my God, whatever my soul
will, and acquiesce in the condemnation of my evil ways, that I may
love Thy good ways. Let not either buyers or sellers of
grammar-learning cry out against me. For if I question them whether
it be true that Aeneas came on a time to Carthage, as the poet tells,
the less learned will reply that they know not, the more learned that
he never did. But should I ask with what letters the name "Aeneas" is
written, every one who has learnt this will answer me aright, as to
the signs which men have conventionally settled. If, again, I should
ask which might be forgotten with least detriment to the concerns of
life, reading and writing or these poetic fictions? who does not
foresee what all must answer who have not wholly forgotten themselves?
I sinned, then, when as a boy I preferred those empty to those more
profitable studies, or rather loved the one and hated the other. "One
and one, two"; "two and two, four"; this was to me a hateful singsong:
"the wooden horse lined with armed men," and "the burning of Troy,"
and "Creusa's shade and sad similitude," were the choice spectacle of
my vanity.
Why then did I hate the Greek classics, which have the like tales? For
Homer also curiously wove the like fictions, and is most sweetlyvain,
yet was he bitter to my boyish taste. And so I suppose would Virgil
be to Grecian children, when forced to learn him as I was Homer.
Difficulty, in truth, the difficulty of a foreign tongue, dashed, as
it were, with gall all the sweetness of Grecian fable. For not one
word of it did I understand, and to make me understand I was urged
vehemently with cruel threats and punishments. Time was also (as an
infant) I knew no Latin; but this I learned without fear or suffering,
by mere observation, amid the caresses of my nursery and jests of
friends, smiling and sportively encouraging me. This I learned
without any pressure of punishment to urge me on, for my heart urged
me to give birth to its conceptions, which I could only do by learning
words not of those who taught, but of those who talked with me; in
whose ears also I gave birth to the thoughts, whatever I conceived.
No doubt, then, that a free curiosity has more force in our learning
these things, than a frightful enforcement. Only this enforcement
restrains the rovings of that freedom, through Thy laws, O my God, Thy
laws, from the master's cane to the martyr's trials, being able to
temper for us a wholesome bitter, recalling us to Thyself from that
deadly pleasure which lures us from Thee.
Hear, Lord, my prayer; let not my soul faint under Thy discipline, nor
let me faint in confessing unto Thee all Thy mercies, whereby Thou
hast drawn me out of all my most evil ways, that Thou mightest become
a delight to me above all the allurements which I once pursued; that I
may most entirely love Thee, and clasp Thy hand with all my
affections, and Thou mayest yet rescue me from every temptation, even
unto the end. For lo, O Lord, my King and my God, for Thy service be
whatever useful thing my childhood learned; for Thy service, that I
speak, write, read, reckon. For Thou didst grant me Thy discipline,
while I was learning vanities; and my sin of delighting in those
vanities Thou hast forgiven. In them, indeed, I learnt many a useful
word, but these may as well be learned in things not vain; and that is
the safe path for the steps of youth.
But woe is thee, thou torrent of human custom! Who shall stand
against thee? how long shalt thou not be dried up? how long roll the
sons of Eve into that huge and hideous ocean, which even they scarcely
overpass who climb the cross? Did not I read in thee of Jove the
thunderer and the adulterer? both, doubtless, he could not be; but so
the feigned thunder might countenance and pander to real adultery.
And now which of our gowned masters lends a sober ear to one who from
their own school cries out, "These were Homer's fictions, transferring
things human to the gods; would he had brought down things divine to
us!" Yet more truly had he said, "These are indeed his fictions; but
attributing a divine nature to wicked men, that crimes might be no
longer crimes, and whoso commits them might seem to imitate not
abandoned men, but the celestial gods."
And yet, thou hellish torrent, into thee are cast the sons of men with
rich rewards, for compassing such learning; and a great solemnity is
made of it, when this is going on in the forum, within sight of laws
appointing a salary beside the scholar's payments; and thou lashest
thy rocks and roarest, "Hence words are learnt; hence eloquence; most
necessary to gain your ends, or maintain opinions." As if we should
have never known such words as "golden shower," "lap," "beguile,"
"temples of the heavens," or others in that passage, unless Terence
had brought a lewd youth upon the stage, setting up Jupiter as his
example of seduction.
"Viewing a picture, where the tale was drawn, Of Jove's descending in
a golden shower To Danae's lap a woman to beguile."
And then mark how he excites himself to lust as by celestial
authority:
"And what God? Great Jove, Who shakes heaven's highest temples with
his thunder,
And I, poor mortal man, not do the same! I did it, and with all my
heart I did it."
Not one whit more easily are the words learnt for all this vileness;
but by their means the vileness is committed with less shame. Not
that I blame the words, being, as it were, choice and precious
vessels; but that wine of error which is drunk to us in them by
intoxicated teachers; and if we, too, drink not, we are beaten, and
have no sober judge to whom we may appeal. Yet, O my God (in whose
presence I now without hurt may remember this), all this unhappily I
learnt willingly with great delight, and for this was pronounced a
hopeful boy.
Bear with me, my God, while I say somewhat of my wit, Thy gift, and on
what dotages I wasted it. For a task was set me, troublesome enough
to my soul, upon terms of praise or shame, and fear of stripes, to
speak the words of Juno, as she raged and mourned that she could not
"This Trojan prince from Latinum turn."
