BOOK I ...................................................................................................................................................1

BOOK II ...................................................................................................................................................9

BOOK III...............................................................................................................................................13

BOOK IV ...............................................................................................................................................19

BOOK V................................................................................................................................................27

BOOK VI ...............................................................................................................................................35

BOOK VII ..............................................................................................................................................43

BOOK VIII............................................................................................................................................52

BOOK IX ...............................................................................................................................................61

BOOK X................................................................................................................................................71

BOOK XI ...............................................................................................................................................89

BOOK XII ..............................................................................................................................................99

BOOK XIII..........................................................................................................................................111

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

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 allchanging;

never new, never old; allrenewing, 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

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

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

heaventaught 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

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, allpitying, 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

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 today 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

today. How many of ours and our fathers' years have flowed away through Thy "today," 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 today. 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

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 fosterbrother. 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

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

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 tonguescience,

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

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 fellowtutor, was more embittered and jealous than I when beaten at ball by a

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

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 healthgiving 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

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

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 socalled 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,

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

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 grammarlearning 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

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

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.

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

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

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 wellordered

discourse they related their own disordered life, being bepraised, they gloried? These things Thou seest, Lord,

and holdest Thy peace; longsuffering, 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

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,

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 wellbeing 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.

I will now call to mind my past foulness, and the carnal corruptions of my soul; not because I love them, but

that I may love Thee, O my God. For love of Thy love I do it; reviewing my most wicked ways in the very

bitterness of my remembrance, that Thou mayest grow sweet unto me (Thou sweetness never failing, Thou

blissful and assured sweetness); and gathering me again out of that my dissipation, wherein I was torn

piecemeal, while turned from Thee, the One Good, I lost myself among a multiplicity of things. For I even

burnt in my youth heretofore, to be satiated in things below; and I dared to grow wild again, with these

various and shadowy loves: my beauty consumed away, and I stank in Thine eyes; pleasing myself, and

And what was it that I delighted in, but to love, and be loved? but I kept not the measure of love, of mind to

mind, friendship's bright boundary: but out of the muddy concupiscence of the flesh, and the bubblings of

youth, mists fumed up which beclouded and overcast my heart, that I could not discern the clear brightness of

love from the fog of lustfulness. Both did confusedly boil in me, and hurried my unstayed youth over the

precipice of unholy desires, and sunk me in a gulf of flagitiousnesses. Thy wrath had gathered over me, and I

knew it not. I was grown deaf by the clanking of the chain of my mortality, the punishment of the pride of my

soul, and I strayed further from Thee, and Thou lettest me alone, and I was tossed about, and wasted, and

dissipated, and I boiled over in my fornications, and Thou heldest Thy peace, O Thou my tardy joy! Thou

then heldest Thy peace, and I wandered further and further from Thee, into more and more fruitless

Oh! that some one had then attempered my disorder, and turned to account the fleeting beauties of these, the

extreme points of Thy creation! had put a bound to their pleasureableness, that so the tides of my youth might

have cast themselves upon the marriage shore, if they could not be calmed, and kept within the object of a

family, as Thy law prescribes, O Lord: who this way formest the offspring of this our death, being able with a

gentle hand to blunt the thorns which were excluded from Thy paradise? For Thy omnipotency is not far from

us, even when we be far from Thee. Else ought I more watchfully to have heeded the voice from the clouds:

Nevertheless such shall have trouble in the flesh, but I spare you. And it is good for a man not to touch a

woman. And, he that is unmarried thinketh of the things of the Lord, how he may please the Lord; but he that

To these words I should have listened more attentively, and being severed for the kingdom of heaven's sake,

had more happily awaited Thy embraces; but I, poor wretch, foamed like a troubled sea, following the

rushing of my own tide, forsaking Thee, and exceeded all Thy limits; yet I escaped not Thy scourges. For

what mortal can? For Thou wert ever with me mercifully rigorous, and besprinkling with most bitter alloy all

my unlawful pleasures: that I might seek pleasures without alloy. But where to find such, I could not

discover, save in Thee, O Lord, who teachest by sorrow, and woundest us, to heal; and killest us, lest we die

from Thee. Where was I, and how far was I exiled from the delights of Thy house, in that sixteenth year of

the age of my flesh, when the madness of lust (to which human shamelessness giveth free licence, though

unlicensed by Thy laws) took the rule over me, and I resigned myself wholly to it? My friends meanwhile

took no care by marriage to save my fall; their only care was that I should learn to speak excellently, and be a

For that year were my studies intermitted: whilst after my return from Madaura (a neighbour city, whither I

had journeyed to learn grammar and rhetoric), the expenses for a further journey to Carthage were being

provided for me; and that rather by the resolution than the means of my father, who was but a poor freeman

of Thagaste. To whom tell I this? not to Thee, my God; but before Thee to mine own kind, even to that small

portion of mankind as may light upon these writings of mine. And to what purpose? that whosoever reads

this, may think out of what depths we are to cry unto Thee. For what is nearer to Thine ears than a confessing

heart, and a life of faith? Who did not extol my father, for that beyond the ability of his means, he would

furnish his son with all necessaries for a far journey for his studies' sake? For many far abler citizens did no

such thing for their children. But yet this same father had no concern how I grew towards Thee, or how

chaste I were; so that I were but copious in speech, however barren I were to Thy culture, O God, who art the

But while in that my sixteenth year I lived with my parents, leaving all school for a while (a season of

idleness being interposed through the narrowness of my parents' fortunes), the briers of unclean desires grew

rank over my head, and there was no hand to root them out. When that my father saw me at the baths, now

growing towards manhood, and endued with a restless youthfulness, he, as already hence anticipating his

descendants, gladly told it to my mother; rejoicing in that tumult of the senses wherein the world forgetteth

Thee its Creator, and becometh enamoured of Thy creature, instead of Thyself, through the fumes of that

invisible wine of its selfwill, turning aside and bowing down to the very basest things. But in my mother's

breast Thou hadst already begun Thy temple, and the foundation of Thy holy habitation, whereas my father

was as yet but a Catechumen, and that but recently. She then was startled with a holy fear and trembling; and

though I was not as yet baptised, feared for me those crooked ways in which they walk who turn their back to

Woe is me! and dare I say that Thou heldest Thy peace, O my God, while I wandered further from Thee?

Didst Thou then indeed hold Thy peace to me? And whose but Thine were these words which by my mother,

Thy faithful one, Thou sangest in my ears? Nothing whereof sunk into my heart, so as to do it. For she

wished, and I remember in private with great anxiety warned me, "not to commit fornication; but especially

never to defile another man's wife." These seemed to me womanish advices, which I should blush to obey.

But they were Thine, and I knew it not: and I thought Thou wert silent and that it was she who spake; by

whom Thou wert not silent unto me; and in her wast despised by me, her son, the son of Thy handmaid, Thy

servant. But I knew it not; and ran headlong with such blindness, that amongst my equals I was ashamed of a

less shamelessness, when I heard them boast of their flagitiousness, yea, and the more boasting, the more they

were degraded: and I took pleasure, not only in the pleasure of the deed, but in the praise. What is worthy of

dispraise but vice? But I made myself worse than I was, that I might not be dispraised; and when in any thing

I had not sinned as the abandoned ones, I would say that I had done what I had not done, that I might not

seem contemptible in proportion as I was innocent; or of less account, the more chaste.

Behold with what companions I walked the streets of Babylon, and wallowed in the mire thereof, as if in a

bed of spices and precious ointments. And that I might cleave the faster to its very centre, the invisible enemy

trod me down, and seduced me, for that I was easy to be seduced. Neither did the mother of my flesh (who

had now fled out of the centre of Babylon, yet went more slowly in the skirts thereof as she advised me to

chastity, so heed what she had heard of me from her husband, as to restrain within the bounds of conjugal

affection (if it could not be pared away to the quick) what she felt to be pestilent at present and for the future

dangerous. She heeded not this, for she feared lest a wife should prove a clog and hindrance to my hopes. Not

those hopes of the world to come, which my mother reposed in Thee; but the hope of learning, which both

my parents were too desirous I should attain; my father, because he had next to no thought of Thee, and of me

but vain conceits; my mother, because she accounted that those usual courses of learning would not only be

no hindrance, but even some furtherance towards attaining Thee. For thus I conjecture, recalling, as well as I

may, the disposition of my parents. The reins, meantime, were slackened to me, beyond all temper of due

severity, to spend my time in sport, yea, even unto dissoluteness in whatsoever I affected. And in all was a

mist, intercepting from me, O my God, the brightness of Thy truth; and mine iniquity burst out as from very

Theft is punished by Thy law, O Lord, and the law written in the hearts of men, which iniquity itself effaces

not. For what thief will abide a thief? not even a rich thief, one stealing through want. Yet I lusted to thieve,

and did it, compelled by no hunger, nor poverty, but through a cloyedness of welldoing, and a

pamperedness of iniquity. For I stole that, of which I had enough, and much better. Nor cared I to enjoy what

I stole, but joyed in the theft and sin itself. A pear tree there was near our vineyard, laden with fruit, tempting

neither for colour nor taste. To shake and rob this, some lewd young fellows of us went, late one night

(having according to our pestilent custom prolonged our sports in the streets till then), and took huge loads,

not for our eating, but to fling to the very hogs, having only tasted them. And this, but to do what we liked

only, because it was misliked. Behold my heart, O God, behold my heart, which Thou hadst pity upon in the

bottom of the bottomless pit. Now, behold, let my heart tell Thee what it sought there, that I should be

gratuitously evil, having no temptation to ill, but the ill itself. It was foul, and I loved it; I loved to perish, I

loved mine own fault, not that for which I was faulty, but my fault itself. Foul soul, falling from Thy

firmament to utter destruction; not seeking aught through the shame, but the shame itself!

For there is an attractiveness in beautiful bodies, in gold and silver, and all things; and in bodily touch,

sympathy hath much influence, and each other sense hath his proper object answerably tempered. Wordly

honour hath also its grace, and the power of overcoming, and of mastery; whence springs also the thirst of

revenge. But yet, to obtain all these, we may not depart from Thee, O Lord, nor decline from Thy law. The

life also which here we live hath its own enchantment, through a certain proportion of its own, and a

correspondence with all things beautiful here below. Human friendship also is endeared with a sweet tie, by

reason of the unity formed of many souls. Upon occasion of all these, and the like, is sin committed, while

through an immoderate inclination towards these goods of the lowest order, the better and higher are

forsaken, Thou, our Lord God, Thy truth, and Thy law. For these lower things have their delights, but not

like my God, who made all things; for in Him doth the righteous delight, and He is the joy of the upright in

When, then, we ask why a crime was done, we believe it not, unless it appear that there might have been

some desire of obtaining some of those which we called lower goods, or a fear of losing them. For they are

beautiful and comely; although compared with those higher and beatific goods, they be abject and low. A

man hath murdered another; why? he loved his wife or his estate; or would rob for his own livelihood; or

feared to lose some such things by him; or, wronged, was on fire to be revenged. Would any commit murder

upon no cause, delighted simply in murdering? who would believe it? for as for that furious and savage man,

of whom it is said that he was gratuitously evil and cruel, yet is the cause assigned; "lest" (saith he) "through

idleness hand or heart should grow inactive." And to what end? that, through that practice of guilt, he might,

having taken the city, attain to honours, empire, riches, and be freed from fear of the laws, and his

embarrassments from domestic needs, and consciousness of villainies. So then, not even Catiline himself

What then did wretched I so love in thee, thou theft of mine, thou deed of darkness, in that sixteenth year of

my age? Lovely thou wert not, because thou wert theft. But art thou any thing, that thus I speak to thee? Fair

were the pears we stole, because they were Thy creation, Thou fairest of all, Creator of all, Thou good God;

God, the sovereign good and my true good. Fair were those pears, but not them did my wretched soul desire;

for I had store of better, and those I gathered, only that I might steal. For, when gathered, I flung them away,

my only feast therein being my own sin, which I was pleased to enjoy. For if aught of those pears came

within my mouth, what sweetened it was the sin. And now, O Lord my God, I enquire what in that theft

delighted me; and behold it hath no loveliness; I mean not such loveliness as in justice and wisdom; nor such

as is in the mind and memory, and senses, and animal life of man; nor yet as the stars are glorious and

beautiful in their orbs; or the earth, or sea, full of embryolife, replacing by its birth that which decayeth;

For so doth pride imitate exaltedness; whereas Thou alone art God exalted over all. Ambition, what seeks it,

but honours and glory? whereas Thou alone art to be honoured above all, and glorious for evermore. The

cruelty of the great would fain be feared; but who is to be feared but God alone, out of whose power what can

be wrested or withdrawn? when, or where, or whither, or by whom? The tendernesses of the wanton would

fain be counted love: yet is nothing more tender than Thy charity; nor is aught loved more healthfully than

that Thy truth, bright and beautiful above all. Curiosity makes semblance of a desire of knowledge; whereas

Thou supremely knowest all. Yea, ignorance and foolishness itself is cloaked under the name of simplicity

and uninjuriousness; because nothing is found more single than Thee: and what less injurious, since they are

his own works which injure the sinner? Yea, sloth would fain be at rest; but what stable rest besides the Lord?

Luxury affects to be called plenty and abundance; but Thou art the fulness and neverfailing plenteousness of

incorruptible pleasures. Prodigality presents a shadow of liberality: but Thou art the most overflowing Giver

of all good. Covetousness would possess many things; and Thou possessest all things. Envy disputes for

excellency: what more excellent than Thou? Anger seeks revenge: who revenges more justly than Thou? Fear

startles at things unwonted and sudden, which endangers things beloved, and takes forethought for their

safety; but to Thee what unwonted or sudden, or who separateth from Thee what Thou lovest? Or where but

with Thee is unshaken safety? Grief pines away for things lost, the delight of its desires; because it would

Thus doth the soul commit fornication, when she turns from Thee, seeking without Thee, what she findeth

not pure and untainted, till she returns to Thee. Thus all pervertedly imitate Thee, who remove far from Thee,

and lift themselves up against Thee. But even by thus imitating Thee, they imply Thee to be the Creator of all

nature; whence there is no place whither altogether to retire from Thee. What then did I love in that theft? and

wherein did I even corruptly and pervertedly imitate my Lord? Did I wish even by stealth to do contrary to

Thy law, because by power I could not, so that being a prisoner, I might mimic a maimed liberty by doing

with impunity things unpermitted me, a darkened likeness of Thy Omnipotency? Behold, Thy servant, fleeing

from his Lord, and obtaining a shadow. O rottenness, O monstrousness of life, and depth of death! could I

What shall I render unto the Lord, that, whilst my memory recalls these things, my soul is not affrighted at

them? I will love Thee, O Lord, and thank Thee, and confess unto Thy name; because Thou hast forgiven me

these so great and heinous deeds of mine. To Thy grace I ascribe it, and to Thy mercy, that Thou hast melted

away my sins as it were ice. To Thy grace I ascribe also whatsoever I have not done of evil; for what might I

not have done, who even loved a sin for its own sake? Yea, all I confess to have been forgiven me; both what

evils I committed by my own wilfulness, and what by Thy guidance I committed not. What man is he, who,

weighing his own infirmity, dares to ascribe his purity and innocency to his own strength; that so he should

love Thee the less, as if he had less needed Thy mercy, whereby Thou remittest sins to those that turn to

Thee? For whosoever, called by Thee, followed Thy voice, and avoided those things which he reads me

recalling and confessing of myself, let him not scorn me, who being sick, was cured by that Physician,

through whose aid it was that he was not, or rather was less, sick: and for this let him love Thee as much, yea

and more; since by whom he sees me to have been recovered from such deep consumption of sin, by Him he

What fruit had I then (wretched man!) in those things, of the remembrance whereof I am now ashamed?

Especially, in that theft which I loved for the theft's sake; and it too was nothing, and therefore the more

miserable I, who loved it. Yet alone I had not done it: such was I then, I remember, alone I had never done it.

I loved then in it also the company of the accomplices, with whom I did it? I did not then love nothing else

but the theft, yea rather I did love nothing else; for that circumstance of the company was also nothing. What

is, in truth? who can teach me, save He that enlighteneth my heart, and discovereth its dark corners? What is

it which hath come into my mind to enquire, and discuss, and consider? For had I then loved the pears I stole,

and wished to enjoy them, I might have done it alone, had the bare commission of the theft sufficed to attain

my pleasure; nor needed I have inflamed the itching of my desires by the excitement of accomplices. But

since my pleasure was not in those pears, it was in the offence itself, which the company of fellowsinners

What then was this feeling? For of a truth it was too foul: and woe was me, who had it. But yet what was it?

Who can understand his errors? It was the sport, which as it were tickled our hearts, that we beguiled those

who little thought what we were doing, and much disliked it. Why then was my delight of such sort that I did

it not alone? Because none doth ordinarily laugh alone? ordinarily no one; yet laughter sometimes masters

men alone and singly when on one whatever is with them, if anything very ludicrous presents itself to their

senses or mind. Yet I had not done this alone; alone I had never done it. Behold my God, before Thee, the

vivid remembrance of my soul; alone, I had never committed that theft wherein what I stole pleased me not,

but that I stole; nor had it alone liked me to do it, nor had I done it. O friendship too unfriendly! thou

incomprehensible inveigler of the soul, thou greediness to do mischief out of mirth and wantonness, thou

thirst of others' loss, without lust of my own gain or revenge: but when it is said, "Let's go, let's do it," we are

Who can disentangle that twisted and intricate knottiness? Foul is it: I hate to think on it, to look on it. But

Thee I long for, O Righteousness and Innocency, beautiful and comely to all pure eyes, and of a satisfaction

unsating. With Thee is rest entire, and life imperturbable. Whoso enters into Thee, enters into the joy of his

Lord: and shall not fear, and shall do excellently in the AllExcellent. I sank away from Thee, and I

wandered, O my God, too much astray from Thee my stay, in these days of my youth, and I became to myself

To Carthage I came, where there sang all around me in my ears a cauldron of unholy loves. I loved not yet,

yet I loved to love, and out of a deepseated want, I hated myself for wanting not. I sought what I might love,

in love with loving, and safety I hated, and a way without snares. For within me was a famine of that inward

food, Thyself, my God; yet, through that famine I was not hungered; but was without all longing for

incorruptible sustenance, not because filled therewith, but the more empty, the more I loathed it. For this

cause my soul was sickly and full of sores, it miserably cast itself forth, desiring to be scraped by the touch of

objects of sense. Yet if these had not a soul, they would not be objects of love. To love then, and to be

beloved, was sweet to me; but more, when I obtained to enjoy the person I loved, I defiled, therefore, the

spring of friendship with the filth of concupiscence, and I beclouded its brightness with the hell of

lustfulness; and thus foul and unseemly, I would fain, through exceeding vanity, be fine and courtly. I fell

headlong then into the love wherein I longed to be ensnared. My God, my Mercy, with how much gall didst

Thou out of Thy great goodness besprinkle for me that sweetness? For I was both beloved, and secretly

arrived at the bond of enjoying; and was with joy fettered with sorrowbringing bonds, that I might be

scourged with the iron burning rods of jealousy, and suspicions, and fears, and angers, and quarrels.

Stageplays also carried me away, full of images of my miseries, and of fuel to my fire. Why is it, that man

desires to be made sad, beholding doleful and tragical things, which yet himself would no means suffer? yet

he desires as a spectator to feel sorrow at them, this very sorrow is his pleasure. What is this but a miserable

madness? for a man is the more affected with these actions, the less free he is from such affections.

Howsoever, when he suffers in his own person, it uses to be styled misery: when he compassionates others,

then it is mercy. But what sort of compassion is this for feigned and scenical passions? for the auditor is not

called on to relieve, but only to grieve: and he applauds the actor of these fictions the more, the more he

grieves. And if the calamities of those persons (whether of old times, or mere fiction) be so acted, that the

spectator is not moved to tears, he goes away disgusted and criticising; but if he be moved to passion, he

Are griefs then too loved? Verily all desire joy. Or whereas no man likes to be miserable, is he yet pleased to

be merciful? which because it cannot be without passion, for this reason alone are passions loved? This also

springs from that vein of friendship. But whither goes that vein? whither flows it? wherefore runs it into that

torrent of pitch bubbling forth those monstrous tides of foul lustfulness, into which it is wilfully changed and

transformed, being of its own will precipitated and corrupted from its heavenly clearness? Shall compassion

then be put away? by no means. Be griefs then sometimes loved. But beware of uncleanness, O my soul,

under the guardianship of my God, the God of our fathers, who is to be praised and exalted above all for ever,

beware of uncleanness. For I have not now ceased to pity; but then in the theatres I rejoiced with lovers when

they wickedly enjoyed one another, although this was imaginary only in the play. And when they lost one

another, as if very compassionate, I sorrowed with them, yet had my delight in both. But now I much more

pity him that rejoiceth in his wickedness, than him who is thought to suffer hardship, by missing some

pernicious pleasure, and the loss of some miserable felicity. This certainly is the truer mercy, but in it grief

delights not. For though he that grieves for the miserable, be commended for his office of charity; yet had he,

who is genuinely compassionate, rather there were nothing for him to grieve for. For if good will be ill willed

(which can never be), then may he, who truly and sincerely commiserates, wish there might be some

miserable, that he might commiserate. Some sorrow may then be allowed, none loved. For thus dost Thou, O

Lord God, who lovest souls far more purely than we, and hast more incorruptibly pity on them, yet are

But I, miserable, then loved to grieve, and sought out what to grieve at, when in another's and that feigned

and personated misery, that acting best pleased me, and attracted me the most vehemently, which drew tears

from me. What marvel that an unhappy sheep, straying from Thy flock, and impatient of Thy keeping, I

became infected with a foul disease? And hence the love of griefs; not such as should sink deep into me; for I

loved not to suffer, what I loved to look on; but such as upon hearing their fictions should lightly scratch the

surface; upon which, as on envenomed nails, followed inflamed swelling, impostumes, and a putrefied sore.