Which words I had heard that Juno never uttered; but we were forced to
go astray in the footsteps of these poetic fictions, and to say in
prose much what he expressed in verse. And his speaking was most
applauded, in whom the passions of rage and grief were most
preeminent, and clothed in the most fitting language, maintaining the
dignity of the character. What is it to me, O my true life, my God,
that my declamation was applauded above so many of my own age and
class? is not all this smoke and wind? and was there nothing else
whereon to exercise my wit and tongue? Thy praises, Lord, Thy praises
might have stayed the yet tender shoot of my heart by the prop of Thy
Scriptures; so had it not trailed away amid these empty trifles, a
defiled prey for the fowls of the air. For in more ways than one do
men sacrifice to the rebellious angels.
But what marvel that I was thus carried away to vanities, and went out
from Thy presence, O my God, when men were set before me as models,
who, if in relating some action of theirs, in itself not ill, they
committed some barbarism or solecism, being censured, were abashed;
but when in rich and adomed and well-ordered discourse they related
their own disordered life, being bepraised, they gloried? These things
Thou seest, Lord, and holdest Thy peace; long-suffering, and plenteous
in mercy and truth. Wilt Thou hold Thy peace for ever? and even now
Thou drawest out of this horrible gulf the soul that seeketh Thee,
that thirsteth for Thy pleasures, whose heart saith unto Thee, I have
sought Thy face; Thy face, Lord, will I seek. For darkened affections
is removal from Thee. For it is not by our feet, or change of place,
that men leave Thee, or return unto Thee. Or did that Thy younger son
look out for horses or chariots, or ships, fly with visible wings, or
journey by the motion of his limbs, that he might in a far country
waste in riotous living all Thou gavest at his departure? a loving
Father, when Thou gavest, and more loving unto him, when he returned
empty. So then in lustful, that is, in darkened affections, is the
true distance from Thy face.
Behold, O Lord God, yea, behold patiently as Thou art wont how
carefully the sons of men observe the covenanted rules of letters and
syllables received from those who spake before them, neglecting the
eternal covenant of everlasting salvation received from Thee.
Insomuch, that a teacher or learner of the hereditary laws of
pronunciation will more offend men by speaking without the aspirate,
of a "uman being," in despite of the laws of grammar, than if he, a
"human being," hate a "human being" in despite of Thine. As if any
enemy could be more hurtful than the hatred with which he is incensed
against him; or could wound more deeply him whom he persecutes, than
he wounds his own soul by his enmity. Assuredly no science of letters
can be so innate as the record of conscience, "that he is doing to
another what from another he would be loth to suffer." How deep are
Thy ways, O God, Thou only great, that sittest silent on high and by
an unwearied law dispensing penal blindness to lawless desires. In
quest of the fame of eloquence, a man standing before a human judge,
surrounded by a human throng, declaiming against his enemy with
fiercest hatred, will take heed most watchfully, lest, by an error of
the tongue, he murder the word "human being"; but takes no heed, lest,
through the fury of his spirit, he murder the real human being.
This was the world at whose gate unhappy I lay in my boyhood; this the
stage where I had feared more to commit a barbarism, than having
committed one, to envy those who had not. These things I speak and
confess to Thee, my God; for which I had praise from them, whom I then
thought it all virtue to please. For I saw not the abyss of vileness,
wherein I was cast away from Thine eyes. Before them what more foul
than I was already, displeasing even such as myself? with innumerable
lies deceiving my tutor, my masters, my parents, from love of play,
eagerness to see vain shows and restlessness to imitate them! Thefts
also I committed, from my parents' cellar and table, enslaved by
greediness, or that I might have to give to boys, who sold me their
play, which all the while they liked no less than I. In this play,
too, I often sought unfair conquests, conquered myself meanwhile by
vain desire of preeminence. And what could I so ill endure, or, when
I detected it, upbraided I so fiercely, as that I was doing to others?
and for which if, detected, I was upbraided, I chose rather to quarrel
than to yield. And is this the innocence of boyhood? Not so, Lord,
not so; I cry Thy mercy, my God. For these very sins, as riper years
succeed, these very sins are transferred from tutors and masters, from
nuts and balls and sparrows, to magistrates and kings, to gold and
manors and slaves, just as severer punishments displace the cane. It
was the low stature then of childhood which Thou our King didst
commend as an emblem of lowliness, when Thou saidst, Of such is the
kingdom of heaven.
Yet, Lord, to Thee, the Creator and Governor of the universe, most
excellent and most good, thanks were due to Thee our God, even hadst
Thou destined for me boyhood only. For even then I was, I lived, and
felt; and had an implanted providence over my well-being- a trace of
that mysterious Unity whence I was derived; I guarded by the inward
sense the entireness of my senses, and in these minute pursuits, and
in my thoughts on things minute, I learnt to delight in truth, I hated
to be deceived, had a vigorous memory, was gifted with speech, was
soothed by friendship, avoided pain, baseness, ignorance. In so small
a creature, what was not wonderful, not admirable? But all are gifts
of my God: it was not I who gave them me; and good these are, and
these together are myself. Good, then, is He that made me, and He is
my good; and before Him will I exult for every good which of a boy I
had. For it was my sin, that not in Him, but in His creatures- myself
and others- I sought for pleasures, sublimities, truths, and so fell
headlong into sorrows, confusions, errors. Thanks be to Thee, my joy
and my glory and my confidence, my God, thanks be to Thee for Thy
gifts; but do Thou preserve them to me. For so wilt Thou preserve me,
and those things shall be enlarged and perfected which Thou hast given
me, and I myself shall be with Thee, since even to be Thou hast given
me.