And Thy faithful mercy hovered over me afar. Upon how grievous iniquities consumed I myself, pursuing a

sacrilegious curiosity, that having forsaken Thee, it might bring me to the treacherous abyss, and the

beguiling service of devils, to whom I sacrificed my evil actions, and in all these things Thou didst scourge

me! I dared even, while Thy solemnities were celebrated within the walls of Thy Church, to desire, and to

compass a business deserving death for its fruits, for which Thou scourgedst me with grievous punishments,

though nothing to my fault, O Thou my exceeding mercy, my God, my refuge from those terrible destroyers,

among whom I wandered with a stiff neck, withdrawing further from Thee, loving mine own ways, and not

Those studies also, which were accounted commendable, had a view to excelling in the courts of litigation;

the more bepraised, the craftier. Such is men's blindness, glorying even in their blindness. And now I was

chief in the rhetoric school, whereat I joyed proudly, and I swelled with arrogancy, though (Lord, Thou

knowest) far quieter and altogether removed from the subvertings of those "Subverters" (for this illomened

and devilish name was the very badge of gallantry) among whom I lived, with a shameless shame that I was

not even as they. With them I lived, and was sometimes delighted with their friendship, whose doings I ever

did abhor i.e., their "subvertings," wherewith they wantonly persecuted the modesty of strangers, which they

disturbed by a gratuitous jeering, feeding thereon their malicious birth. Nothing can be liker the very actions

of devils than these. What then could they be more truly called than "Subverters"? themselves subverted and

altogether perverted first, the deceiving spirits secretly deriding and seducing them, wherein themselves

Among such as these, in that unsettled age of mine, learned I books of eloquence, wherein I desired to be

eminent, out of a damnable and vainglorious end, a joy in human vanity. In the ordinary course of study, I fell

upon a certain book of Cicero, whose speech almost all admire, not so his heart. This book of his contains an

exhortation to philosophy, and is called "Hortensius." But this book altered my affections, and turned my

prayers to Thyself O Lord; and made me have other purposes and desires. Every vain hope at once became

worthless to me; and I longed with an incredibly burning desire for an immortality of wisdom, and began

now to arise, that I might return to Thee. For not to sharpen my tongue (which thing I seemed to be

purchasing with my mother's allowances, in that my nineteenth year, my father being dead two years before),

not to sharpen my tongue did I employ that book; nor did it infuse into me its style, but its matter.

How did I burn then, my God, how did I burn to remount from earthly things to Thee, nor knew I what

Thou wouldest do with me? For with Thee is wisdom. But the love of wisdom is in Greek called

"philosophy," with which that book inflamed me. Some there be that seduce through philosophy, under a

great, and smooth, and honourable name colouring and disguising their own errors: and almost all who in that

and former ages were such, are in that book censured and set forth: there also is made plain that wholesome

advice of Thy Spirit, by Thy good and devout servant: Beware lest any man spoil you through philosophy

and vain deceit, after the tradition of men, after the rudiments of the world, and not after Christ. For in Him

dwelleth all the fulness of the Godhead bodily. And since at that time (Thou, O light of my heart, knowest)

Apostolic Scripture was not known to me, I was delighted with that exhortation, so far only, that I was

thereby strongly roused, and kindled, and inflamed to love, and seek, and obtain, and hold, and embrace not

this or that sect, but wisdom itself whatever it were; and this alone checked me thus unkindled, that the name

of Christ was not in it. For this name, according to Thy mercy, O Lord, this name of my Saviour Thy Son,

had my tender heart, even with my mother's milk, devoutly drunk in and deeply treasured; and whatsoever

was without that name, though never so learned, polished, or true, took not entire hold of me.

I resolved then to bend my mind to the holy Scriptures, that I might see what they were. But behold, I see a

thing not understood by the proud, nor laid open to children, lowly in access, in its recesses lofty, and veiled

with mysteries; and I was not such as could enter into it, or stoop my neck to follow its steps. For not as I

now speak, did I feel when I turned to those Scriptures; but they seemed to me unworthy to he compared to

the stateliness of Tully: for my swelling pride shrunk from their lowliness, nor could my sharp wit pierce the

interior thereof. Yet were they such as would grow up in a little one. But I disdained to be a little one; and,

Therefore I fell among men proudly doting, exceeding carnal and prating, in whose mouths were the snares of

the Devil, limed with the mixture of the syllables of Thy name, and of our Lord Jesus Christ, and of the Holy

Ghost, the Paraclete, our Comforter. These names departed not out of their mouth, but so far forth as the

sound only and the noise of the tongue, for the heart was void of truth. Yet they cried out "Truth, Truth," and

spake much thereof to me, yet it was not in them: but they spake falsehood, not of Thee only (who truly art

Truth), but even of those elements of this world, Thy creatures. And I indeed ought to have passed by even

philosophers who spake truth concerning them, for love of Thee, my Father, supremely good, Beauty of all

things beautiful. O Truth, Truth, how inwardly did even then the marrow of my soul pant after Thee, when

they often and diversely, and in many and huge books, echoed of Thee to me, though it was but an echo? And

these were the dishes wherein to me, hungering after Thee, they, instead of Thee, served up the Sun and

Moon, beautiful works of Thine, but yet Thy works, not Thyself, no nor Thy first works. For Thy spiritual

works are before these corporeal works, celestial though they be, and shining. But I hungered and thirsted not

even after those first works of Thine, but after Thee Thyself, the Truth, in whom is no variableness, neither

shadow of turning: yet they still set before me in those dishes, glittering fantasies, than which better were it to

love this very sun (which is real to our sight at least), than those fantasies which by our eyes deceive our

mind. Yet because I thought them to be Thee, I fed thereon; not eagerly, for Thou didst not in them taste to

me as Thou art; for Thou wast not these emptinesses, nor was I nourished by them, but exhausted rather.

Food in sleep shows very like our food awake; yet are not those asleep nourished by it, for they are asleep.

But those were not even any way like to Thee, as Thou hast now spoken to me; for those were corporeal

fantasies, false bodies, than which these true bodies, celestial or terrestrial, which with our fleshly sight we

behold, are far more certain: these things the beasts and birds discern as well as we, and they are more certain

than when we fancy them. And again, we do with more certainty fancy them, than by them conjecture other

vaster and infinite bodies which have no being. Such empty husks was I then fed on; and was not fed. But

Thou, my soul's Love, in looking for whom I fail, that I may become strong, art neither those bodies which

we see, though in heaven; nor those which we see not there; for Thou hast created them, nor dost Thou

account them among the chiefest of Thy works. How far then art Thou from those fantasies of mine, fantasies

of bodies which altogether are not, than which the images of those bodies, which are, are far more certain,

and more certain still the bodies themselves, which yet Thou art not; no, nor yet the soul, which is the life of

the bodies. So then, better and more certain is the life of the bodies than the bodies. But Thou art the life of

souls, the life of lives, having life in Thyself; and changest not, life of my soul.

Where then wert Thou then to me, and how far from me? Far verily was I straying from Thee, barred from

the very husks of the swine, whom with husks I fed. For how much better are the fables of poets and

grammarians than these snares? For verses, and poems, and "Medea flying," are more profitable truly than

these men's five elements, variously disguised, answering to five dens of darkness, which have no being, yet

slay the believer. For verses and poems I can turn to true food, and "Medea flying," though I did sing, I

maintained not; though I heard it sung, I believed not: but those things I did believe. Woe, woe, by what steps

was I brought down to the depths of hell! toiling and turmoiling through want of Truth, since I sought after

Thee, my God (to Thee I confess it, who hadst mercy on me, not as yet confessing), not according to the

understanding of the mind, wherein Thou willedst that I should excel the beasts, but according to the sense of

the flesh. But Thou wert more inward to me than my most inward part; and higher than my highest. I lighted

upon that bold woman, simple and knoweth nothing, shadowed out in Solomon, sitting at the door, and

saying, Eat ye bread of secrecies willingly, and drink ye stolen waters which are sweet: she seduced me,

because she found my soul dwelling abroad in the eye of my flesh, and ruminating on such food as through it

For other than this, that which really is I knew not; and was, as it were through sharpness of wit, persuaded to

assent to foolish deceivers, when they asked me, "whence is evil?" "is God bounded by a bodily shape, and

has hairs and nails?" "are they to be esteemed righteous who had many wives at once, and did kill men, and

sacrifice living creatures?" At which I, in my ignorance, was much troubled, and departing from the truth,

seemed to myself to be making towards it; because as yet I knew not that evil was nothing but a privation of

good, until at last a thing ceases altogether to be; which how should I see, the sight of whose eyes reached

only to bodies, and of my mind to a phantasm? And I knew not God to be a Spirit, not one who hath parts

extended in length and breadth, or whose being was bulk; for every bulk is less in a part than in the whole:

and if it be infinite, it must be less in such part as is defined by a certain space, than in its infinitude; and so is

not wholly every where, as Spirit, as God. And what that should be in us, by which we were like to God, and

Nor knew I that true inward righteousness which judgeth not according to custom, but out of the most rightful

law of God Almighty, whereby the ways of places and times were disposed according to those times and

places; itself meantime being the same always and every where, not one thing in one place, and another in

another; according to which Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, and Moses, and David, were righteous, and all

those commended by the mouth of God; but were judged unrighteous by silly men, judging out of man's

judgment, and measuring by their own petty habits, the moral habits of the whole human race. As if in an

armory, one ignorant of what were adapted to each part should cover his head with greaves, or seek to be

shod with a helmet, and complain that they fitted not: or as if on a day when business is publicly stopped in

the afternoon, one were angered at not being allowed to keep open shop, because he had been in the

forenoon; or when in one house he observeth some servant take a thing in his hand, which the butler is not

suffered to meddle with; or something permitted out of doors, which is forbidden in the diningroom; and

should be angry, that in one house, and one family, the same thing is not allotted every where, and to all.

Even such are they who are fretted to hear something to have been lawful for righteous men formerly, which

now is not; or that God, for certain temporal respects, commanded them one thing, and these another, obeying

both the same righteousness: whereas they see, in one man, and one day, and one house, different things to be

fit for different members, and a thing formerly lawful, after a certain time not so; in one corner permitted or

commanded, but in another rightly forbidden and punished. Is justice therefore various or mutable? No, but

the times, over which it presides, flow not evenly, because they are times. But men whose days are few upon

the earth, for that by their senses they cannot harmonise the causes of things in former ages and other nations,

which they had not experience of, with these which they have experience of, whereas in one and the same

body, day, or family, they easily see what is fitting for each member, and season, part, and person; to the one

These things I then knew not, nor observed; they struck my sight on all sides, and I saw them not. I indited

verses, in which I might not place every foot every where, but differently in different metres; nor even in any

one metre the selfsame foot in all places. Yet the art itself, by which I indited, had not different principles

for these different cases, but comprised all in one. Still I saw not how that righteousness, which good and

holy men obeyed, did far more excellently and sublimely contain in one all those things which God

commanded, and in no part varied; although in varying times it prescribed not every thing at once, but

apportioned and enjoined what was fit for each. And I in my blindness, censured the holy Fathers, not only

wherein they made use of things present as God commanded and inspired them, but also wherein they were

Can it at any time or place be unjust to love God with all his heart, with all his soul, and with all his mind;

and his neighbour as himself? Therefore are those foul offences which be against nature, to be every where

and at all times detested and punished; such as were those of the men of Sodom: which should all nations

commit, they should all stand guilty of the same crime, by the law of God, which hath not so made men that

they should so abuse one another. For even that intercourse which should be between God and us is violated,

when that same nature, of which He is Author, is polluted by perversity of lust. But those actions which are

offences against the customs of men, are to be avoided according to the customs severally prevailing; so that

a thing agreed upon, and confirmed, by custom or law of any city or nation, may not be violated at the

lawless pleasure of any, whether native or foreigner. For any part which harmoniseth not with its whole, is

offensive. But when God commands a thing to be done, against the customs or compact of any people,

though it were never by them done heretofore, it is to be done; and if intermitted, it is to be restored; and if

never ordained, is now to be ordained. For lawful if it he for a king, in the state which he reigns over, to

command that which no one before him, nor he himself heretofore, had commanded, and to obey him cannot

be against the common weal of the state (nay, it were against it if he were not obeyed, for to obey princes is a

general compact of human society); how much more unhesitatingly ought we to obey God, in all which He

commands, the Ruler of all His creatures! For as among the powers in man's society, the greater authority is

So in acts of violence, where there is a wish to hurt, whether by reproach or injury; and these either for

revenge, as one enemy against another; or for some profit belonging to another, as the robber to the traveller;

or to avoid some evil, as towards one who is feared; or through envy, as one less fortunate to one more so, or

one well thriven in any thing, to him whose being on a par with himself he fears, or grieves at, or for the mere

pleasure at another's pain, as spectators of gladiators, or deriders and mockers of others. These be the heads

of iniquity which spring from the lust of the flesh, of the eye, or of rule, either singly, or two combined, or all

together; and so do men live ill against the three, and seven, that psaltery of often strings, Thy Ten

Commandments, O God, most high, and most sweet. But what foul offences can there be against Thee, who

canst not be defiled? or what acts of violence against Thee, who canst not be harmed? But Thou avengest

what men commit against themselves, seeing also when they sin against Thee, they do wickedly against their

own souls, and iniquity gives itself the lie, by corrupting and perverting their nature, which Thou hast created

and ordained, or by an immoderate use of things allowed, or in burning in things unallowed, to that use which

is against nature; or are found guilty, raging with heart and tongue against Thee, kicking against the pricks; or

when, bursting the pale of human society, they boldly joy in selfwilled combinations or divisions, according

as they have any object to gain or subject of offence. And these things are done when Thou art forsaken, O

Fountain of Life, who art the only and true Creator and Governor of the Universe, and by a selfwilled pride,

any one false thing is selected therefrom and loved. So then by a humble devoutness we return to Thee; and

Thou cleansest us from our evil habits, and art merciful to their sins who confess, and hearest the groaning of

the prisoner, and loosest us from the chains which we made for ourselves, if we lift not up against Thee the

horns of an unreal liberty, suffering the loss of all, through covetousness of more, by loving more our own

Amidst these offences of foulness and violence, and so many iniquities, are sins of men, who are on the

whole making proficiency; which by those that judge rightly, are, after the rule of perfection, discommended,

yet the persons commended, upon hope of future fruit, as in the green blade of growing corn. And there are

some, resembling offences of foulness or violence, which yet are no sins; because they offend neither Thee,

our Lord God, nor human society; when, namely, things fitting for a given period are obtained for the service

of life, and we know not whether out of a lust of having; or when things are, for the sake of correction, by

constituted authority punished, and we know not whether out of a lust of hurting. Many an action then which

in men's sight is disapproved, is by Thy testimony approved; and many, by men praised, are (Thou being

witness) condemned: because the show of the action, and the mind of the doer, and the unknown exigency of

the period, severally vary. But when Thou on a sudden commandest an unwonted and unthought of thing,

yea, although Thou hast sometime forbidden it, and still for the time hidest the reason of Thy command, and

it be against the ordinance of some society of men, who doubts but it is to be done, seeing that society of men

is just which serves Thee? But blessed are they who know Thy commands! For all things were done by Thy

servants; either to show forth something needful for the present, or to foreshow things to come.

These things I being ignorant of, scoffed at those Thy holy servants and prophets. And what gained I by

scoffing at them, but to be scoffed at by Thee, being insensibly and step by step drawn on to those follies, as

to believe that a figtree wept when it was plucked, and the tree, its mother, shed milky tears? Which fig

notwithstanding (plucked by some other's, not his own, guilt) had some Manichaean saint eaten, and mingled

with his bowels, he should breathe out of it angels, yea, there shall burst forth particles of divinity, at every

moan or groan in his prayer, which particles of the most high and true God had remained bound in that fig,

unless they had been set at liberty by the teeth or belly of some "Elect" saint! And I, miserable, believed that

more mercy was to be shown to the fruits of the earth than men, for whom they were created. For if any one

an hungered, not a Manichaean, should ask for any, that morsel would seem as it were condemned to capital

And Thou sentest Thine hand from above, and drewest my soul out of that profound darkness, my mother,

Thy faithful one, weeping to Thee for me, more than mothers weep the bodily deaths of their children. For

she, by that faith and spirit which she had from Thee, discerned the death wherein I lay, and Thou heardest

her, O Lord; Thou heardest her, and despisedst not her tears, when streaming down, they watered the ground

under her eyes in every place where she prayed; yea Thou heardest her. For whence was that dream whereby

Thou comfortedst her; so that she allowed me to live with her, and to eat at the same table in the house, which

she had begun to shrink from, abhorring and detesting the blasphemies of my error? For she saw herself

standing on a certain wooden rule, and a shining youth coming towards her, cheerful and smiling upon her,

herself grieving, and overwhelmed with grief. But he having (in order to instruct, as is their wont not to be

instructed) enquired of her the causes of her grief and daily tears, and she answering that she was bewailing

my perdition, he bade her rest contented, and told her to look and observe, "That where she was, there was I

also." And when she looked, she saw me standing by her in the same rule. Whence was this, but that Thine

ears were towards her heart? O Thou Good omnipotent, who so carest for every one of us, as if Thou caredst

Whence was this also, that when she had told me this vision, and I would fain bend it to mean, "That she

rather should not despair of being one day what I was"; she presently, without any hesitation, replies: "No;

for it was not told me that, 'where he, there thou also'; but 'where thou, there he also'?" I confess to Thee, O

Lord, that to the best of my remembrance (and I have oft spoken of this), that Thy answer, through my

waking mother, that she was not perplexed by the plausibility of my false interpretation, and so quickly saw

what was to be seen, and which I certainly had not perceived before she spake, even then moved me more

than the dream itself, by which a joy to the holy woman, to be fulfilled so long after, was, for the consolation

of her present anguish, so long before foresignified. For almost nine years passed, in which I wallowed in the

mire of that deep pit, and the darkness of falsehood, often assaying to rise, but dashed down the more

grievously. All which time that chaste, godly, and sober widow (such as Thou lovest), now more cheered

with hope, yet no whit relaxing in her weeping and mourning, ceased not at all hours of her devotions to

bewail my case unto Thee. And her prayers entered into Thy presence; and yet Thou sufferedst me to be yet

Thou gavest her meantime another answer, which I call to mind; for much I pass by, hasting to those things

which more press me to confess unto Thee, and much I do not remember. Thou gavest her then another

answer, by a Priest of Thine, a certain Bishop brought up in Thy Church, and well studied in Thy books.

Whom when this woman had entreated to vouchsafe to converse with me, refute my errors, unteach me ill

things, and teach me good things (for this he was wont to do, when he found persons fitted to receive it), he

refused, wisely, as I afterwards perceived. For he answered, that I was yet unteachable, being puffed up with

the novelty of that heresy, and had already perplexed divers unskilful persons with captious questions, as she

had told him: "but let him alone a while" (saith he), "only pray God for him, he will of himself by reading

find what that error is, and how great its impiety." At the same time he told her, how himself, when a little

one, had by his seduced mother been consigned over to the Manichees, and had not only read, but frequently

copied out almost all, their books, and had (without any argument or proof from any one) seen how much that

sect was to be avoided; and had avoided it. Which when he had said, and she would not be satisfied, but

urged him more, with entreaties and many tears, that he would see me and discourse with me; he, a little

displeased at her importunity, saith, "Go thy ways and God bless thee, for it is not possible that the son of

these tears should perish." Which answer she took (as she often mentioned in her conversations with me) as if

For this space of nine years (from my nineteenth year to my eightandtwentieth) we lived seduced and

seducing, deceived and deceiving, in divers lusts; openly, by sciences which they call liberal; secretly, with a

falsenamed religion; here proud, there superstitious, every where vain. Here, hunting after the emptiness of

popular praise, down even to theatrical applauses, and poetic prizes, and strifes for grassy garlands, and the

follies of shows, and the intemperance of desires. There, desiring to be cleansed from these defilements, by

carrying food to those who were called "elect" and "holy," out of which, in the workhouse of their stomachs,

they should forge for us Angels and Gods, by whom we might be cleansed. These things did I follow, and

practise with my friends, deceived by me, and with me. Let the arrogant mock me, and such as have not been,

to their soul's health, stricken and cast down by Thee, O my God; but I would still confess to Thee mine own

shame in Thy praise. Suffer me, I beseech Thee, and give me grace to go over in my present remembrance the

wanderings of my forepassed time, and to offer unto Thee the sacrifice of thanksgiving. For what am I to

myself without Thee, but a guide to mine own downfall? or what am I even at the best, but an infant sucking

the milk Thou givest, and feeding upon Thee, the food that perisheth not? But what sort of man is any man,

seeing he is but a man? Let now the strong and the mighty laugh at us, but let us poor and needy confess unto

In those years I taught rhetoric, and, overcome by cupidity, made sale of a loquacity to overcome by. Yet I

preferred (Lord, Thou knowest) honest scholars (as they are accounted), and these I, without artifice, taught

artifices, not to be practised against the life of the guiltless, though sometimes for the life of the guilty. And

Thou, O God, from afar perceivedst me stumbling in that slippery course, and amid much smoke sending out

some sparks of faithfulness, which I showed in that my guidance of such as loved vanity, and sought after

leasing, myself their companion. In those years I had one, not in that which is called lawful marriage, but

whom I had found out in a wayward passion, void of understanding; yet but one, remaining faithful even to

her; in whom I in my own case experienced what difference there is betwixt the selfrestraint of the

marriagecovenant, for the sake of issue, and the bargain of a lustful love, where children are born against

I remember also, that when I had settled to enter the lists for a theatrical prize, some wizard asked me what I

would give him to win; but I, detesting and abhorring such foul mysteries, answered, "Though the garland

were of imperishable gold, I would not suffer a fly to be killed to gain me it. " For he was to kill some living

creatures in his sacrifices, and by those honours to invite the devils to favour me. But this ill also I rejected,

not out of a pure love for Thee, O God of my heart; for I knew not how to love Thee, who knew not how to

conceive aught beyond a material brightness. And doth not a soul, sighing after such fictions, commit

fornication against Thee, trust in things unreal, and feed the wind? Still I would not forsooth have sacrifices

offered to devils for me, to whom I was sacrificing myself by that superstition. For what else is it to feed the

wind, but to feed them, that is by going astray to become their pleasure and derision?

Those impostors then, whom they style Mathematicians, I consulted without scruple; because they seemed to

use no sacrifice, nor to pray to any spirit for their divinations: which art, however, Christian and true piety

consistently rejects and condemns. For, it is a good thing to confess unto Thee, and to say, Have mercy upon

me, heal my soul, for I have sinned against Thee; and not to abuse Thy mercy for a licence to sin, but to

remember the Lord's words, Behold, thou art made whole, sin no more, lest a worse thing come unto thee. All

which wholesome advice they labour to destroy, saying, "The cause of thy sin is inevitably determined in

heaven"; and "This did Venus, or Saturn, or Mars": that man, forsooth, flesh and blood, and proud corruption,

might be blameless; while the Creator and Ordainer of heaven and the stars is to bear the blame. And who is

He but our God? the very sweetness and wellspring of righteousness, who renderest to every man according

There was in those days a wise man, very skilful in physic, and renowned therein, who had with his own

proconsular hand put the Agonistic garland upon my distempered head, but not as a physician: for this

disease Thou only curest, who resistest the proud, and givest grace to the humble. But didst Thou fail me

even by that old man, or forbear to heal my soul? For having become more acquainted with him, and hanging

assiduously and fixedly on his speech (for though in simple terms, it was vivid, lively, and earnest), when he

had gathered by my discourse that I was given to the books of nativitycasters, he kindly and fatherly advised

me to cast them away, and not fruitlessly bestow a care and diligence, necessary for useful things, upon these

vanities; saying, that he had in his earliest years studied that art, so as to make it the profession whereby he

should live, and that, understanding Hippocrates, he could soon have understood such a study as this; and yet

he had given it over, and taken to physic, for no other reason but that he found it utterly false; and he, a grave

man, would not get his living by deluding people. "But thou," saith he, "hast rhetoric to maintain thyself by,

so that thou followest this of free choice, not of necessity: the more then oughtest thou to give me credit

herein, who laboured to acquire it so perfectly as to get my living by it alone." Of whom when I had

demanded, how then could many true things be foretold by it, he answered me (as he could) "that the force of

chance, diffused throughout the whole order of things, brought this about. For if when a man by haphazard

opens the pages of some poet, who sang and thought of something wholly different, a verse oftentimes fell

out, wondrously agreeable to the present business: it were not to be wondered at, if out of the soul of man,

unconscious what takes place in it, by some higher instinct an answer should be given, by hap, not by art,

And thus much, either from or through him, Thou conveyedst to me, and tracedst in my memory, what I

might hereafter examine for myself. But at that time neither he, nor my dearest Nebridius, a youth singularly

good and of a holy fear, who derided the whole body of divination, could persuade me to cast it aside, the

authority of the authors swaying me yet more, and as yet I had found no certain proof (such as I sought)

whereby it might without all doubt appear, that what had been truly foretold by those consulted was the result

In those years when I first began to teach rhetoric in my native town, I had made one my friend, but too dear

to me, from a community of pursuits, of mine own age, and, as myself, in the first opening flower of youth.

He had grown up of a child with me, and we had been both schoolfellows and playfellows. But he was not

yet my friend as afterwards, nor even then, as true friendship is; for true it cannot be, unless in such as Thou

cementest together, cleaving unto Thee, by that love which is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost,

which is given unto us. Yet was it but too sweet, ripened by the warmth of kindred studies: for, from the true

faith (which he as a youth had not soundly and thoroughly imbibed), I had warped him also to those

superstitious and pernicious fables, for which my mother bewailed me. With me he now erred in mind, nor

could my soul be without him. But behold Thou wert close on the steps of Thy fugitives, at once God of

vengeance, and Fountain of mercies, turning us to Thyself by wonderful means; Thou tookest that man out of

this life, when he had scarce filled up one whole year of my friendship, sweet to me above all sweetness of

Who can recount all Thy praises, which he hath felt in his one self? What diddest Thou then, my God, and

how unsearchable is the abyss of Thy judgments? For long, sore sick of a fever, he lay senseless in a

deathsweat; and his recovery being despaired of, he was baptised, unknowing; myself meanwhile little

regarding, and presuming that his soul would retain rather what it had received of me, not what was wrought

on his unconscious body. But it proved far otherwise: for he was refreshed, and restored. Forthwith, as soon

as I could speak with him (and I could, so soon as he was able, for I never left him, and we hung but too

much upon each other), I essayed to jest with him, as though he would jest with me at that baptism which he

had received, when utterly absent in mind and feeling, but had now understood that he had received. But he

so shrunk from me, as from an enemy; and with a wonderful and sudden freedom bade me, as I would

continue his friend, forbear such language to him. I, all astonished and amazed, suppressed all my emotions

till he should grow well, and his health were strong enough for me to deal with him as I would. But he was

taken away from my frenzy, that with Thee he might be preserved for my comfort; a few days after in my

At this grief my heart was utterly darkened; and whatever I beheld was death. My native country was a

torment to me, and my father's house a strange unhappiness; and whatever I had shared with him, wanting

him, became a distracting torture. Mine eyes sought him every where, but he was not granted them; and I

hated all places, for that they had not him; nor could they now tell me, "he is coming," as when he was alive

and absent. I became a great riddle to myself, and I asked my soul, why she was so sad, and why she

disquieted me sorely: but she knew not what to answer me. And if I said, Trust in God, she very rightly

obeyed me not; because that most dear friend, whom she had lost, was, being man, both truer and better than

that phantasm she was bid to trust in. Only tears were sweet to me, for they succeeded my friend, in the

And now, Lord, these things are passed by, and time hath assuaged my wound. May I learn from Thee, who

art Truth, and approach the ear of my heart unto Thy mouth, that Thou mayest tell me why weeping is sweet

to the miserable? Hast Thou, although present every where, cast away our misery far from Thee? And Thou

abidest in Thyself, but we are tossed about in divers trials. And yet unless we mourned in Thine ears, we

should have no hope left. Whence then is sweet fruit gathered from the bitterness of life, from groaning, tears,

sighs, and complaints? Doth this sweeten it, that we hope Thou hearest? This is true of prayer, for therein is a

longing to approach unto Thee. But is it also in grief for a thing lost, and the sorrow wherewith I was then

overwhelmed? For I neither hoped he should return to life nor did I desire this with my tears; but I wept only

and grieved. For I was miserable, and had lost my joy. Or is weeping indeed a bitter thing, and for very

loathing of the things which we before enjoyed, does it then, when we shrink from them, please us?

But what speak I of these things? for now is no time to question, but to confess unto Thee. Wretched I was;

and wretched is every soul bound by the friendship of perishable things; he is torn asunder when he loses

them, and then he feels the wretchedness which he had ere yet he lost them. So was it then with me; I wept

most bitterly, and found my repose in bitterness. Thus was I wretched, and that wretched life I held dearer

than my friend. For though I would willingly have changed it, yet was I more unwilling to part with it than

with him; yea, I know not whether I would have parted with it even for him, as is related (if not feigned) of

Pylades and Orestes, that they would gladly have died for each other or together, not to live together being to

them worse than death. But in me there had arisen some unexplained feeling, too contrary to this, for at once I

loathed exceedingly to live and feared to die. I suppose, the more I loved him, the more did I hate, and fear

(as a most cruel enemy) death, which had bereaved me of him: and I imagined it would speedily make an end

of all men, since it had power over him. Thus was it with me, I remember. Behold my heart, O my God,

behold and see into me; for well I remember it, O my Hope, who cleansest me from the impurity of such

affections, directing mine eyes towards Thee, and plucking my feet out of the snare. For I wondered that

others, subject to death, did live, since he whom I loved, as if he should never die, was dead; and I wondered

yet more that myself, who was to him a second self, could live, he being dead. Well said one of his friend,

"Thou half of my soul"; for I felt that my soul and his soul were "one soul in two bodies": and therefore was

my life a horror to me, because I would not live halved. And therefore perchance I feared to die, lest he

O madness, which knowest not how to love men, like men! O foolish man that I then was, enduring

impatiently the lot of man! I fretted then, sighed, wept, was distracted; had neither rest nor counsel. For I bore

about a shattered and bleeding soul, impatient of being borne by me, yet where to repose it, I found not. Not

in calm groves, not in games and music, nor in fragrant spots, nor in curious banquetings, nor in the pleasures

of the bed and the couch; nor (finally) in books or poesy, found it repose. All things looked ghastly, yea, the

very light; whatsoever was not what he was, was revolting and hateful, except groaning and tears. For in

those alone found I a little refreshment. But when my soul was withdrawn from them a huge load of misery

weighed me down. To Thee, O Lord, it ought to have been raised, for Thee to lighten; I knew it; but neither

could nor would; the more, since, when I thought of Thee, Thou wert not to me any solid or substantial thing.

For Thou wert not Thyself, but a mere phantom, and my error was my God. If I offered to discharge my load

thereon, that it might rest, it glided through the void, and came rushing down again on me; and I had

remained to myself a hapless spot, where I could neither be, nor be from thence. For whither should my heart

flee from my heart? Whither should I flee from myself? Whither not follow myself? And yet I fled out of my

country; for so should mine eyes less look for him, where they were not wont to see him. And thus from

Times lose no time; nor do they roll idly by; through our senses they work strange operations on the mind.

Behold, they went and came day by day, and by coming and going, introduced into my mind other

imaginations and other remembrances; and little by little patched me up again with my old kind of delights,

unto which that my sorrow gave way. And yet there succeeded, not indeed other griefs, yet the causes of

other griefs. For whence had that former grief so easily reached my very inmost soul, but that I had poured

out my soul upon the dust, in loving one that must die, as if he would never die? For what restored and

refreshed me chiefly was the solaces of other friends, with whom I did love, what instead of Thee I loved;

and this was a great fable, and protracted lie, by whose adulterous stimulus, our soul, which lay itching in our

ears, was being defiled. But that fable would not die to me, so oft as any of my friends died. There were other

things which in them did more take my mind; to talk and jest together, to do kind offices by turns; to read

together honied books; to play the fool or be earnest together; to dissent at times without discontent, as a man

might with his own self; and even with the seldomness of these dissentings, to season our more frequent

consentings; sometimes to teach, and sometimes learn; long for the absent with impatience; and welcome the

coming with joy. These and the like expressions, proceeding out of the hearts of those that loved and were

loved again, by the countenance, the tongue, the eyes, and a thousand pleasing gestures, were so much fuel to

This is it that is loved in friends; and so loved, that a man's conscience condemns itself, if he love not him

that loves him again, or love not again him that loves him, looking for nothing from his person but

indications of his love. Hence that mourning, if one die, and darkenings of sorrows, that steeping of the heart

in tears, all sweetness turned to bitterness; and upon the loss of life of the dying, the death of the living.

Blessed whoso loveth Thee, and his friend in Thee, and his enemy for Thee. For he alone loses none dear to

him, to whom all are dear in Him who cannot be lost. And who is this but our God, the God that made heaven

and earth, and filleth them, because by filling them He created them? Thee none loseth, but who leaveth. And

who leaveth Thee, whither goeth or whither teeth he, but from Thee wellpleased, to Thee displeased? For

where doth he not find Thy law in his own punishment? And Thy law is truth, and truth Thou.

Turn us, O God of Hosts, show us Thy countenance, and we shall be whole. For whithersoever the soul of

man turns itself, unless toward Thee, it is riveted upon sorrows, yea though it is riveted on things beautiful.

And yet they, out of Thee, and out of the soul, were not, unless they were from Thee. They rise, and set; and

by rising, they begin as it were to be; they grow, that they may be perfected; and perfected, they wax old and

wither; and all grow not old, but all wither. So then when they rise and tend to be, the more quickly they

grow that they may be, so much the more they haste not to be. This is the law of them. Thus much has Thou

allotted them, because they are portions of things, which exist not all at once, but by passing away and

succeeding, they together complete that universe, whereof they are portions. And even thus is our speech

completed by signs giving forth a sound: but this again is not perfected unless one word pass away when it

hath sounded its part, that another may succeed. Out of all these things let my soul praise Thee, O God,

Creator of all; yet let not my soul be riveted unto these things with the glue of love, through the senses of the

body. For they go whither they were to go, that they might not be; and they rend her with pestilent longings,

because she longs to be, yet loves to repose in what she loves. But in these things is no place of repose; they

abide not, they flee; and who can follow them with the senses of the flesh? yea, who can grasp them, when

they are hard by? For the sense of the flesh is slow, because it is the sense of the flesh; and thereby is it

bounded. It sufficeth for that it was made for; but it sufficeth not to stay things running their course from their

appointed startingplace to the end appointed. For in Thy Word, by which they are created, they hear their

Be not foolish, O my soul, nor become deaf in the ear of thine heart with the tumult of thy folly. Hearken

The Word itself calleth thee to return: and there is the place of rest imperturbable, where love is not forsaken,

if itself forsaketh not. Behold, these things pass away, that others may replace them, and so this lower

universe be completed by all his parts. But do I depart any whither? saith the Word of God. There fix thy

dwelling, trust there whatsoever thou hast thence, O my soul, at least now thou art tired out with vanities.

Entrust Truth, whatsoever thou hast from the Truth, and thou shalt lose nothing; and thy decay shall bloom

again, and all thy diseases be healed, and thy mortal parts be reformed and renewed, and bound around thee:

nor shall they lay thee whither themselves descend; but they shall stand fast with thee, and abide for ever

Why then be perverted and follow thy flesh? Be it converted and follow thee. Whatever by her thou hast

sense of, is in part; and the whole, whereof these are parts, thou knowest not; and yet they delight thee. But

had the sense of thy flesh a capacity for comprehending the whole, and not itself also, for thy punishment,

been justly restricted to a part of the whole, thou wouldest, that whatsoever existeth at this present, should

pass away, that so the whole might better please thee. For what we speak also, by the same sense of the flesh

thou hearest; yet wouldest not thou have the syllables stay, but fly away, that others may come, and thou hear

the whole. And so ever, when any one thing is made up of many, all of which do not exist together, all

collectively would please more than they do severally, could all be perceived collectively. But far better than

these is He who made all; and He is our God, nor doth He pass away, for neither doth aught succeed Him.

If bodies please thee, praise God on occasion of them, and turn back thy love upon their Maker; lest in these

things which please thee, thou displease. If souls please thee, be they loved in God: for they too are mutable,

but in Him are they firmly stablished; else would they pass, and pass away. In Him then be they beloved; and

carry unto Him along with thee what souls thou canst, and say to them, "Him let us love, Him let us love: He

made these, nor is He far off. For He did not make them, and so depart, but they are of Him, and in Him. See

there He is, where truth is loved. He is within the very heart, yet hath the heart strayed from Him. Go back

into your heart, ye transgressors, and cleave fast to Him that made you. Stand with Him, and ye shall stand

fast. Rest in Him, and ye shall be at rest. Whither go ye in rough ways? Whither go ye? The good that you

love is from Him; but it is good and pleasant through reference to Him, and justly shall it be embittered,

because unjustly is any thing loved which is from Him, if He be forsaken for it. To what end then would ye

still and still walk these difficult and toilsome ways? There is no rest, where ye seek it. Seek what ye seek;

but it is not there where ye seek. Ye seek a blessed life in the land of death; it is not there. For how should

"But our true Life came down hither, and bore our death, and slew him, out of the abundance of His own life:

and He thundered, calling aloud to us to return hence to Him into that secret place, whence He came forth to

us, first into the Virgin's womb, wherein He espoused the human creation, our mortal flesh, that it might not

be for ever mortal, and thence like a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, rejoicing as a giant to run his

course. For He lingered not, but ran, calling aloud by words, deeds, death, life, descent, ascension; crying

aloud to us to return unto Him. And He departed from our eyes, that we might return into our heart, and there

find Him. For He departed, and to, He is here. He would not be long with us, yet left us not; for He departed

thither, whence He never parted, because the world was made by Him. And in this world He was, and into

this world He came to save sinners, unto whom my soul confesseth, and He healeth it, for it hath sinned

against Him. O ye sons of men, how long so slow of heart? Even now, after the descent of Life to you, will ye

not ascend and live? But whither ascend ye, when ye are on high, and set your mouth against the heavens?

Descend, that ye may ascend, and ascend to God. For ye have fallen, by ascending against Him." Tell them

this, that they may weep in the valley of tears, and so carry them up with thee unto God; because out of His

spirit thou speakest thus unto them, if thou speakest, burning with the fire of charity.

These things I then knew not, and I loved these lower beauties, and I was sinking to the very depths, and to

my friends I said, "Do we love any thing but the beautiful? What then is the beautiful? and what is beauty?

What is it that attracts and wins us to the things we love? for unless there were in them a grace and beauty,

they could by no means draw us unto them." And I marked and perceived that in bodies themselves, there

was a beauty, from their forming a sort of whole, and again, another from apt and mutual correspondence, as

of a part of the body with its whole, or a shoe with a foot, and the like. And this consideration sprang up in

my mind, out of my inmost heart, and I wrote "on the fair and fit," I think, two or three books. Thou knowest,

O Lord, for it is gone from me; for I have them not, but they are strayed from me, I know not how.

But what moved me, O Lord my God, to dedicate these books unto Hierius, an orator of Rome, whom I knew

not by face, but loved for the fame of his learning which was eminent in him, and some words of his I had

heard, which pleased me? But more did he please me, for that he pleased others, who highly extolled him,

amazed that out of a Syrian, first instructed in Greek eloquence, should afterwards be formed a wonderful

Latin orator, and one most learned in things pertaining unto philosophy. One is commended, and, unseen, he

is loved: doth this love enter the heart of the hearer from the mouth of the commender? Not so. But by one

who loveth is another kindled. For hence he is loved who is commended, when the commender is believed to

extol him with an unfeigned heart; that is, when one that loves him, praises him.

For so did I then love men, upon the judgment of men, not Thine, O my God, in Whom no man is deceived.

But yet why not for qualities, like those of a famous charioteer, or fighter with beasts in the theatre, known

far and wide by a vulgar popularity, but far otherwise, and earnestly, and so as I would be myself

commended? For I would not be commended or loved, as actors are (though I myself did commend and love

them), but had rather be unknown, than so known; and even hated, than so loved. Where now are the

impulses to such various and divers kinds of loves laid up in one soul? Why, since we are equally men, do I

love in another what, if I did not hate, I should not spurn and cast from myself? For it holds not, that as a

good horse is loved by him, who would not, though he might, be that horse, therefore the same may be said

of an actor, who shares our nature. Do I then love in a man, what I hate to be, who am a man? Man himself is

a great deep, whose very hairs Thou numberest, O Lord, and they fall not to the ground without Thee. And

yet are the hairs of his head easier to be numbered than his feelings, and the beatings of his heart.

But that orator was of that sort whom I loved, as wishing to be myself such; and I erred through a swelling

pride, and was tossed about with every wind, but yet was steered by Thee, though very secretly. And whence

do I know, and whence do I confidently confess unto Thee, that I had loved him more for the love of his

commenders, than for the very things for which he was commended? Because, had he been unpraised, and

these selfsame men had dispraised him, and with dispraise and contempt told the very same things of him, I

had never been so kindled and excited to love him. And yet the things had not been other, nor he himself

other; but only the feelings of the relators. See where the impotent soul lies along, that is not yet stayed up by

the solidity of truth! Just as the gales of tongues blow from the breast of the opinionative, so is it carried this

way and that, driven forward and backward, and the light is overclouded to it, and the truth unseen. And to, it

is before us. And it was to me a great matter, that my discourse and labours should be known to that man:

which should he approve, I were the more kindled; but if he disapproved, my empty heart, void of Thy

solidity, had been wounded. And yet the "fair and fit," whereon I wrote to him, I dwelt on with pleasure, and

But I saw not yet, whereon this weighty matter turned in Thy wisdom, O Thou Omnipotent, who only doest

wonders; and my mind ranged through corporeal forms; and "fair," I defined and distinguished what is so in

itself, and "fit," whose beauty is in correspondence to some other thing: and this I supported by corporeal

examples. And I turned to the nature of the mind, but the false notion which I had of spiritual things, let me

not see the truth. Yet the force of truth did of itself flash into mine eyes, and I turned away my panting soul

from incorporeal substance to lineaments, and colours, and bulky magnitudes. And not being able to see these

in the mind, I thought I could not see my mind. And whereas in virtue I loved peace, and in viciousness I

abhorred discord; in the first I observed a unity, but in the other, a sort of division. And in that unity I

conceived the rational soul, and the nature of truth and of the chief good to consist; but in this division I

miserably imagined there to be some unknown substance of irrational life, and the nature of the chief evil,

which should not only be a substance, but real life also, and yet not derived from Thee, O my God, of whom

are all things. And yet that first I called a Monad, as it had been a soul without sex; but the latter a Duad;

anger, in deeds of violence, and in flagitiousness, lust; not knowing whereof I spake. For I had not known or

learned that neither was evil a substance, nor our soul that chief and unchangeable good.

For as deeds of violence arise, if that emotion of the soul be corrupted, whence vehement action springs,

stirring itself insolently and unrulily; and lusts, when that affection of the soul is ungoverned, whereby carnal

pleasures are drunk in, so do errors and false opinions defile the conversation, if the reasonable soul itself be

corrupted; as it was then in me, who knew not that it must be enlightened by another light, that it may be

partaker of truth, seeing itself is not that nature of truth. For Thou shalt light my candle, O Lord my God,

Thou shalt enlighten my darkness: and of Thy fulness have we all received, for Thou art the true light that

lighteth every man that cometh into the world; for in Thee there is no variableness, neither shadow of change.

But I pressed towards Thee, and was thrust from Thee, that I might taste of death: for thou resistest the proud.

But what prouder, than for me with a strange madness to maintain myself to be that by nature which Thou

art? For whereas I was subject to change (so much being manifest to me, my very desire to become wise,

being the wish, of worse to become better), yet chose I rather to imagine Thee subject to change, and myself

not to be that which Thou art. Therefore I was repelled by Thee, and Thou resistedst my vain stiffneckedness,

and I imagined corporeal forms, and, myself flesh, I accused flesh; and, a wind that passeth away, I returned

not to Thee, but I passed on and on to things which have no being, neither in Thee, nor in me, nor in the

body. Neither were they created for me by Thy truth, but by my vanity devised out of things corporeal. And I

was wont to ask Thy faithful little ones, my fellowcitizens (from whom, unknown to myself, I stood exiled),

I was wont, prating and foolishly, to ask them, "Why then doth the soul err which God created?" But I would

not be asked, "Why then doth God err?" And I maintained that Thy unchangeable substance did err upon

constraint, rather than confess that my changeable substance had gone astray voluntarily, and now, in

I was then some six or seven and twenty years old when I wrote those volumes; revolving within me

corporeal fictions, buzzing in the ears of my heart, which I turned, O sweet truth, to thy inward melody,

meditating on the "fair and fit," and longing to stand and hearken to Thee, and to rejoice greatly at the

Bridegroom's voice, but could not; for by the voices of mine own errors, I was hurried abroad, and through

the weight of my own pride, I was sinking into the lowest pit. For Thou didst not make me to hear joy and

And what did it profit me, that scarce twenty years old, a book of Aristotle, which they call the often

Predicaments, falling into my hands (on whose very name I hung, as on something great and divine, so often

as my rhetoric master of Carthage, and others, accounted learned, mouthed it with cheeks bursting with

pride), I read and understood it unaided? And on my conferring with others, who said that they scarcely

understood it with very able tutors, not only orally explaining it, but drawing many things in sand, they could

tell me no more of it than I had learned, reading it by myself. And the book appeared to me to speak very

clearly of substances, such as "man," and of their qualities, as the figure of a man, of what sort it is; and

stature, how many feet high; and his relationship, whose brother he is; or where placed; or when born; or

whether he stands or sits; or be shod or armed; or does, or suffers anything; and all the innumerable things

which might be ranged under these nine Predicaments, of which I have given some specimens, or under that

What did all this further me, seeing it even hindered me? when, imagining whatever was, was comprehended

under those often Predicaments, I essayed in such wise to understand, O my God, Thy wonderful and

unchangeable Unity also, as if Thou also hadst been subjected to Thine own greatness or beauty; so that (as in

bodies) they should exist in Thee, as their subject: whereas Thou Thyself art Thy greatness and beauty; but a

body is not great or fair in that it is a body, seeing that, though it were less great or fair, it should

notwithstanding be a body. But it was falsehood which of Thee I conceived, not truth, fictions of my misery,

not the realities of Thy blessedness. For Thou hadst commanded, and it was done in me, that the earth should

bring forth briars and thorns to me, and that in the sweat of my brows I should eat my bread.

And what did it profit me, that all the books I could procure of the socalled liberal arts, I, the vile slave of

vile affections, read by myself, and understood? And I delighted in them, but knew not whence came all, that

therein was true or certain. For I had my back to the light, and my face to the things enlightened; whence my

face, with which I discerned the things enlightened, itself was not enlightened. Whatever was written, either

on rhetoric, or logic, geometry, music, and arithmetic, by myself without much difficulty or any instructor, I

understood, Thou knowest, O Lord my God; because both quickness of understanding, and acuteness in

discerning, is Thy gift: yet did I not thence sacrifice to Thee. So then it served not to my use, but rather to my

perdition, since I went about to get so good a portion of my substance into my own keeping; and I kept not

my strength for Thee, but wandered from Thee into a far country, to spend it upon harlotries. For what

profited me good abilities, not employed to good uses? For I felt not that those arts were attained with great

difficulty, even by the studious and talented, until I attempted to explain them to such; when he most excelled

But what did this further me, imagining that Thou, O Lord God, the Truth, wert a vast and bright body, and I

a fragment of that body? Perverseness too great! But such was I. Nor do I blush, O my God, to confess to

Thee Thy mercies towards me, and to call upon Thee, who blushed not then to profess to men my

blasphemies, and to bark against Thee. What profited me then my nimble wit in those sciences and all those

most knotty volumes, unravelied by me, without aid from human instruction; seeing I erred so foully, and

with such sacrilegious shamefulness, in the doctrine of piety? Or what hindrance was a far slower wit to Thy

little ones, since they departed not far from Thee, that in the nest of Thy Church they might securely be

fledged, and nourish the wings of charity, by the food of a sound faith. O Lord our God, under the shadow of

Thy wings let us hope; protect us, and carry us. Thou wilt carry us both when little, and even to hoar hairs

wilt Thou carry us; for our firmness, when it is Thou, then is it firmness; but when our own, it is infirmity.

Our good ever lives with Thee; from which when we turn away, we are turned aside. Let us now, O Lord,

return, that we may not be overturned, because with Thee our good lives without any decay, which good art

Thou; nor need we fear, lest there be no place whither to return, because we fell from it: for through our

Accept the sacrifice of my confessions from the ministry of my tongue, which Thou hast formed and stirred

up to confess unto Thy name. Heal Thou all my bones, and let them say, O Lord, who is like unto Thee? For

he who confesses to Thee doth not teach Thee what takes place within him; seeing a closed heart closes not

out Thy eye, nor can man's hardheartedness thrust back Thy hand: for Thou dissolvest it at Thy will in pity

or in vengeance, and nothing can hide itself from Thy heat. But let my soul praise Thee, that it may love

Thee; and let it confess Thy own mercies to Thee, that it may praise Thee. Thy whole creation ceaseth not,

nor is silent in Thy praises; neither the spirit of man with voice directed unto Thee, nor creation animate or

inanimate, by the voice of those who meditate thereon: that so our souls may from their weariness arise

towards Thee, leaning on those things which Thou hast created, and passing on to Thyself, who madest them

Let the restless, the godless, depart and flee from Thee; yet Thou seest them, and dividest the darkness. And

behold, the universe with them is fair, though they are foul. And how have they injured Thee? or how have

they disgraced Thy government, which, from the heaven to this lowest earth, is just and perfect? For whither

fled they, when they fled from Thy presence? or where dost not Thou find them? But they fled, that they

might not see Thee seeing them, and, blinded, might stumble against Thee (because Thou forsakest nothing

Thou hast made); that the unjust, I say, might stumble upon Thee, and justly be hurt; withdrawing themselves

from thy gentleness, and stumbling at Thy uprightness, and falling upon their own ruggedness. Ignorant, in

truth, that Thou art every where, Whom no place encompasseth! and Thou alone art near, even to those that

remove far from Thee. Let them then be turned, and seek Thee; because not as they have forsaken their

Creator, hast Thou forsaken Thy creation. Let them be turned and seek Thee; and behold, Thou art there in

their heart, in the heart of those that confess to Thee, and cast themselves upon Thee, and weep in Thy

bosom, after all their rugged ways. Then dost Thou gently wipe away their tears, and they weep the more, and

joy in weeping; even for that Thou, Lord, not man of flesh and blood, but Thou, Lord, who madest them,

remakest and comfortest them. But where was I, when I was seeking Thee? And Thou wert before me, but I

I would lay open before my God that nineandtwentieth year of mine age. There had then come to Carthage

a certain Bishop of the Manichees, Faustus by name, a great snare of the Devil, and many were entangled by

him through that lure of his smooth language: which though I did commend, yet could I separate from the

truth of the things which I was earnest to learn: nor did I so much regard the service of oratory as the science

which this Faustus, so praised among them, set before me to feed upon. Fame had before bespoken him most

knowing in all valuable learning, and exquisitely skilled in the liberal sciences. And since I had read and well

remembered much of the philosophers, I compared some things of theirs with those long fables of the

Manichees, and found the former the more probable; even although they could only prevail so far as to make

judgment of this lower world, the Lord of it they could by no means find out. For Thou art great, O Lord, and

hast respect unto the humble, but the proud Thou beholdest afar off. Nor dost Thou draw near, but to the

contrite in heart, nor art found by the proud, no, not though by curious skill they could number the stars and

For with their understanding and wit, which Thou bestowedst on them, they search out these things; and

much have they found out; and foretold, many years before, eclipses of those luminaries, the sun and moon,

what day and hour, and how many digits, nor did their calculation fail; and it came to pass as they foretold;

and they wrote down the rules they had found out, and these are read at this day, and out of them do others

foretell in what year and month of the year, and what day of the month, and what hour of the day, and what

part of its light, moon or sun is to be eclipsed, and so it shall be, as it is foreshowed. At these things men, that

know not this art, marvel and are astonished, and they that know it, exult, and are puffed up; and by an

ungodly pride departing from Thee, and failing of Thy light, they foresee a failure of the sun's light, which

shall be, so long before, but see not their own, which is. For they search not religiously whence they have the

wit, wherewith they search out this. And finding that Thou madest them, they give not themselves up to Thee,

to preserve what Thou madest, nor sacrifice to Thee what they have made themselves; nor slay their own

soaring imaginations, as fowls of the air, nor their own diving curiosities (wherewith, like the fishes of the

seal they wander over the unknown paths of the abyss), nor their own luxuriousness, as beasts of the field,

that Thou, Lord, a consuming fire, mayest burn up those dead cares of theirs, and recreate themselves

But they knew not the way, Thy Word, by Whom Thou madest these things which they number, and

themselves who number, and the sense whereby they perceive what they number, and the understanding, out

of which they number; or that of Thy wisdom there is no number. But the Only Begotten is Himself made

unto us wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and was numbered among us, and paid tribute unto

Caesar. They knew not this way whereby to descend to Him from themselves, and by Him ascend unto Him.

They knew not this way, and deemed themselves exalted amongst the stars and shining; and behold, they fell

upon the earth, and their foolish heart was darkened. They discourse many things truly concerning the

creature; but Truth, Artificer of the creature, they seek not piously, and therefore find Him not; or if they find

Him, knowing Him to be God, they glorify Him not as God, neither are thankful, but become vain in their

imaginations, and profess themselves to be wise, attributing to themselves what is Thine; and thereby with

most perverse blindness, study to impute to Thee what is their own, forging lies of Thee who art the Truth,

and changing the glory of uncorruptible God into an image made like corruptible man, and to birds, and

fourfooted beasts, and creeping things, changing Thy truth into a lie, and worshipping and serving the

Yet many truths concerning the creature retained I from these men, and saw the reason thereof from

calculations, the succession of times, and the visible testimonies of the stars; and compared them with the

saying of Manichaeus, which in his frenzy he had written most largely on these subjects; but discovered not

any account of the solstices, or equinoxes, or the eclipses of the greater lights, nor whatever of this sort I had

learned in the books of secular philosophy. But I was commanded to believe; and yet it corresponded not with

what had been established by calculations and my own sight, but was quite contrary.

Doth then, O Lord God of truth, whoso knoweth these things, therefore please Thee? Surely unhappy is he

who knoweth all these, and knoweth not Thee: but happy whoso knoweth Thee, though he know not these.

And whoso knoweth both Thee and them is not the happier for them, but for Thee only, if, knowing Thee, he

glorifies Thee as God, and is thankful, and becomes not vain in his imaginations. For as he is better off who

knows how to possess a tree, and return thanks to Thee for the use thereof, although he know not how many

cubits high it is, or how wide it spreads, than he that can measure it, and count all its boughs, and neither

owns it, nor knows or loves its Creator: so a believer, whose all this world of wealth is, and who having

nothing, yet possesseth all things, by cleaving unto Thee, whom all things serve, though he know not even the

circles of the Great Bear, yet is it folly to doubt but he is in a better state than one who can measure the

heavens, and number the stars, and poise the elements, yet neglecteth Thee who hast made all things in

But yet who bade that Manichaeus write on these things also, skill in which was no element of piety? For

Thou hast said to man, Behold piety and wisdom; of which he might be ignorant, though he had perfect

knowledge of these things; but these things, since, knowing not, he most impudently dared to teach, he

plainly could have no knowledge of piety. For it is vanity to make profession of these worldly things even

when known; but confession to Thee is piety. Wherefore this wanderer to this end spake much of these

things, that convicted by those who had truly learned them, it might be manifest what understanding he had in

the other abstruser things. For he would not have himself meanly thought of, but went about to persuade men,

"That the Holy Ghost, the Comforter and Enricher of Thy faithful ones, was with plenary authority personally

within him." When then he was found out to have taught falsely of the heaven and stars, and of the motions

of the sun and moon (although these things pertain not to the doctrine of religion), yet his sacrilegious

presumption would become evident enough, seeing he delivered things which not only he knew not, but

which were falsified, with so mad a vanity of pride, that he sought to ascribe them to himself, as to a divine

For when I hear any Christian brother ignorant of these things, and mistaken on them, I can patiently behold

such a man holding his opinion; nor do I see that any ignorance as to the position or character of the corporeal

creation can injure him, so long as he doth not believe any thing unworthy of Thee, O Lord, the Creator of all.

But it doth injure him, if he imagine it to pertain to the form of the doctrine of piety, and will yet affirm that

too stiffly whereof he is ignorant. And yet is even such an infirmity, in the infancy of faith, borne by our

mother Charity, till the newborn may grow up unto a perfect man, so as not to be carried about with every

wind of doctrine. But in him who in such wise presumed to be the teacher, source, guide, chief of all whom

he could so persuade, that whoso followed him thought that he followed, not a mere man, but Thy Holy

Spirit; who would not judge that so great madness, when once convicted of having taught any thing false,

were to be detested and utterly rejected? But I had not as yet clearly ascertained whether the vicissitudes of

longer and shorter days and nights, and of day and night itself, with the eclipses of the greater lights, and

whatever else of the kind I had read of in other books, might be explained consistently with his sayings; so

that, if they by any means might, it should still remain a question to me whether it were so or no; but I might,

And for almost all those nine years, wherein with unsettled mind I had been their disciple, I had longed but

too intensely for the coming of this Faustus. For the rest of the sect, whom by chance I had lighted upon,

when unable to solve my objections about these things, still held out to me the coming of this Faustus, by

conference with whom these and greater difficulties, if I had them, were to be most readily and abundantly

cleared. When then he came, I found him a man of pleasing discourse, and who could speak fluently and in

better terms, yet still but the selfsame things which they were wont to say. But what availed the utmost

neatness of the cupbearer to my thirst for a more precious draught? Mine ears were already cloyed with the

like, nor did they seem to me therefore better, because better said; nor therefore true, because eloquent; nor

the soul therefore wise, because the face was comely, and the language graceful. But they who held him out

to me were no good judges of things; and therefore to them he appeared understanding and wise, because in

words pleasing. I felt however that another sort of people were suspicious even of truth, and refused to assent

to it, if delivered in a smooth and copious discourse. But Thou, O my God, hadst already taught me by

wonderful and secret ways, and therefore I believe that Thou taughtest me, because it is truth, nor is there

besides Thee any teacher of truth, where or whencesoever it may shine upon us. Of Thyself therefore had I

now learned, that neither ought any thing to seem to be spoken truly, because eloquently; nor therefore

falsely, because the utterance of the lips is inharmonious; nor, again, therefore true, because rudely delivered;

nor therefore false, because the language is rich; but that wisdom and folly are as wholesome and

unwholesome food; and adorned or unadorned phrases as courtly or country vessels; either kind of meats may

That greediness then, wherewith I had of so long time expected that man, was delighted verily with his action

and feeling when disputing, and his choice and readiness of words to clothe his ideas. I was then delighted,

and, with many others and more than they, did I praise and extol him. It troubled me, however, that in the

assembly of his auditors, I was not allowed to put in and communicate those questions that troubled me, in

familiar converse with him. Which when I might, and with my friends began to engage his ears at such times

as it was not unbecoming for him to discuss with me, and had brought forward such things as moved me; I

found him first utterly ignorant of liberal sciences, save grammar, and that but in an ordinary way. But

because he had read some of Tully's Orations, a very few books of Seneca, some things of the poets, and such

few volumes of his own sect as were written in Latin and neatly, and was daily practised in speaking, he

acquired a certain eloquence, which proved the more pleasing and seductive because under the guidance of a

good wit, and with a kind of natural gracefulness. Is it not thus, as I recall it, O Lord my God, Thou judge of

my conscience? before Thee is my heart, and my remembrance, Who didst at that time direct me by the

hidden mystery of Thy providence, and didst set those shameful errors of mine before my face, that I might

For after it was clear that he was ignorant of those arts in which I thought he excelled, I began to despair of

his opening and solving the difficulties which perplexed me (of which indeed however ignorant, he might

have held the truths of piety, had he not been a Manichee). For their books are fraught with prolix fables, of

the heaven, and stars, sun, and moon, and I now no longer thought him able satisfactorily to decide what I

much desired, whether, on comparison of these things with the calculations I had elsewhere read, the account

given in the books of Manichaeus were preferable, or at least as good. Which when I proposed to he

considered and discussed, he, so far modestly, shrunk from the burthen. For he knew that he knew not these

things, and was not ashamed to confess it. For he was not one of those talking persons, many of whom I had

endured, who undertook to teach me these things, and said nothing. But this man had a heart, though not right

towards Thee, yet neither altogether treacherous to himself. For he was not altogether ignorant of his own

ignorance, nor would he rashly be entangled in a dispute, whence he could neither retreat nor extricate

himself fairly. Even for this I liked him the better. For fairer is the modesty of a candid mind, than the

knowledge of those things which I desired; and such I found him, in all the more difficult and subtile

My zeal for the writings of Manichaeus being thus blunted, and despairing yet more of their other teachers,

seeing that in divers things which perplexed me, he, so renowned among them, had so turned out; I began to

engage with him in the study of that literature, on which he also was much set (and which as rhetoricreader I

was at that time teaching young students at Carthage), and to read with him, either what himself desired to

hear, or such as I judged fit for his genius. But all my efforts whereby I had purposed to advance in that sect,

upon knowledge of that man, came utterly to an end; not that I detached myself from them altogether, but as

one finding nothing better, I had settled to be content meanwhile with what I had in whatever way fallen

upon, unless by chance something more eligible should dawn upon me. Thus, that Faustus, to so many a

snare of death, had now neither willing nor witting it, begun to loosen that wherein I was taken. For Thy

hands, O my God, in the secret purpose of Thy providence, did not forsake my soul; and out of my mother's

heart's blood, through her tears night and day poured out, was a sacrifice offered for me unto Thee; and Thou

didst deal with me by wondrous ways. Thou didst it, O my God: for the steps of a man are ordered by the

Lord, and He shall dispose his way. Or how shall we obtain salvation, but from Thy hand, remaking what it

Thou didst deal with me, that I should be persuaded to go to Rome, and to teach there rather, what I was

teaching at Carthage. And how I was persuaded to this, I will not neglect to confess to Thee; because herein

also the deepest recesses of Thy wisdom, and Thy most present mercy to us, must be considered and

confessed. I did not wish therefore to go to Rome, because higher gains and higher dignities were warranted

me by my friends who persuaded me to this (though even these things had at that time an influence over my

mind), but my chief and almost only reason was, that I heard that young men studied there more peacefully,

and were kept quiet under a restraint of more regular discipline; so that they did not, at their pleasures,

petulantly rush into the school of one whose pupils they were not, nor were even admitted without his

permission. Whereas at Carthage there reigns among the scholars a most disgraceful and unruly licence. They

burst in audaciously, and with gestures almost frantic, disturb all order which any one hath established for the

good of his scholars. Divers outrages they commit, with a wonderful stolidity, punishable by law, did not

custom uphold them; that custom evincing them to be the more miserable, in that they now do as lawful what

by Thy eternal law shall never be lawful; and they think they do it unpunished, whereas they are punished

with the very blindness whereby they do it, and suffer incomparably worse than what they do. The manners

then which, when a student, I would not make my own, I was fain as a teacher to endure in others: and so I

was well pleased to go where, all that knew it, assured me that the like was not done. But Thou, my refuge

and my portion in the land of the living; that I might change my earthly dwelling for the salvation of my soul,

at Carthage didst goad me, that I might thereby be torn from it; and at Rome didst proffer me allurements,

whereby I might be drawn thither, by men in love with a dying life, the one doing frantic, the other promising

vain, things; and, to correct my steps, didst secretly use their and my own perverseness. For both they who

disturbed my quiet were blinded with a disgraceful frenzy, and they who invited me elsewhere savoured of

earth. And I, who here detested real misery, was there seeking unreal happiness.

But why I went hence, and went thither, Thou knewest, O God, yet showedst it neither to me, nor to my

mother, who grievously bewailed my journey, and followed me as far as the sea. But I deceived her, holding

me by force, that either she might keep me back or go with me, and I feigned that I had a friend whom I could

not leave, till he had a fair wind to sail. And I lied to my mother, and such a mother, and escaped: for this also

hast Thou mercifully forgiven me, preserving me, thus full of execrable defilements, from the waters of the

sea, for the water of Thy Grace; whereby when I was cleansed, the streams of my mother's eyes should be

dried, with which for me she daily watered the ground under her face. And yet refusing to return without me,

I scarcely persuaded her to stay that night in a place hard by our ship, where was an Oratory in memory of the

blessed Cyprian. That night I privily departed, but she was not behind in weeping and prayer. And what, O

Lord, was she with so many tears asking of Thee, but that Thou wouldest not suffer me to sail? But Thou, in

the depth of Thy counsels and hearing the main point of her desire, regardest not what she then asked, that

Thou mightest make me what she ever asked. The wind blew and swelled our sails, and withdrew the shore

from our sight; and she on the morrow was there, frantic with sorrow, and with complaints and groans filled

Thine ears, Who didst then disregard them; whilst through my desires, Thou wert hurrying me to end all

desire, and the earthly part of her affection to me was chastened by the allotted scourge of sorrows. For she

loved my being with her, as mothers do, but much more than many; and she knew not how great joy Thou

wert about to work for her out of my absence. She knew not; therefore did she weep and wail, and by this

agony there appeared in her the inheritance of Eve, with sorrow seeking what in sorrow she had brought

forth. And yet, after accusing my treachery and hardheartedness, she betook herself again to intercede to Thee

And lo, there was I received by the scourge of bodily sickness, and I was going down to hell, carrying all the

sins which I had committed, both against Thee, and myself, and others, many and grievous, over and above

that bond of original sin, whereby we all die in Adam. For Thou hadst not forgiven me any of these things in

Christ, nor had He abolished by His Cross the enmity which by my sins I had incurred with Thee. For how

should He, by the crucifixion of a phantasm, which I believed Him to be? So true, then, was the death of my

soul, as that of His flesh seemed to me false; and how true the death of His body, so false was the life of my

soul, which did not believe it. And now the fever heightening, I was parting and departing for ever. For had I

then parted hence, whither had I departed, but into fire and torments, such as my misdeeds deserved in the

truth of Thy appointment? And this she knew not, yet in absence prayed for me. But Thou, everywhere

present, heardest her where she was, and, where I was, hadst compassion upon me; that I should recover the

health of my body, though frenzied as yet in my sacrilegious heart. For I did not in all that danger desire Thy

baptism; and I was better as a boy, when I begged it of my mother's piety, as I have before recited and

confessed. But I had grown up to my own shame, and I madly scoffed at the prescripts of Thy medicine, who

wouldest not suffer me, being such, to die a double death. With which wound had my mother's heart been

pierced, it could never be healed. For I cannot express the affection she bore to me, and with how much more

vehement anguish she was now in labour of me in the spirit, than at her childbearing in the flesh.

I see not then how she should have been healed, had such a death of mine stricken through the bowels of her

love. And where would have been those her so strong and unceasing prayers, unintermitting to Thee alone?

But wouldest Thou, God of mercies, despise the contrite and humbled heart of that chaste and sober widow,

so frequent in almsdeeds, so full of duty and service to Thy saints, no day intermitting the oblation at Thine

altar, twice a day, morning and evening, without any intermission, coming to Thy church, not for idle

tattlings and old wives' fables; but that she might hear Thee in Thy discourses, and Thou her in her prayers.

Couldest Thou despise and reject from Thy aid the tears of such an one, wherewith she begged of Thee not

gold or silver, nor any mutable or passing good, but the salvation of her son's soul? Thou, by whose gift she

was such? Never, Lord. Yea, Thou wert at hand, and wert hearing and doing, in that order wherein Thou

hadst determined before that it should be done. Far be it that Thou shouldest deceive her in Thy visions and

answers, some whereof I have, some I have not mentioned, which she laid up in her faithful heart, and ever

praying, urged upon Thee, as Thine own handwriting. For Thou, because Thy mercy endureth for ever,

vouchsafest to those to whom Thou forgivest all of their debts, to become also a debtor by Thy promises.

Thou recoveredst me then of that sickness, and healedst the son of Thy handmaid, for the time in body, that

he might live, for Thee to bestow upon him a better and more abiding health. And even then, at Rome, I

joined myself to those deceiving and deceived "holy ones"; not with their disciples only (of which number

was he, in whose house I had fallen sick and recovered); but also with those whom they call "The Elect." For

I still thought "that it was not we that sin, but that I know not what other nature sinned in us"; and it delighted

my pride, to be free from blame; and when I had done any evil, not to confess I had done any, that Thou

mightest heal my soul because it had sinned against Thee: but I loved to excuse it, and to accuse I know not

what other thing, which was with me, but which I was not. But in truth it was wholly I, and mine impiety had

divided me against myself: and that sin was the more incurable, whereby I did not judge myself a sinner; and

execrable iniquity it was, that I had rather have Thee, Thee, O God Almighty, to be overcome in me to my

destruction, than myself of Thee to salvation. Not as yet then hadst Thou set a watch before my mouth, and a

door of safe keeping around my lips, that my heart might not turn aside to wicked speeches, to make excuses

of sins, with men that work iniquity; and, therefore, was I still united with their Elect.

But now despairing to make proficiency in that false doctrine, even those things (with which if I should find

no better, I had resolved to rest contented) I now held more laxly and carelessly. For there half arose a

thought in me that those philosophers, whom they call Academics, were wiser than the rest, for that they held

men ought to doubt everything, and laid down that no truth can be comprehended by man: for so, not then

understanding even their meaning, I also was clearly convinced that they thought, as they are commonly

reported. Yet did I freely and openly discourage that host of mine from that overconfidence which I

perceived him to have in those fables, which the books of Manichaeus are full of. Yet I lived in more familiar

friendship with them, than with others who were not of this heresy. Nor did I maintain it with my ancient

eagerness; still my intimacy with that sect (Rome secretly harbouring many of them) made me slower to seek

any other way: especially since I despaired of finding the truth, from which they had turned me aside, in Thy

Church, O Lord of heaven and earth, Creator of all things visible and invisible: and it seemed to me very

unseemly to believe Thee to have the shape of human flesh, and to be bounded by the bodily lineaments of

our members. And because, when I wished to think on my God, I knew not what to think of, but a mass of

bodies (for what was not such did not seem to me to be anything), this was the greatest, and almost only

For hence I believed Evil also to be some such kind of substance, and to have its own foul and hideous bulk;

whether gross, which they called earth, or thin and subtile (like the body of the air), which they imagine to be

some malignant mind, creeping through that earth. And because a piety, such as it was, constrained me to

believe that the good God never created any evil nature, I conceived two masses, contrary to one another,

both unbounded, but the evil narrower, the good more expansive. And from this pestilent beginning, the other

sacrilegious conceits followed on me. For when my mind endeavoured to recur to the Catholic faith, I was

driven back, since that was not the Catholic faith which I thought to be so. And I seemed to myself more

reverential, if I believed of Thee, my God (to whom Thy mercies confess out of my mouth), as unbounded, at

least on other sides, although on that one where the mass of evil was opposed to Thee, I was constrained to

confess Thee bounded; than if on all sides I should imagine Thee to be bounded by the form of a human

body. And it seemed to me better to believe Thee to have created no evil (which to me ignorant seemed not

some only, but a bodily substance, because I could not conceive of mind unless as a subtile body, and that

diffused in definite spaces), than to believe the nature of evil, such as I conceived it, could come from Thee.

Yea, and our Saviour Himself, Thy Only Begotten, I believed to have been reached forth (as it were) for our

salvation, out of the mass of Thy most lucid substance, so as to believe nothing of Him, but what I could

imagine in my vanity. His Nature then, being such, I thought could not be born of the Virgin Mary, without

being mingled with the flesh: and how that which I had so figured to myself could be mingled, and not

defiled, I saw not. I feared therefore to believe Him born in the flesh, lest I should be forced to believe Him

defiled by the flesh. Now will Thy spiritual ones mildly and lovingly smile upon me, if they shall read these

Furthermore, what the Manichees had criticised in Thy Scriptures, I thought could not be defended; yet at

times verily I had a wish to confer upon these several points with some one very well skilled in those books,

and to make trial what he thought thereon; for the words of one Helpidius, as he spoke and disputed face to

face against the said Manichees, had begun to stir me even at Carthage: in that he had produced things out of

the Scriptures, not easily withstood, the Manichees' answer whereto seemed to me weak. And this answer

they liked not to give publicly, but only to us in private. It was, that the Scriptures of the New Testament had

been corrupted by I know not whom, who wished to engraff the law of the Jews upon the Christian faith: yet

themselves produced not any uncorrupted copies. But I, conceiving of things corporeal only, was mainly held

down, vehemently oppressed and in a manner suffocated by those "masses"; panting under which after the

I began then diligently to practise that for which I came to Rome, to teach rhetoric; and first, to gather some

to my house, to whom, and through whom, I had begun to be known; when to, I found other offences

committed in Rome, to which I was not exposed in Africa. True, those "subvertings" by profligate young men

were not here practised, as was told me: but on a sudden, said they, to avoid paying their master's stipend, a

number of youths plot together, and remove to another; breakers of faith, who for love of money hold

justice cheap. These also my heart hated, though not with a perfect hatred: for perchance I hated them more

because I was to suffer by them, than because they did things utterly unlawful. Of a truth such are base

persons, and they go a whoring from Thee, loving these fleeting mockeries of things temporal, and filthy

lucre, which fouls the hand that grasps it; hugging the fleeting world, and despising Thee, Who abidest, and

recallest, and forgivest the adulteress soul of man, when she returns to Thee. And now I hate such depraved

and crooked persons, though I love them if corrigible, so as to prefer to money the learning which they

acquire, and to learning, Thee, O God, the truth and fulness of assured good, and most pure peace. But then I

rather for my own sake misliked them evil, than liked and wished them good for Thine.

When therefore they of Milan had sent to Rome to the prefect of the city, to furnish them with a rhetoric

reader for their city, and sent him at the public expense, I made application (through those very persons,

intoxicated with Manichaean vanities, to be freed wherefrom I was to go, neither of us however knowing it)

that Symmachus, then prefect of the city, would try me by setting me some subject, and so send me. To Milan

I came, to Ambrose the Bishop, known to the whole world as among the best of men, Thy devout servant;

whose eloquent discourse did then plentifully dispense unto Thy people the flour of Thy wheat, the gladness

of Thy oil, and the sober inebriation of Thy wine. To him was I unknowing led by Thee, that by him I might

knowingly be led to Thee. That man of God received me as a father, and showed me an Episcopal kindness

on my coming. Thenceforth I began to love him, at first indeed not as a teacher of the truth (which I utterly

despaired of in Thy Church), but as a person kind towards myself. And I listened diligently to him preaching

to the people, not with that intent I ought, but, as it were, trying his eloquence, whether it answered the fame

thereof, or flowed fuller or lower than was reported; and I hung on his words attentively; but of the matter I

was as a careless and scornful lookeron; and I was delighted with the sweetness of his discourse, more

recondite, yet in manner less winning and harmonious, than that of Faustus. Of the matter, however, there

was no comparison; for the one was wandering amid Manichaean delusions, the other teaching salvation most

soundly. But salvation is far from sinners, such as I then stood before him; and yet was I drawing nearer by

For though I took no pains to learn what he spake, but only to hear how he spake (for that empty care alone

was left me, despairing of a way, open for man, to Thee), yet together with the words which I would choose,

came also into my mind the things which I would refuse; for I could not separate them. And while I opened

my heart to admit "how eloquently he spake," there also entered "how truly he spake"; but this by degrees.

For first, these things also had now begun to appear to me capable of defence; and the Catholic faith, for

which I had thought nothing could be said against the Manichees' objections, I now thought might be

maintained without shamelessness; especially after I had heard one or two places of the Old Testament

resolved, and ofttimes "in a figure," which when I understood literally, I was slain spiritually. Very many

places then of those books having been explained, I now blamed my despair, in believing that no answer

could be given to such as hated and scoffed at the Law and the Prophets. Yet did I not therefore then see that

the Catholic way was to be held, because it also could find learned maintainers, who could at large and with

some show of reason answer objections; nor that what I held was therefore to be condemned, because both

sides could be maintained. For the Catholic cause seemed to me in such sort not vanquished, as still not as yet

Hereupon I earnestly bent my mind, to see if in any way I could by any certain proof convict the Manichees

of falsehood. Could I once have conceived a spiritual substance, all their strongholds had been beaten down,

and cast utterly out of my mind; but I could not. Notwithstanding, concerning the frame of this world, and the

whole of nature, which the senses of the flesh can reach to, as I more and more considered and compared

things, I judged the tenets of most of the philosophers to have been much more probable. So then after the

manner of the Academics (as they are supposed) doubting of every thing, and wavering between all, I settled

so far, that the Manichees were to be abandoned; judging that, even while doubting, I might not continue in

that sect, to which I already preferred some of the philosophers; to which philosophers notwithstanding, for

that they were without the saving Name of Christ, I utterly refused to commit the cure of my sick soul. I

determined therefore so long to be a Catechumen in the Catholic Church, to which I had been commended by

my parents, till something certain should dawn upon me, whither I might steer my course.

O Thou, my hope from my youth, where wert Thou to me, and whither wert Thou gone? Hadst not Thou

created me, and separated me from the beasts of the field, and fowls of the air? Thou hadst made me wiser,

yet did I walk in darkness, and in slippery places, and sought Thee abroad out of myself, and found not the

God of my heart; and had come into the depths of the sea, and distrusted and despaired of ever finding truth.

My mother had now come to me, resolute through piety, following me over sea and land, in all perils

confiding in Thee. For in perils of the sea, she comforted the very mariners (by whom passengers

unacquainted with the deep, use rather to be comforted when troubled), assuring them of a safe arrival,

because Thou hadst by a vision assured her thereof. She found me in grievous peril, through despair of ever

finding truth. But when I had discovered to her that I was now no longer a Manichee, though not yet a

Catholic Christian, she was not overjoyed, as at something unexpected; although she was now assured

concerning that part of my misery, for which she bewailed me as one dead, though to be reawakened by

Thee, carrying me forth upon the bier of her thoughts, that Thou mightest say to the son of the widow, Young

man, I say unto thee, Arise; and he should revive, and begin to speak, and Thou shouldest deliver him to his

mother. Her heart then was shaken with no tumultuous exultation, when she heard that what she daily with

tears desired of Thee was already in so great part realised; in that, though I had not yet attained the truth, I

was rescued from falsehood; but, as being assured, that Thou, Who hadst promised the whole, wouldest one

day give the rest, most calmly, and with a heart full of confidence, she replied to me, "She believed in Christ,

that before she departed this life, she should see me a Catholic believer." Thus much to me. But to Thee,

Fountain of mercies, poured she forth more copious prayers and tears, that Thou wouldest hasten Thy help,

and enlighten my darkness; and she hastened the more eagerly to the Church, and hung upon the lips of

Ambrose, praying for the fountain of that water, which springeth up unto life everlasting. But that man she

loved as an angel of God, because she knew that by him I had been brought for the present to that doubtful

state of faith I now was in, through which she anticipated most confidently that I should pass from sickness

unto health, after the access, as it were, of a sharper fit, which physicians call "the crisis."

When then my mother had once, as she was wont in Afric, brought to the Churches built in memory of the

Saints, certain cakes, and bread and wine, and was forbidden by the doorkeeper; so soon as she knew that

the Bishop had forbidden this, she so piously and obediently embraced his wishes, that I myself wondered

how readily she censured her own practice, rather than discuss his prohibition. For winebibbing did not lay

siege to her spirit, nor did love of wine provoke her to hatred of the truth, as it doth too many (both men and

women), who revolt at a lesson of sobriety, as men welldrunk at a draught mingled with water. But she,

when she had brought her basket with the accustomed festivalfood, to be but tasted by herself, and then

given away, never joined therewith more than one small cup of wine, diluted according to her own

abstemious habits, which for courtesy she would taste. And if there were many churches of the departed

saints that were to be honoured in that manner, she still carried round that same one cup, to be used every

where; and this, though not only made very watery, but unpleasantly heated with carrying about, she would

distribute to those about her by small sips; for she sought there devotion, not pleasure. So soon, then, as she

found this custom to be forbidden by that famous preacher and most pious prelate, even to those that would

use it soberly, lest so an occasion of excess might be given to the drunken; and for these, as it were,

anniversary funeral solemnities did much resemble the superstition of the Gentiles, she most willingly forbare

it: and for a basket filled with fruits of the earth, she had learned to bring to the Churches of the martyrs a

breast filled with more purified petitions, and to give what she could to the poor; that so the communication

of the Lord's Body might be there rightly celebrated, where, after the example of His Passion, the martyrs had

been sacrificed and crowned. But yet it seems to me, O Lord my God, and thus thinks my heart of it in Thy

sight, that perhaps she would not so readily have yielded to the cutting off of this custom, had it been

forbidden by another, whom she loved not as Ambrose, whom, for my salvation, she loved most entirely; and

he her again, for her most religious conversation, whereby in good works, so fervent in spirit, she was

constant at church; so that, when he saw me, he often burst forth into her praises; congratulating me that I had

such a mother; not knowing what a son she had in me, who doubted of all these things, and imagined the way

Nor did I yet groan in my prayers, that Thou wouldest help me; but my spirit was wholly intent on learning,

and restless to dispute. And Ambrose himself, as the world counts happy, I esteemed a happy man, whom

personages so great held in such honour; only his celibacy seemed to me a painful course. But what hope he

bore within him, what struggles he had against the temptations which beset his very excellencies, or what

comfort in adversities, and what sweet joys Thy Bread had for the hidden mouth of his spirit, when chewing

the cud thereof, I neither could conjecture, nor had experienced. Nor did he know the tides of my feelings, or

the abyss of my danger. For I could not ask of him, what I would as I would, being shut out both from his ear

and speech by multitudes of busy people, whose weaknesses he served. With whom when he was not taken

up (which was but a little time), he was either refreshing his body with the sustenance absolutely necessary,

or his mind with reading. But when he was reading, his eye glided over the pages, and his heart searched out

the sense, but his voice and tongue were at rest. Ofttimes when we had come (for no man was forbidden to

enter, nor was it his wont that any who came should be announced to him), we saw him thus reading to

himself, and never otherwise; and having long sat silent (for who durst intrude on one so intent?) we were

fain to depart, conjecturing that in the small interval which he obtained, free from the din of others' business,

for the recruiting of his mind, he was loth to be taken off; and perchance he dreaded lest if the author he read

should deliver any thing obscurely, some attentive or perplexed hearer should desire him to expound it, or to

discuss some of the harder questions; so that his time being thus spent, he could not turn over so many

volumes as he desired; although the preserving of his voice (which a very little speaking would weaken)

might be the truer reason for his reading to himself. But with what intent soever he did it, certainly in such a

I however certainly had no opportunity of enquiring what I wished of that so holy oracle of Thine, his breast,

unless the thing might be answered briefly. But those tides in me, to be poured out to him, required his full

leisure, and never found it. I heard him indeed every Lord's day, rightly expounding the Word of truth among

the people; and I was more and more convinced that all the knots of those crafty calumnies, which those our

deceivers had knit against the Divine Books, could be unravelled. But when I understood withal, that "man

created by Thee, after Thine own image," was not so understood by Thy spiritual sons, whom of the Catholic

Mother Thou hast born again through grace, as though they believed and conceived of Thee as bounded by

human shape (although what a spiritual substance should be I had not even a faint or shadowy notion); yet,

with joy I blushed at having so many years barked not against the Catholic faith, but against the fictions of

carnal imaginations. For so rash and impious had I been, that what I ought by enquiring to have learned, I had

pronounced on, condemning. For Thou, Most High, and most near; most secret, and most present; Who hast

not limbs some larger, some smaller, but art wholly every where, and no where in space, art not of such

corporeal shape, yet hast Thou made man after Thine own image; and behold, from head to foot is he

Ignorant then how this Thy image should subsist, I should have knocked and proposed the doubt, how it was

to be believed, not insultingly opposed it, as if believed. Doubt, then, what to hold for certain, the more

sharply gnawed my heart, the more ashamed I was, that so long deluded and deceived by the promise of

certainties, I had with childish error and vehemence, prated of so many uncertainties. For that they were

falsehoods became clear to me later. However I was certain that they were uncertain, and that I had formerly

accounted them certain, when with a blind contentiousness, I accused Thy Catholic Church, whom I now

discovered, not indeed as yet to teach truly, but at least not to teach that for which I had grievously censured

her. So I was confounded, and converted: and I joyed, O my God, that the One Only Church, the body of

Thine Only Son (wherein the name of Christ had been put upon me as an infant), had no taste for infantine

conceits; nor in her sound doctrine maintained any tenet which should confine Thee, the Creator of all, in

space, however great and large, yet bounded every where by the limits of a human form.

I joyed also that the old Scriptures of the law and the Prophets were laid before me, not now to be perused

with that eye to which before they seemed absurd, when I reviled Thy holy ones for so thinking, whereas

indeed they thought not so: and with joy I heard Ambrose in his sermons to the people, oftentimes most

diligently recommend this text for a rule, The letter killeth, but the Spirit giveth life; whilst he drew aside the

mystic veil, laying open spiritually what, according to the letter, seemed to teach something unsound;

teaching herein nothing that offended me, though he taught what I knew not as yet, whether it were true. For I

kept my heart from assenting to any thing, fearing to fall headlong; but by hanging in suspense I was the

worse killed. For I wished to be as assured of the things I saw not, as I was that seven and three are ten. For I

was not so mad as to think that even this could not be comprehended; but I desired to have other things as

clear as this, whether things corporeal, which were not present to my senses, or spiritual, whereof I knew not

how to conceive, except corporeally. And by believing might I have been cured, that so the eyesight of my

soul being cleared, might in some way be directed to Thy truth, which abideth always, and in no part faileth.

But as it happens that one who has tried a bad physician, fears to trust himself with a good one, so was it with

the health of my soul, which could not be healed but by believing, and lest it should believe falsehoods,

refused to be cured; resisting Thy hands, Who hast prepared the medicines of faith, and hast applied them to

Being led, however, from this to prefer the Catholic doctrine, I felt that her proceeding was more unassuming

and honest, in that she required to be believed things not demonstrated (whether it was that they could in

themselves be demonstrated but not to certain persons, or could not at all be), whereas among the Manichees

our credulity was mocked by a promise of certain knowledge, and then so many most fabulous and absurd

things were imposed to be believed, because they could not be demonstrated. Then Thou, O Lord, little by

little with most tender and most merciful hand, touching and composing my heart, didst persuade me

considering what innumerable things I believed, which I saw not, nor was present while they were done, as so

many things in secular history, so many reports of places and of cities, which I had not seen; so many of

friends, so many of physicians, so many continually of other men, which unless we should believe, we should

do nothing at all in this life; lastly, with how unshaken an assurance I believed of what parents I was born,

which I could not know, had I not believed upon hearsay considering all this, Thou didst persuade me, that

not they who believed Thy Books (which Thou hast established in so great authority among almost all

nations), but they who believed them not, were to be blamed; and that they were not to be heard, who should

say to me, "How knowest thou those Scriptures to have been imparted unto mankind by the Spirit of the one

true and most true God?" For this very thing was of all most to be believed, since no contentiousness of

blasphemous questionings, of all that multitude which I had read in the selfcontradicting philosophers, could

wring this belief from me, "That Thou art" whatsoever Thou wert (what I knew not), and "That the

This I believed, sometimes more strongly, more weakly otherwhiles; yet I ever believed both that Thou wert,

and hadst a care of us; though I was ignorant, both what was to be thought of Thy substance, and what way

led or led back to Thee. Since then we were too weak by abstract reasonings to find out truth: and for this

very cause needed the authority of Holy Writ; I had now begun to believe that Thou wouldest never have

given such excellency of authority to that Writ in all lands, hadst Thou not willed thereby to be believed in,

thereby sought. For now what things, sounding strangely in the Scripture, were wont to offend me, having

heard divers of them expounded satisfactorily, I referred to the depth of the mysteries, and its authority

appeared to me the more venerable, and more worthy of religious credence, in that, while it lay open to all to

read, it reserved the majesty of its mysteries within its profounder meaning, stooping to all in the great

plainness of its words and lowliness of its style, yet calling forth the intensest application of such as are not

light of heart; that so it might receive all in its open bosom, and through narrow passages waft over towards

Thee some few, yet many more than if it stood not aloft on such a height of authority, nor drew multitudes

within its bosom by its holy lowliness. These things I thought on, and Thou wert with me; I sighed, and Thou

heardest me; I wavered, and Thou didst guide me; I wandered through the broad way of the world, and Thou

I panted after honours, gains, marriage; and thou deridedst me. In these desires I underwent most bitter

crosses, Thou being the more gracious, the less Thou sufferedst aught to grow sweet to me, which was not

Thou. Behold my heart, O Lord, who wouldest I should remember all this, and confess to Thee. Let my soul

cleave unto Thee, now that Thou hast freed it from that fastholding birdlime of death. How wretched was it!

and Thou didst irritate the feeling of its wound, that forsaking all else, it might be converted unto Thee, who

art above all, and without whom all things would be nothing; be converted, and be healed. How miserable

was I then, and how didst Thou deal with me, to make me feel my misery on that day, when I was preparing

to recite a panegyric of the Emperor, wherein I was to utter many a lie, and lying, was to be applauded by

those who knew I lied, and my heart was panting with these anxieties, and boiling with the feverishness of

consuming thoughts. For, passing through one of the streets of Milan, I observed a poor beggar, then, I

suppose, with a full belly, joking and joyous: and I sighed, and spoke to the friends around me, of the many

sorrows of our frenzies; for that by all such efforts of ours, as those wherein I then toiled dragging along,

under the goading of desire, the burthen of my own wretchedness, and, by dragging, augmenting it, we yet

looked to arrive only at that very joyousness whither that beggarman had arrived before us, who should

never perchance attain it. For what he had obtained by means of a few begged pence, the same was I plotting

for by many a toilsome turning and winding; the joy of a temporary felicity. For he verily had not the true

joy; but yet I with those my ambitious designs was seeking one much less true. And certainly he was joyous,

I anxious; he void of care, I full of fears. But should any ask me, had I rather be merry or fearful? I would

answer merry. Again, if he asked had I rather be such as he was, or what I then was? I should choose to be

myself, though worn with cares and fears; but out of wrong judgment; for, was it the truth? For I ought not to

prefer myself to him, because more learned than he, seeing I had no joy therein, but sought to please men by

it; and that not to instruct, but simply to please. Wherefore also Thou didst break my bones with the staff of

Away with those then from my soul who say to her, "It makes a difference whence a man's joy is. That

beggarman joyed in drunkenness; Thou desiredst to joy in glory." What glory, Lord? That which is not in

Thee. For even as his was no true joy, so was that no true glory: and it overthrew my soul more. He that very

night should digest his drunkenness; but I had slept and risen again with mine, and was to sleep again, and

again to rise with it, how many days, Thou, God, knowest. But "it doth make a difference whence a man's joy

is." I know it, and the joy of a faithful hope lieth incomparably beyond such vanity. Yea, and so was he then

beyond me: for he verily was the happier; not only for that he was thoroughly drenched in mirth, I

disembowelled with cares: but he, by fair wishes, had gotten wine; I, by lying, was seeking for empty,

swelling praise. Much to this purpose said I then to my friends: and I often marked in them how it fared with

me; and I found it went ill with me, and grieved, and doubled that very ill; and if any prosperity smiled on

me, I was loth to catch at it, for almost before I could grasp it, it flew away.

These things we, who were living as friends together, bemoaned together, but chiefly and most familiarly did

I speak thereof with Alypius and Nebridius, of whom Alypius was born in the same town with me, of persons

of chief rank there, but younger than I. For he had studied under me, both when I first lectured in our town,

and afterwards at Carthage, and he loved me much, because I seemed to him kind, and learned; and I him, for

his great towardliness to virtue, which was eminent enough in one of no greater years. Yet the whirlpool of

Carthaginian habits (amongst whom those idle spectacles are hotly followed) had drawn him into the

madness of the Circus. But while he was miserably tossed therein, and I, professing rhetoric there, had a

public school, as yet he used not my teaching, by reason of some unkindness risen betwixt his father and me.

I had found then how deadly he doted upon the Circus, and was deeply grieved that he seemed likely, nay, or

had thrown away so great promise: yet had I no means of advising or with a sort of constraint reclaiming him,

either by the kindness of a friend, or the authority of a master. For I supposed that he thought of me as did his

father; but he was not such; laying aside then his father's mind in that matter, he began to greet me, come

I however had forgotten to deal with him, that he should not, through a blind and headlong desire of vain

pastimes, undo so good a wit. But Thou, O Lord, who guidest the course of all Thou hast created, hadst not

forgotten him, who was one day to be among Thy children, Priest and Dispenser of Thy Sacrament; and that

his amendment might plainly be attributed to Thyself, Thou effectedst it through me, unknowingly. For as

one day I sat in my accustomed place, with my scholars before me, he entered, greeted me, sat down, and

applied his mind to what I then handled. I had by chance a passage in hand, which while I was explaining, a

likeness from the Circensian races occurred to me, as likely to make what I would convey pleasanter and

plainer, seasoned with biting mockery of those whom that madness had enthralled; God, Thou knowest that I

then thought not of curing Alypius of that infection. But he took it wholly to himself, and thought that I said

it simply for his sake. And whence another would have taken occasion of offence with me, that rightminded

youth took as a ground of being offended at himself, and loving me more fervently. For Thou hadst said it

long ago, and put it into Thy book, Rebuke a wise man and he will love Thee. But I had not rebuked him, but

Thou, who employest all, knowing or not knowing, in that order which Thyself knowest (and that order is

just), didst of my heart and tongue make burning coals, by which to set on fire the hopeful mind, thus

languishing, and so cure it. Let him be silent in Thy praises, who considers not Thy mercies, which confess

unto Thee out of my inmost soul. For he upon that speech burst out of that pit so deep, wherein he was

wilfully plunged, and was blinded with its wretched pastimes; and he shook his mind with a strong

selfcommand; whereupon all the filths of the Circensian pastimes flew off from him, nor came he again

thither. Upon this, he prevailed with his unwilling father that he might be my scholar. He gave way, and gave

in. And Alypius beginning to be my hearer again, was involved in the same superstition with me, loving in

the Manichees that show of continency which he supposed true and unfeigned. Whereas it was a senseless

and seducing continency, ensnaring precious souls, unable as yet to reach the depth of virtue, yet readily

He, not forsaking that secular course which his parents had charmed him to pursue, had gone before me to

Rome, to study law, and there he was carried away incredibly with an incredible eagerness after the shows of

gladiators. For being utterly averse to and detesting spectacles, he was one day by chance met by divers of his

acquaintance and fellowstudents coming from dinner, and they with a familiar violence haled him,

vehemently refusing and resisting, into the Amphitheatre, during these cruel and deadly shows, he thus

protesting: "Though you hale my body to that place, and there set me, can you force me also to turn my mind

or my eyes to those shows? I shall then be absent while present, and so shall overcome both you and them."

They, hearing this, led him on nevertheless, desirous perchance to try that very thing, whether he could do as

he said. When they were come thither, and had taken their places as they could, the whole place kindled with

that savage pastime. But he, closing the passage of his eyes, forbade his mind to range abroad after such evil;

and would he had stopped his ears also! For in the fight, when one fell, a mighty cry of the whole people

striking him strongly, overcome by curiosity, and as if prepared to despise and be superior to it whatsoever it

were, even when seen, he opened his eyes, and was stricken with a deeper wound in his soul than the other,

whom he desired to behold, was in his body; and he fell more miserably than he upon whose fall that mighty

noise was raised, which entered through his ears, and unlocked his eyes, to make way for the striking and

beating down of a soul, bold rather than resolute, and the weaker, in that it had presumed on itself, which

ought to have relied on Thee. For so soon as he saw that blood, he therewith drunk down savageness; nor

turned away, but fixed his eye, drinking in frenzy, unawares, and was delighted with that guilty fight, and

intoxicated with the bloody pastime. Nor was he now the man he came, but one of the throng he came unto,

yea, a true associate of theirs that brought him thither. Why say more? He beheld, shouted, kindled, carried

thence with him the madness which should goad him to return not only with them who first drew him thither,

but also before them, yea and to draw in others. Yet thence didst Thou with a most strong and most merciful

hand pluck him, and taughtest him to have confidence not in himself, but in Thee. But this was after.

But this was already being laid up in his memory to be a medicine hereafter. So was that also, that when he

was yet studying under me at Carthage, and was thinking over at midday in the marketplace what he was

to say by heart (as scholars use to practise), Thou sufferedst him to be apprehended by the officers of the

marketplace for a thief. For no other cause, I deem, didst Thou, our God, suffer it, but that he who was

hereafter to prove so great a man, should already begin to learn that in judging of causes, man was not readily

to be condemned by man out of a rash credulity. For as he was walking up and down by himself before the

judgmentseat, with his notebook and pen, lo, a young man, a lawyer, the real thief, privily bringing a

hatchet, got in, unperceived by Alypius, as far as the leaden gratings which fence in the silversmiths' shops,

and began to cut away the lead. But the noise of the hatchet being heard, the silversmiths beneath began to

make a stir, and sent to apprehend whomever they should find. But he, hearing their voices, ran away, leaving

his hatchet, fearing to be taken with it. Alypius now, who had not seen him enter, was aware of his going, and

saw with what speed he made away. And being desirous to know the matter, entered the place; where finding

the hatchet, he was standing, wondering and considering it, when behold, those that had been sent, find him

alone with the hatchet in his hand, the noise whereof had startled and brought them thither. They seize him,

hale him away, and gathering the dwellers in the marketplace together, boast of having taken a notorious

But thus far was Alypius to be instructed. For forthwith, O Lord, Thou succouredst his innocency, whereof

Thou alone wert witness. For as he was being led either to prison or to punishment, a certain architect met

them, who had the chief charge of the public buildings. Glad they were to meet him especially, by whom they

were wont to be suspected of stealing the goods lost out of the marketplace, as though to show him at last by

whom these thefts were committed. He, however, had divers times seen Alypius at a certain senator's house,

to whom he often went to pay his respects; and recognising him immediately, took him aside by the hand,

and enquiring the occasion of so great a calamity, heard the whole matter, and bade all present, amid much

uproar and threats, to go with him. So they came to the house of the young man who had done the deed.

There, before the door, was a boy so young as to be likely, not apprehending any harm to his master, to

disclose the whole. For he had attended his master to the marketplace. Whom so soon as Alypius

remembered, he told the architect: and he showing the hatchet to the boy, asked him "Whose that was?"

"Ours," quoth he presently: and being further questioned, he discovered every thing. Thus the crime being

transferred to that house, and the multitude ashamed, which had begun to insult over Alypius, he who was to

be a dispenser of Thy Word, and an examiner of many causes in Thy Church, went away better experienced

Him then I had found at Rome, and he clave to me by a most strong tie, and went with me to Milan, both that

he might not leave me, and might practise something of the law he had studied, more to please his parents

than himself. There he had thrice sat as Assessor, with an uncorruptness much wondered at by others, he

wondering at others rather who could prefer gold to honesty. His character was tried besides, not only with

the bait of covetousness, but with the goad of fear. At Rome he was Assessor to the count of the Italian

Treasury. There was at that time a very powerful senator, to whose favours many stood indebted, many much

feared. He would needs, by his usual power, have a thing allowed him which by the laws was unallowed.

Alypius resisted it: a bribe was promised; with all his heart he scorned it: threats were held out; he trampled

upon them: all wondering at so unwonted a spirit, which neither desired the friendship, nor feared the enmity

of one so great and so mightily renowned for innumerable means of doing good or evil. And the very judge,

whose councillor Alypius was, although also unwilling it should be, yet did not openly refuse, but put the

matter off upon Alypius, alleging that he would not allow him to do it: for in truth had the judge done it,

Alypius would have decided otherwise. With this one thing in the way of learning was he wellnigh seduced,

that he might have books copied for him at Praetorian prices, but consulting justice, he altered his

deliberation for the better; esteeming equity whereby he was hindered more gainful than the power whereby

he were allowed. These are slight things, but he that is faithful in little, is faithful also in much. Nor can that

any how be void, which proceeded out of the mouth of Thy Truth: If ye have not been faithful in the

unrighteous Mammon, who will commit to your trust true riches? And if ye have not been faithful in that

which is another man's, who shall give you that which is your own? He being such, did at that time cleave to

Nebridius also, who having left his native country near Carthage, yea and Carthage itself, where he had much

lived, leaving his excellent familyestate and house, and a mother behind, who was not to follow him, had

come to Milan, for no other reason but that with me he might live in a most ardent search after truth and

wisdom. Like me he sighed, like me he wavered, an ardent searcher after true life, and a most acute examiner

of the most difficult questions. Thus were there the mouths of three indigent persons, sighing out their wants

one to another, and waiting upon Thee that Thou mightest give them their meat in due season. And in all the

bitterness which by Thy mercy followed our worldly affairs, as we looked towards the end, why we should

suffer all this, darkness met us; and we turned away groaning, and saying, How long shall these things be?

This too we often said; and so saying forsook them not, for as yet there dawned nothing certain, which these

And I, viewing and reviewing things, most wondered at the length of time from that my nineteenth year,

wherein I had begun to kindle with the desire of wisdom, settling when I had found her, to abandon all the

empty hopes and lying frenzies of vain desires. And lo, I was now in my thirtieth year, sticking in the same

mire, greedy of enjoying things present, which passed away and wasted my soul; while I said to myself,

"Tomorrow I shall find it; it will appear manifestly and I shall grasp it; to, Faustus the Manichee will come,

and clear every thing! O you great men, ye Academicians, it is true then, that no certainty can be attained for

the ordering of life! Nay, let us search the more diligently, and despair not. Lo, things in the ecclesiastical

books are not absurd to us now, which sometimes seemed absurd, and may be otherwise taken, and in a good

sense. I will take my stand, where, as a child, my parents placed me, until the clear truth be found out. But

where shall it be sought or when? Ambrose has no leisure; we have no leisure to read; where shall we find

even the books? Whence, or when procure them? from whom borrow them? Let set times be appointed, and

certain hours be ordered for the health of our soul. Great hope has dawned; the Catholic Faith teaches not

what we thought, and vainly accused it of; her instructed members hold it profane to believe God to be

bounded by the figure of a human body: and do we doubt to 'knock,' that the rest 'may be opened'? The

forenoons our scholars take up; what do we during the rest? Why not this? But when then pay we court to our

great friends, whose favour we need? When compose what we may sell to scholars? When refresh ourselves,

"Perish every thing, dismiss we these empty vanities, and betake ourselves to the one search for truth! Life is

vain, death uncertain; if it steals upon us on a sudden, in what state shall we depart hence? and where shall we

learn what here we have neglected? and shall we not rather suffer the punishment of this negligence? What, if

death itself cut off and end all care and feeling? Then must this be ascertained. But God forbid this! It is no

vain and empty thing, that the excellent dignity of the authority of the Christian Faith hath overspread the

whole world. Never would such and so great things be by God wrought for us, if with the death of the body

the life of the soul came to an end. Wherefore delay then to abandon worldly hopes, and give ourselves

wholly to seek after God and the blessed life? But wait! Even those things are pleasant; they have some, and

no small sweetness. We must not lightly abandon them, for it were a shame to return again to them. See, it is

no great matter now to obtain some station, and then what should we more wish for? We have store of

powerful friends; if nothing else offer, and we be in much haste, at least a presidentship may be given us: and

a wife with some money, that she increase not our charges: and this shall be the bound of desire. Many great

men, and most worthy of imitation, have given themselves to the study of wisdom in the state of marriage.

While I went over these things, and these winds shifted and drove my heart this way and that, time passed on,

but I delayed to turn to the Lord; and from day to day deferred to live in Thee, and deferred not daily to die in

myself. Loving a happy life, I feared it in its own abode, and sought it, by fleeing from it. I thought I should

be too miserable, unless folded in female arms; and of the medicine of Thy mercy to cure that infirmity I

thought not, not having tried it. As for continency, I supposed it to be in our own power (though in myself I

did not find that power), being so foolish as not to know what is written, None can be continent unless Thou

give it; and that Thou wouldest give it, if with inward groanings I did knock at Thine ears, and with a settled

Alypius indeed kept me from marrying; alleging that so could we by no means with undistracted leisure live

together in the love of wisdom, as we had long desired. For himself was even then most pure in this point, so

that it was wonderful; and that the more, since in the outset of his youth he had entered into that course, but

had not stuck fast therein; rather had he felt remorse and revolting at it, living thenceforth until now most

continently. But I opposed him with the examples of those who as married men had cherished wisdom, and

served God acceptably, and retained their friends, and loved them faithfully. Of whose greatness of spirit I

was far short; and bound with the disease of the flesh, and its deadly sweetness, drew along my chain,

dreading to be loosed, and as if my wound had been fretted, put back his good persuasions, as it were the

hand of one that would unchain me. Moreover, by me did the serpent speak unto Alypius himself, by my

tongue weaving and laying in his path pleasurable snares, wherein his virtuous and free feet might be

For when he wondered that I, whom he esteemed not slightly, should stick so fast in the birdlime of that

pleasure, as to protest (so oft as we discussed it) that I could never lead a single life; and urged in my defence

when I saw him wonder, that there was great difference between his momentary and scarceremembered

knowledge of that life, which so he might easily despise, and my continued acquaintance whereto if the

honourable name of marriage were added, he ought not to wonder why I could not contemn that course; he

began also to desire to be married; not as overcome with desire of such pleasure, but out of curiosity. For he

would fain know, he said, what that should be, without which my life, to him so pleasing, would to me seem

not life but a punishment. For his mind, free from that chain, was amazed at my thraldom; and through that

amazement was going on to a desire of trying it, thence to the trial itself, and thence perhaps to sink into that

bondage whereat he wondered, seeing he was willing to make a covenant with death; and he that loves

danger, shall fall into it. For whatever honour there be in the office of wellordering a married life, and a

family, moved us but slightly. But me for the most part the habit of satisfying an insatiable appetite

tormented, while it held me captive; him, an admiring wonder was leading captive. So were we, until Thou, O

Most High, not forsaking our dust, commiserating us miserable, didst come to our help, by wondrous and

Continual effort was made to have me married. I wooed, I was promised, chiefly through my mother's pains,

that so once married, the healthgiving baptism might cleanse me, towards which she rejoiced that I was

being daily fitted, and observed that her prayers, and Thy promises, were being fulfilled in my faith. At which

time verily, both at my request and her own longing, with strong cries of heart she daily begged of Thee, that

Thou wouldest by a vision discover unto her something concerning my future marriage; Thou never

wouldest. She saw indeed certain vain and fantastic things, such as the energy of the human spirit, busied

thereon, brought together; and these she told me of, not with that confidence she was wont, when Thou

showedst her any thing, but slighting them. For she could, she said, through a certain feeling, which in words

she could not express, discern betwixt Thy revelations, and the dreams of her own soul. Yet the matter was

pressed on, and a maiden asked in marriage, two years under the fit age; and, as pleasing, was waited for.

And many of us friends conferring about, and detesting the turbulent turmoils of human life, had debated and

now almost resolved on living apart from business and the bustle of men; and this was to be thus obtained;

we were to bring whatever we might severally procure, and make one household of all; so that through the

truth of our friendship nothing should belong especially to any; but the whole thus derived from all, should as

a whole belong to each, and all to all. We thought there might be some often persons in this society; some of

whom were very rich, especially Romanianus our townsman, from childhood a very familiar friend of mine,

whom the grievous perplexities of his affairs had brought up to court; who was the most earnest for this

project; and therein was his voice of great weight, because his ample estate far exceeded any of the rest. We

had settled also that two annual officers, as it were, should provide all things necessary, the rest being

undisturbed. But when we began to consider whether the wives, which some of us already had, others hoped

to have, would allow this, all that plan, which was being so well moulded, fell to pieces in our hands, was

utterly dashed and cast aside. Thence we betook us to sighs, and groans, and our steps to follow the broad and

beaten ways of the world; for many thoughts were in our heart, but Thy counsel standeth for ever. Out of

which counsel Thou didst deride ours, and preparedst Thine own; purposing to give us meat in due season,

Meanwhile my sins were being multiplied, and my concubine being torn from my side as a hindrance to my

marriage, my heart which clave unto her was torn and wounded and bleeding. And she returned to Afric,

vowing unto Thee never to know any other man, leaving with me my son by her. But unhappy I, who could

not imitate a very woman, impatient of delay, inasmuch as not till after two years was I to obtain her I sought

not being so much a lover of marriage as a slave to lust, procured another, though no wife, that so by the

servitude of an enduring custom, the disease of my soul might be kept up and carried on in its vigour, or even

augmented, into the dominion of marriage. Nor was that my wound cured, which had been made by the

cutting away of the former, but after inflammation and most acute pain, it mortified, and my pains became

To Thee be praise, glory to Thee, Fountain of mercies. I was becoming more miserable, and Thou nearer. Thy

right hand was continually ready to pluck me out of the mire, and to wash me thoroughly, and I knew it not;

nor did anything call me back from a yet deeper gulf of carnal pleasures, but the fear of death, and of Thy

judgment to come; which amid all my changes, never departed from my breast. And in my disputes with my

friends Alypius and Nebridius of the nature of good and evil, I held that Epicurus had in my mind won the

palm, had I not believed that after death there remained a life for the soul, and places of requital according to

men's deserts, which Epicurus would not believe. And I asked, "were we immortal, and to live in perpetual

bodily pleasure, without fear of losing it, why should we not be happy, or what else should we seek?" not

knowing that great misery was involved in this very thing, that, being thus sunk and blinded, I could not

discern that light of excellence and beauty, to be embraced for its own sake, which the eye of flesh cannot

see, and is seen by the inner man. Nor did I, unhappy, consider from what source it sprung, that even on these

things, foul as they were, I with pleasure discoursed with my friends, nor could I, even according to the

notions I then had of happiness, be happy without friends, amid what abundance soever of carnal pleasures.

And yet these friends I loved for themselves only, and I felt that I was beloved of them again for myself only.

O crooked paths! Woe to the audacious soul, which hoped, by forsaking Thee, to gain some better thing!

Turned it hath, and turned again, upon back, sides, and belly, yet all was painful; and Thou alone rest. And

behold, Thou art at hand, and deliverest us from our wretched wanderings, and placest us in Thy way, and

dost comfort us, and say, "Run; I will carry you; yea I will bring you through; there also will I carry you."

Deceased was now that my evil and abominable youth, and I was passing into early manhood; the more

defiled by vain things as I grew in years, who could not imagine any substance, but such as is wont to be seen

with these eyes. I thought not of Thee, O God, under the figure of a human body; since I began to hear aught

of wisdom, I always avoided this; and rejoiced to have found the same in the faith of our spiritual mother,

Thy Catholic Church. But what else to conceive of Thee I knew not. And I, a man, and such a man, sought to

conceive of Thee the sovereign, only, true God; and I did in my inmost soul believe that Thou wert

incorruptible, and uninjurable, and unchangeable; because though not knowing whence or how, yet I saw

plainly, and was sure, that that which may be corrupted must be inferior to that which cannot; what could not

be injured I preferred unhesitatingly to what could receive injury; the unchangeable to things subject to

change. My heart passionately cried out against all my phantoms, and with this one blow I sought to beat

away from the eye of my mind all that unclean troop which buzzed around it. And to, being scarce put off, in

the twinkling of an eye they gathered again thick about me, flew against my face, and beclouded it; so that

though not under the form of the human body, yet was I constrained to conceive of Thee (that incorruptible,

uninjurable, and unchangeable, which I preferred before the corruptible, and injurable, and changeable) as

being in space, whether infused into the world, or diffused infinitely without it. Because whatsoever I

conceived, deprived of this space, seemed to me nothing, yea altogether nothing, not even a void, as if a body

were taken out of its place, and the place should remain empty of any body at all, of earth and water, air and

I then being thus grosshearted, nor clear even to myself, whatsoever was not extended over certain spaces,

nor diffused, nor condensed, nor swelled out, or did not or could not receive some of these dimensions, I

thought to be altogether nothing. For over such forms as my eyes are wont to range, did my heart then range:

nor yet did I see that this same notion of the mind, whereby I formed those very images, was not of this sort,

and yet it could not have formed them, had not itself been some great thing. So also did I endeavour to

conceive of Thee, Life of my life, as vast, through infinite spaces on every side penetrating the whole mass of

the universe, and beyond it, every way, through unmeasurable boundless spaces; so that the earth should have

Thee, the heaven have Thee, all things have Thee, and they be bounded in Thee, and Thou bounded nowhere.

For that as the body of this air which is above the earth, hindereth not the light of the sun from passing

through it, penetrating it, not by bursting or by cutting, but by filling it wholly: so I thought the body not of

heaven, air, and sea only, but of the earth too, pervious to Thee, so that in all its parts, the greatest as the

smallest, it should admit Thy presence, by a secret inspiration, within and without, directing all things which

Thou hast created. So I guessed, only as unable to conceive aught else, for it was false. For thus should a

greater part of the earth contain a greater portion of Thee, and a less, a lesser: and all things should in such

sort be full of Thee, that the body of an elephant should contain more of Thee, than that of a sparrow, by how

much larger it is, and takes up more room; and thus shouldest Thou make the several portions of Thyself

present unto the several portions of the world, in fragments, large to the large, petty to the petty. But such art

It was enough for me, Lord, to oppose to those deceived deceivers, and dumb praters, since Thy word

sounded not out of them; that was enough which long ago, while we were yet at Carthage, Nebridius used to

propound, at which all we that heard it were staggered: "That said nation of darkness, which the Manichees

are wont to set as an opposing mass over against Thee, what could it have done unto Thee, hadst Thou

refused to fight with it? For, if they answered, 'it would have done Thee some hurt,' then shouldest Thou be

subject to injury and corruption: but if could do Thee no hurt,' then was no reason brought for Thy fighting

with it; and fighting in such wise, as that a certain portion or member of Thee, or offspring of Thy very

Substance, should he mingled with opposed powers, and natures not created by Thee, and be by them so far

corrupted and changed to the worse, as to be turned from happiness into misery, and need assistance,

whereby it might be extricated and purified; and that this offspring of Thy Substance was the soul, which

being enthralled, defiled, corrupted, Thy Word, free, pure, and whole, might relieve; that Word itself being

still corruptible because it was of one and the same Substance. So then, should they affirm Thee, whatsoever

Thou art, that is, Thy Substance whereby Thou art, to be incorruptible, then were all these sayings false and

execrable; but if corruptible, the very statement showed it to be false and revolting." This argument then of

Nebridius sufficed against those who deserved wholly to be vomited out of the overcharged stomach; for they

had no escape, without horrible blasphemy of heart and tongue, thus thinking and speaking of Thee.

But I also as yet, although I held and was firmly persuaded that Thou our Lord the true God, who madest not

only our souls, but our bodies, and not only our souls and bodies, but all beings, and all things, wert

undefilable and unalterable, and in no degree mutable; yet understood I not, clearly and without difficulty, the

cause of evil. And yet whatever it were, I perceived it was in such wise to be sought out, as should not

constrain me to believe the immutable God to be mutable, lest I should become that evil I was seeking out. I

sought it out then, thus far free from anxiety, certain of the untruth of what these held, from whom I shrunk

with my whole heart: for I saw, that through enquiring the origin of evil, they were filled with evil, in that

they preferred to think that Thy substance did suffer ill than their own did commit it.

And I strained to perceive what I now heard, that freewill was the cause of our doing ill, and Thy just

judgment of our suffering ill. But I was not able clearly to discern it. So then endeavouring to draw my soul's

vision out of that deep pit, I was again plunged therein, and endeavouring often, I was plunged back as often.

But this raised me a little into Thy light, that I knew as well that I had a will, as that I lived: when then I did

will or nill any thing, I was most sure that no other than myself did will and nill: and I all but saw that there

was the cause of my sin. But what I did against my will, I saw that I suffered rather than did, and I judged not

to be my fault, but my punishment; whereby, however, holding Thee to be just, I speedily confessed myself

to be not unjustly punished. But again I said, Who made me? Did not my God, Who is not only good, but

goodness itself? Whence then came I to will evil and nill good, so that I am thus justly punished? who set this

in me, and ingrated into me this plant of bitterness, seeing I was wholly formed by my most sweet God? If

the devil were the author, whence is that same devil? And if he also by his own perverse will, of a good angel

became a devil, whence, again, came in him that evil will whereby he became a devil, seeing the whole

nature of angels was made by that most good Creator? By these thoughts I was again sunk down and choked;

yet not brought down to that hell of error (where no man confesseth unto Thee), to think rather that Thou dost

For I was in such wise striving to find out the rest, as one who had already found that the incorruptible must

needs be better than the corruptible: and Thee therefore, whatsoever Thou wert, I confessed to be

incorruptible. For never soul was, nor shall be, able to conceive any thing which may be better than Thou,

who art the sovereign and the best good. But since most truly and certainly, the incorruptible is preferable to

the corruptible (as I did now prefer it), then, wert Thou not incorruptible, I could in thought have arrived at

something better than my God. Where then I saw the incorruptible to be preferable to the corruptible, there

ought I to seek for Thee, and there observe "wherein evil itself was"; that is, whence corruption comes, by

which Thy substance can by no means be impaired. For corruption does no ways impair our God; by no will,

by no necessity, by no unlookedfor chance: because He is God, and what He wills is good, and Himself is

that good; but to be corrupted is not good. Nor art Thou against Thy will constrained to any thing, since Thy

will is not greater than Thy power. But greater should it be, were Thyself greater than Thyself. For the will

and power of God is God Himself. And what can be unlookedfor by Thee, Who knowest all things? Nor is

there any nature in things, but Thou knowest it. And what should we more say, "why that substance which

And I sought "whence is evil," and sought in an evil way; and saw not the evil in my very search. I set now

before the sight of my spirit the whole creation, whatsoever we can see therein (as sea, earth, air, stars, trees,

mortal creatures); yea, and whatever in it we do not see, as the firmament of heaven, all angels moreover, and

all the spiritual inhabitants thereof. But these very beings, as though they were bodies, did my fancy dispose

in place, and I made one great mass of Thy creation, distinguished as to the kinds of bodies; some, real

bodies, some, what myself had feigned for spirits. And this mass I made huge, not as it was (which I could

not know), but as I thought convenient, yet every way finite. But Thee, O Lord, I imagined on every part

environing and penetrating it, though every way infinite: as if there were a sea, every where, and on every

side, through unmeasured space, one only boundless sea, and it contained within it some sponge, huge, but

bounded; that sponge must needs, in all its parts, be filled from that unmeasurable sea: so conceived I Thy

creation, itself finite, full of Thee, the Infinite; and I said, Behold God, and behold what God hath created;

and God is good, yea, most mightily and incomparably better than all these: but yet He, the Good, created

them good; and see how He environeth and fulfils them. Where is evil then, and whence, and how crept it in

hither? What is its root, and what its seed? Or hath it no being? Why then fear we and avoid what is not? Or if

we fear it idly, then is that very fear evil, whereby the soul is thus idly goaded and racked. Yea, and so much

a greater evil, as we have nothing to fear, and yet do fear. Therefore either is that evil which we fear, or else

evil is, that we fear. Whence is it then? seeing God, the Good, hath created all these things good. He indeed,

the greater and chiefest Good, hath created these lesser goods; still both Creator and created, all are good.

Whence is evil? Or, was there some evil matter of which He made, and formed, and ordered it, yet left

something in it which He did not convert into good? Why so then? Had He no might to turn and change the

whole, so that no evil should remain in it, seeing He is Allmighty? Lastly, why would He make any thing at

all of it, and not rather by the same Allmightiness cause it not to be at all? Or, could it then be against His

will? Or if it were from eternity, why suffered He it so to be for infinite spaces of times past, and was pleased

so long after to make something out of it? Or if He were suddenly pleased now to effect somewhat, this rather

should the Allmighty have effected, that this evil matter should not be, and He alone be, the whole, true,

sovereign, and infinite Good. Or if it was not good that He who was good should not also frame and create

something that were good, then, that evil matter being taken away and brought to nothing, He might form

good matter, whereof to create all things. For He should not be Allmighty, if He might not create something

good without the aid of that matter which Himself had not created. These thoughts I revolved in my miserable

heart, overcharged with most gnawing cares, lest I should die ere I had found the truth; yet was the faith of

Thy Christ, our Lord and Saviour, professed in the Church Catholic, firmly fixed in my heart, in many points,

indeed, as yet unformed, and fluctuating from the rule of doctrine; yet did not my mind utterly leave it, but

But this time also had I rejected the lying divinations and impious dotages of the astrologers. Let Thine own

mercies, out of my very inmost soul, confess unto Thee for this also, O my God. For Thou, Thou altogether

(for who else calls us back from the death of all errors, save the Life which cannot die, and the Wisdom

which needing no light enlightens the minds that need it, whereby the universe is directed, down to the

whirling leaves of trees?) Thou madest provision for my obstinacy wherewith I struggled against

Vindicianus, an acute old man, and Nebridius, a young man of admirable talents; the first vehemently

affirming, and the latter often (though with some doubtfulness) saying, "That there was no such art whereby

to foresee things to come, but that men's conjectures were a sort of lottery, and that out of many things which

they said should come to pass, some actually did, unawares to them who spake it, who stumbled upon it,

through their oft speaking." Thou providedst then a friend for me, no negligent consulter of the astrologers;

nor yet well skilled in those arts, but (as I said) a curious consulter with them, and yet knowing something,

which he said he had heard of his father, which how far it went to overthrow the estimation of that art, he

knew not. This man then, Firminus by name, having had a liberal education, and well taught in Rhetoric,

consulted me, as one very dear to him, what, according to his socalled constellations, I thought on certain

affairs of his, wherein his worldly hopes had risen, and I, who had herein now begun to incline towards

Nebridius' opinion, did not altogether refuse to conjecture, and tell him what came into my unresolved mind;

but added, that I was now almost persuaded that these were but empty and ridiculous follies. Thereupon he

told me that his father had been very curious in such books, and had a friend as earnest in them as himself,

who with joint study and conference fanned the flame of their affections to these toys, so that they would

observe the moments whereat the very dumb animals, which bred about their houses, gave birth, and then

observed the relative position of the heavens, thereby to make fresh experiments in this socalled art. He said

then that he had heard of his father, that what time his mother was about to give birth to him, Firminus, a

womanservant of that friend of his father's was also with child, which could not escape her master, who took

care with most exact diligence to know the births of his very puppies. And so it was that (the one for his wife,

and the other for his servant, with the most careful observation, reckoning days, hours, nay, the lesser

divisions of the hours) both were delivered at the same instant; so that both were constrained to allow the

same constellations, even to the minutest points, the one for his son, the other for his newborn slave. For so

soon as the women began to be in labour, they each gave notice to the other what was fallen out in their

houses, and had messengers ready to send to one another so soon as they had notice of the actual birth, of

which they had easily provided, each in his own province, to give instant intelligence. Thus then the

messengers of the respective parties met, he averred, at such an equal distance from either house that neither

of them could make out any difference in the position of the stars, or any other minutest points; and yet

Firminus, born in a high estate in his parents' house, ran his course through the gilded paths of life, was

increased in riches, raised to honours; whereas that slave continued to serve his masters, without any

Upon hearing and believing these things, told by one of such credibility, all that my resistance gave way; and

first I endeavoured to reclaim Firminus himself from that curiosity, by telling him that upon inspecting his

constellations, I ought if I were to predict truly, to have seen in them parents eminent among their neighbours,

a noble family in its own city, high birth, good education, liberal learning. But if that servant had consulted

me upon the same constellations, since they were his also, I ought again (to tell him too truly) to see in them a

lineage the most abject, a slavish condition, and every thing else utterly at variance with the former. Whence

then, if I spake the truth, I should, from the same constellations, speak diversely, or if I spake the same, speak

falsely: thence it followed most certainly that whatever, upon consideration of the constellations, was spoken

truly, was spoken not out of art, but chance; and whatever spoken falsely, was not out of ignorance in the art,

An opening thus made, ruminating with myself on the like things, that no one of those dotards (who lived by

such a trade, and whom I longed to attack, and with derision to confute) might urge against me that Firminus

had informed me falsely, or his father him; I bent my thoughts on those that are born twins, who for the most

part come out of the womb so near one to other, that the small interval (how much force soever in the nature

of things folk may pretend it to have) cannot be noted by human observation, or be at all expressed in those

figures which the astrologer is to inspect, that he may pronounce truly. Yet they cannot be true: for looking

into the same figures, he must have predicted the same of Esau and Jacob, whereas the same happened not to

them. Therefore he must speak falsely; or if truly, then, looking into the same figures, he must not give the

same answer. Not by art, then, but by chance, would he speak truly. For Thou, O Lord, most righteous Ruler

of the Universe, while consulters and consulted know it not, dost by Thy hidden inspiration effect that the

consulter should hear what, according to the hidden deservings of souls, he ought to hear, out of the

unsearchable depth of Thy just judgment, to Whom let no man say, What is this? Why that? Let him not so

Now then, O my Helper, hadst Thou loosed me from those fetters: and I sought "whence is evil," and found

no way. But Thou sufferedst me not by any fluctuations of thought to be carried away from the Faith whereby

I believed Thee both to be, and Thy substance to be unchangeable, and that Thou hast a care of, and wouldest

judge men, and that in Christ, Thy Son, Our Lord, and the holy Scriptures, which the authority of Thy

Catholic Church pressed upon me, Thou hadst set the way of man's salvation, to that life which is to be after

this death. These things being safe and immovably settled in my mind, I sought anxiously "whence was evil?"

What were the pangs of my teeming heart, what groans, O my God! yet even there were Thine ears open, and

I knew it not; and when in silence I vehemently sought, those silent contritions of my soul were strong cries

unto Thy mercy. Thou knewest what I suffered, and no man. For, what was that which was thence through

my tongue distilled into the ears of my most familiar friends? Did the whole tumult of my soul, for which

neither time nor utterance sufficed, reach them? Yet went up the whole to Thy hearing, all which I roared out

from the groanings of my heart; and my desire was before Thee, and the light of mine eyes was not with me:

for that was within, I without: nor was that confined to place, but I was intent on things contained in place,

but there found I no restingplace, nor did they so receive me, that I could say, "It is enough," "it is well": nor

did they yet suffer me to turn back, where it might be well enough with me. For to these things was I

superior, but inferior to Thee; and Thou art my true joy when subjected to Thee, and Thou hadst subjected to

me what Thou createdst below me. And this was the true temperament, and middle region of my safety, to

remain in Thy Image, and by serving Thee, rule the body. But when I rose proudly against Thee, and ran

against the Lord with my neck, with the thick bosses of my buckler, even these inferior things were set above

me, and pressed me down, and no where was there respite or space of breathing. They met my sight on all

sides by heaps and troops, and in thought the images thereof presented themselves unsought, as I would

return to Thee, as if they would say unto me, "Whither goest thou, unworthy and defiled?" And these things

had grown out of my wound; for Thou "humbledst the proud like one that is wounded," and through my own

swelling was I separated from Thee; yea, my prideswollen face closed up mine eyes.

But Thou, Lord, abidest for ever, yet not for ever art Thou angry with us; because Thou pitiest our dust and

ashes, and it was pleasing in Thy sight to reform my deformities; and by inward goads didst Thou rouse me,

that I should be ill at ease, until Thou wert manifested to my inward sight. Thus, by the secret hand of Thy

medicining was my swelling abated, and the troubled and bedimmed eyesight of my mind, by the smarting

And Thou, willing first to show me how Thou resistest the proud, but givest grace unto the humble, and by

how great an act of Thy mercy Thou hadst traced out to men the way of humility, in that Thy Word was made

flesh, and dwelt among men: Thou procuredst for me, by means of one puffed up with most unnatural pride,

certain books of the Platonists, translated from Greek into Latin. And therein I read, not indeed in the very

words, but to the very same purpose, enforced by many and divers reasons, that In the beginning was the

Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God: the Same was in the beginning with God: all

things were made by Him, and without Him was nothing made: that which was made by Him is life, and the

life was the light of men, and the light shineth in the darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not. And

that the soul of man, though it bears witness to the light, yet itself is not that light; but the Word of God,

being God, is that true light that lighteth every man that cometh into the world. And that He was in the world,

and the world was made by Him, and the world knew Him not. But, that He came unto His own, and His own

received Him not; but as many as received Him, to them gave He power to become the sons of God, as many

Again I read there, that God the Word was born not of flesh nor of blood, nor of the will of man, nor of the

will of the flesh, but of God. But that the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, I read not there. For I

traced in those books that it was many and divers ways said, that the Son was in the form of the Father, and

thought it not robbery to be equal with God, for that naturally He was the Same Substance. But that He

emptied Himself, taking the form of a servant, being made in the likeness of men, and found in fashion as a

man, humbled Himself, and became obedient unto death, and that the death of the cross: wherefore God

exalted Him from the dead, and gave Him a name above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee

should how, of things in heaven, and things in earth, and things under the earth; and that every tongue should

confess that the Lord Jesus Christ is in the glory of God the Father; those books have not. For that before all

times and above all times Thy OnlyBegotten Son remaineth unchangeable, coeternal with Thee, and that

of His fulness souls receive, that they may be blessed; and that by participation of wisdom abiding in them,

they are renewed, so as to be wise, is there. But that in due time He died for the ungodly; and that Thou

sparedst not Thine Only Son, but deliveredst Him for us all, is not there. For Thou hiddest these things from

the wise, and revealedst them to babes; that they that labour and are heavy laden might come unto Him, and

He refresh them, because He is meek and lowly in heart; and the meek He directeth in judgment, and the

gentle He teacheth His ways, beholding our lowliness and trouble, and forgiving all our sins. But such as are

lifted up in the lofty walk of some wouldbe sublimer learning, hear not Him, saying, Learn of Me, for I am

meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest to your souls. Although they knew God, yet they glorify Him

not as God, nor are thankful, but wax vain in their thoughts; and their foolish heart is darkened; professing

And therefore did I read there also, that they had changed the glory of Thy incorruptible nature into idols and

divers shapes, into the likeness of the image of corruptible man, and birds, and beasts, and creeping things;

namely, into that Egyptian food for which Esau lost his birthright, for that Thy firstborn people worshipped

the head of a fourfooted beast instead of Thee; turning in heart back towards Egypt; and bowing Thy image,

their own soul, before the image of a calf that eateth hay. These things found I here, but I fed not on them.

For it pleased Thee, O Lord, to take away the reproach of diminution from Jacob, that the elder should serve

the younger: and Thou calledst the Gentiles into Thine inheritance. And I had come to Thee from among the

Gentiles; and I set my mind upon the gold which Thou willedst Thy people to take from Egypt, seeing Thine

it was, wheresoever it were. And to the Athenians Thou saidst by Thy Apostle, that in Thee we live, move,

and have our being, as one of their own poets had said. And verily these books came from thence. But I set

not my mind on the idols of Egypt, whom they served with Thy gold, who changed the truth of God into a lie,

And being thence admonished to return to myself, I entered even into my inward self, Thou being my Guide:

and able I was, for Thou wert become my Helper. And I entered and beheld with the eye of my soul (such as

it was), above the same eye of my soul, above my mind, the Light Unchangeable. Not this ordinary light,

which all flesh may look upon, nor as it were a greater of the same kind, as though the brightness of this

should be manifold brighter, and with its greatness take up all space. Not such was this light, but other, yea,

far other from these. Nor was it above my soul, as oil is above water, nor yet as heaven above earth: but

above to my soul, because It made me; and I below It, because I was made by It. He that knows the Truth,

knows what that Light is; and he that knows It, knows eternity. Love knoweth it. O Truth Who art Eternity!

and Love Who art Truth! and Eternity Who art Love! Thou art my God, to Thee do I sigh night and day. Thee

when I first knew, Thou liftedst me up, that I might see there was what I might see, and that I was not yet

such as to see. And Thou didst beat back the weakness of my sight, streaming forth Thy beams of light upon

me most strongly, and I trembled with love and awe: and I perceived myself to be far off from Thee, in the

region of unlikeness, as if I heard this Thy voice from on high: "I am the food of grown men, grow, and thou

shalt feed upon Me; nor shalt thou convert Me, like the food of thy flesh into thee, but thou shalt be converted

into Me." And I learned, that Thou for iniquity chastenest man, and Thou madest my soul to consume away

like a spider. And I said, "Is Truth therefore nothing because it is not diffused through space finite or

infinite?" And Thou criedst to me from afar: "Yet verily, I AM that I AM." And I heard, as the heart heareth,

nor had I room to doubt, and I should sooner doubt that I live than that Truth is not, which is clearly seen,

being understood by those things which are made. And I beheld the other things below Thee, and I perceived

that they neither altogether are, nor altogether are not, for they are, since they are from Thee, but are not,

because they are not what Thou art. For that truly is which remains unchangeably. It is good then for me to

hold fast unto God; for if I remain not in Him, I cannot in myself; but He remaining in Himself, reneweth all

things. And Thou art the Lord my God, since Thou standest not in need of my goodness.

And it was manifested unto me, that those things be good which yet are corrupted; which neither were they

sovereignly good, nor unless they were good could he corrupted: for if sovereignly good, they were

incorruptible, if not good at all, there were nothing in them to be corrupted. For corruption injures, but unless

it diminished goodness, it could not injure. Either then corruption injures not, which cannot be; or which is

most certain, all which is corrupted is deprived of good. But if they he deprived of all good, they shall cease

to be. For if they shall be, and can now no longer he corrupted, they shall be better than before, because they

shall abide incorruptibly. And what more monstrous than to affirm things to become better by losing all their

good? Therefore, if they shall be deprived of all good, they shall no longer be. So long therefore as they are,

they are good: therefore whatsoever is, is good. That evil then which I sought, whence it is, is not any

substance: for were it a substance, it should be good. For either it should be an incorruptible substance, and so

a chief good: or a corruptible substance; which unless it were good, could not be corrupted. I perceived

therefore, and it was manifested to me that Thou madest all things good, nor is there any substance at all,

which Thou madest not; and for that Thou madest not all things equal, therefore are all things; because each

And to Thee is nothing whatsoever evil: yea, not only to Thee, but also to Thy creation as a whole, because

there is nothing without, which may break in, and corrupt that order which Thou hast appointed it. But in the

parts thereof some things, because unharmonising with other some, are accounted evil: whereas those very

things harmonise with others, and are good; and in themselves are good. And all these things which

harmonise not together, do yet with the inferior part, which we call Earth, having its own cloudy and windy

sky harmonising with it. Far be it then that I should say, "These things should not be": for should I see nought

but these, I should indeed long for the better; but still must even for these alone praise Thee; for that Thou art

to be praised, do show from the earth, dragons, and all deeps, fire, hail, snow, ice, and stormy wind, which

fulfil Thy word; mountains, and all hills, fruitful trees, and all cedars; beasts, and all cattle, creeping things,

and flying fowls; kings of the earth, and all people, princes, and all judges of the earth; young men and

maidens, old men and young, praise Thy Name. But when, from heaven, these praise Thee, praise Thee, our

God, in the heights all Thy angels, all Thy hosts, sun and moon, all the stars and light, the Heaven of heavens,

and the waters that be above the heavens, praise Thy Name; I did not now long for things better, because I

conceived of all: and with a sounder judgment I apprehended that the things above were better than these

There is no soundness in them, whom aught of Thy creation displeaseth: as neither in me, when much which

Thou hast made, displeased me. And because my soul durst not be displeased at my God, it would fain not

account that Thine, which displeased it. Hence it had gone into the opinion of two substances, and had no

rest, but talked idly. And returning thence, it had made to itself a God, through infinite measures of all space;

and thought it to be Thee, and placed it in its heart; and had again become the temple of its own idol, to Thee

abominable. But after Thou hadst soothed my head, unknown to me, and closed mine eyes that they should

not behold vanity, I ceased somewhat of my former self, and my frenzy was lulled to sleep; and I awoke in

Thee, and saw Thee infinite, but in another way, and this sight was not derived from the flesh.

And I looked back on other things; and I saw that they owed their being to Thee; and were all bounded in

Thee: but in a different way; not as being in space; but because Thou containest all things in Thine hand in

Thy Truth; and all things are true so far as they nor is there any falsehood, unless when that is thought to be,

which is not. And I saw that all things did harmonise, not with their places only, but with their seasons. And

that Thou, who only art Eternal, didst not begin to work after innumerable spaces of times spent; for that all

spaces of times, both which have passed, and which shall pass, neither go nor come, but through Thee,

And I perceived and found it nothing strange, that bread which is pleasant to a healthy palate is loathsome to

one distempered: and to sore eyes light is offensive, which to the sound is delightful. And Thy righteousness

displeaseth the wicked; much more the viper and reptiles, which Thou hast created good, fitting in with the

inferior portions of Thy Creation, with which the very wicked also fit in; and that the more, by how much

they be unlike Thee; but with the superior creatures, by how much they become more like to Thee. And I

enquired what iniquity was, and found it to be substance, but the perversion of the will, turned aside from

Thee, O God, the Supreme, towards these lower things, and casting out its bowels, and puffed up outwardly.

And I wondered that I now loved Thee, and no phantasm for Thee. And yet did I not press on to enjoy my

God; but was borne up to Thee by Thy beauty, and soon borne down from Thee by mine own weight, sinking

with sorrow into these inferior things. This weight was carnal custom. Yet dwelt there with me a

remembrance of Thee; nor did I any way doubt that there was One to whom I might cleave, but that I was not

yet such as to cleave to Thee: for that the body which is corrupted presseth down the soul, and the earthly

tabernacle weigheth down the mind that museth upon many things. And most certain I was, that Thy invisible

works from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even Thy

eternal power and Godhead. For examining whence it was that I admired the beauty of bodies celestial or

terrestrial; and what aided me in judging soundly on things mutable, and pronouncing, "This ought to be thus,

this not"; examining, I say, whence it was that I so judged, seeing I did so judge, I had found the

unchangeable and true Eternity of Truth above my changeable mind. And thus by degrees I passed from

bodies to the soul, which through the bodily senses perceives; and thence to its inward faculty, to which the

bodily senses represent things external, whitherto reach the faculties of beasts; and thence again to the

reasoning faculty, to which what is received from the senses of the body is referred to be judged. Which

finding itself also to be in me a thing variable, raised itself up to its own understanding, and drew away my

thoughts from the power of habit, withdrawing itself from those troops of contradictory phantasms; that so it

might find what that light was whereby it was bedewed, when, without all doubting, it cried out, "That the

unchangeable was to be preferred to the changeable"; whence also it knew That Unchangeable, which, unless

it had in some way known, it had had no sure ground to prefer it to the changeable. And thus with the flash of

one trembling glance it arrived at THAT WHICH IS. And then I saw Thy invisible things understood by the

things which are made. But I could not fix my gaze thereon; and my infirmity being struck back, I was

thrown again on my wonted habits, carrying along with me only a loving memory thereof, and a longing for

what I had, as it were, perceived the odour of, but was not yet able to feed on.

Then I sought a way of obtaining strength sufficient to enjoy Thee; and found it not, until I embraced that

Mediator betwixt God and men, the Man Christ Jesus, who is over all, God blessed for evermore, calling unto

me, and saying, I am the way, the truth, and the life, and mingling that food which I was unable to receive,

with our flesh. For, the Word was made flesh, that Thy wisdom, whereby Thou createdst all things, might

provide milk for our infant state. For I did not hold to my Lord Jesus Christ, I, humbled, to the Humble; nor

knew I yet whereto His infirmity would guide us. For Thy Word, the Eternal Truth, far above the higher parts

of Thy Creation, raises up the subdued unto Itself: but in this lower world built for Itself a lowly habitation of

our clay, whereby to abase from themselves such as would be subdued, and bring them over to Himself;

allaying their swelling, and tomenting their love; to the end they might go on no further in selfconfidence,

but rather consent to become weak, seeing before their feet the Divinity weak by taking our coats of skin; and

But I thought otherwise; conceiving only of my Lord Christ as of a man of excellent wisdom, whom no one

could be equalled unto; especially, for that being wonderfully born of a Virgin, He seemed, in conformity

therewith, through the Divine care for us, to have attained that great eminence of authority, for an ensample

of despising things temporal for the obtaining of immortality. But what mystery there lay in "The Word was

made flesh," I could not even imagine. Only I had learnt out of what is delivered to us in writing of Him that

He did eat, and drink, sleep, walk, rejoiced in spirit, was sorrowful, discoursed; that flesh did not cleave by

itself unto Thy Word, but with the human soul and mind. All know this who know the unchangeableness of

Thy Word, which I now knew, as far as I could, nor did I at all doubt thereof. For, now to move the limbs of

the body by will, now not, now to be moved by some affection, now not, now to deliver wise sayings through

human signs, now to keep silence, belong to soul and mind subject to variation. And should these things be

falsely written of Him, all the rest also would risk the charge, nor would there remain in those books any

saving faith for mankind. Since then they were written truly, I acknowledged a perfect man to be in Christ;

not the body of a man only, nor, with the body, a sensitive soul without a rational, but very man; whom, not

only as being a form of Truth, but for a certain great excellence of human nature and a more perfect

participation of wisdom, I judged to be preferred before others. But Alypius imagined the Catholics to believe

God to be so clothed with flesh, that besides God and flesh, there was no soul at all in Christ, and did not

think that a human mind was ascribed to Him. And because he was well persuaded that the actions recorded

of Him could only be performed by a vital and a rational creature, he moved the more slowly towards the

Christian Faith. But understanding afterwards that this was the error of the Apollinarian heretics, he joyed in

and was conformed to the Catholic Faith. But somewhat later, I confess, did I learn how in that saying, The

Word was made flesh, the Catholic truth is distinguished from the falsehood of Photinus. For the rejection of

heretics makes the tenets of Thy Church and sound doctrine to stand out more clearly. For there must also be

But having then read those books of the Platonists, and thence been taught to search for incorporeal truth, I

saw Thy invisible things, understood by those things which are made; and though cast back, I perceived what

that was which through the darkness of my mind I was hindered from contemplating, being assured "That

Thou wert, and wert infinite, and yet not diffused in space, finite or infinite; and that Thou truly art Who art

the same ever, in no part nor motion varying; and that all other things are from Thee, on this most sure

ground alone, that they are." Of these things I was assured, yet too unsure to enjoy Thee. I prated as one well

skilled; but had I not sought Thy way in Christ our Saviour, I had proved to be, not skilled, but killed. For

now I had begun to wish to seem wise, being filled with mine own punishment, yet I did not mourn, but

rather scorn, puffed up with knowledge. For where was that charity building upon the foundation of humility,

which is Christ Jesus? or when should these books teach me it? Upon these, I believe, Thou therefore willedst

that I should fall, before I studied Thy Scriptures, that it might be imprinted on my memory how I was

affected by them; and that afterwards when my spirits were tamed through Thy books, and my wounds

touched by Thy healing fingers, I might discern and distinguish between presumption and confession;

between those who saw whither they were to go, yet saw not the way, and the way that leadeth not to behold

only but to dwell in the beatific country. For had I first been formed in Thy Holy Scriptures, and hadst Thou

in the familiar use of them grown sweet unto me, and had I then fallen upon those other volumes, they might

perhaps have withdrawn me from the solid ground of piety, or, had I continued in that healthful frame which I

had thence imbibed, I might have thought that it might have been obtained by the study of those books alone.

Most eagerly then did I seize that venerable writing of Thy Spirit; and chiefly the Apostle Paul. Whereupon

those difficulties vanished away, wherein he once seemed to me to contradict himself, and the text of his

discourse not to agree with the testimonies of the Law and the Prophets. And the face of that pure word

appeared to me one and the same; and I learned to rejoice with trembling. So I began; and whatsoever truth I

had read in those other books, I found here amid the praise of Thy Grace; that whoso sees, may not so glory

as if he had not received, not only what he sees, but also that he sees (for what hath he, which he hath not

received?), and that he may be not only admonished to behold Thee, who art ever the same, but also healed,

to hold Thee; and that he who cannot see afar off, may yet walk on the way, whereby he may arrive, and

behold, and hold Thee. For, though a man be delighted with the law of God after the inner man, what shall he

do with that other law in his members which warreth against the law of his mind, and bringeth him into

captivity to the law of sin which is in his members? For, Thou art righteous, O Lord, but we have sinned and

committed iniquity, and have done wickedly, and Thy hand is grown heavy upon us, and we are justly

delivered over unto that ancient sinner, the king of death; because he persuaded our will to be like his will

whereby he abode not in Thy truth. What shall wretched man do? who shall deliver him from the body of his

death, but only Thy Grace, through Jesus Christ our Lord, whom Thou hast begotten coeternal, and

formedst in the beginning of Thy ways, in whom the prince of this world found nothing worthy of death, yet

killed he Him; and the handwriting, which was contrary to us, was blotted out? This those writings contain

not. Those pages present not the image of this piety, the tears of confession, Thy sacrifice, a troubled spirit, a

broken and a contrite heart, the salvation of the people, the Bridal City, the earnest of the Holy Ghost, the

Cup of our Redemption. No man sings there, Shall not my soul be submitted unto God? for of Him cometh

my salvation. For He is my God and my salvation, my guardian, I shall no more be moved. No one there

hears Him call, Come unto Me, all ye that labour. They scorn to learn of Him, because He is meek and lowly

in heart; for these things hast Thou hid from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes. For it

is one thing, from the mountain's shaggy top to see the land of peace, and to find no way thither; and in vain

to essay through ways unpassable, opposed and beset by fugitives and deserters, under their captain the lion

and the dragon: and another to keep on the way that leads thither, guarded by the host of the heavenly

General; where they spoil not who have deserted the heavenly army; for they avoid it, as very torment. These

things did wonderfully sink into my bowels, when I read that least of Thy Apostles, and had meditated upon

O my God, let me, with thanksgiving, remember, and confess unto Thee Thy mercies on me. Let my bones be

bedewed with Thy love, and let them say unto Thee, Who is like unto Thee, O Lord? Thou hast broken my

bonds in sunder, I will offer unto Thee the sacrifice of thanksgiving. And how Thou hast broken them, I will

declare; and all who worship Thee, when they hear this, shall say, "Blessed be the Lord, in heaven and in

earth, great and wonderful is his name. " Thy words had stuck fast in my heart, and I was hedged round about

on all sides by Thee. Of Thy eternal life I was now certain, though I saw it in a figure and as through a glass.

Yet I had ceased to doubt that there was an incorruptible substance, whence was all other substance; nor did I

now desire to be more certain of Thee, but more steadfast in Thee. But for my temporal life, all was

wavering, and my heart had to be purged from the old leaven. The Way, the Saviour Himself, well pleased

me, but as yet I shrunk from going through its straitness. And Thou didst put into my mind, and it seemed

good in my eyes, to go to Simplicianus, who seemed to me a good servant of Thine; and Thy grace shone in

him. I had heard also that from his very youth he had lived most devoted unto Thee. Now he was grown into

years; and by reason of so great age spent in such zealous following of Thy ways, he seemed to me likely to

have learned much experience; and so he had. Out of which store I wished that he would tell me (setting

before him my anxieties) which were the fittest way for one in my case to walk in Thy paths.

For, I saw the church full; and one went this way, and another that way. But I was displeased that I led a

secular life; yea now that my desires no longer inflamed me, as of old, with hopes of honour and profit, a

very grievous burden it was to undergo so heavy a bondage. For, in comparison of Thy sweetness, and the

beauty of Thy house which I loved, those things delighted me no longer. But still I was enthralled with the

love of woman; nor did the Apostle forbid me to marry, although he advised me to something better, chiefly

wishing that all men were as himself was. But I being weak, chose the more indulgent place; and because of

this alone, was tossed up and down in all beside, faint and wasted with withering cares, because in other

matters I was constrained against my will to conform myself to a married life, to which I was given up and

enthralled. I had heard from the mouth of the Truth, that there were some eunuchs which had made

themselves eunuchs for the kingdom of heaven's sake: but, saith He, let him who can receive it, receive it.

Surely vain are all men who are ignorant of God, and could not out of the good things which are seen, find

out Him who is good. But I was no longer in that vanity; I had surmounted it; and by the common witness of

all Thy creatures had found Thee our Creator, and Thy Word, God with Thee, and together with Thee one

God, by whom Thou createdst all things. There is yet another kind of ungodly, who knowing God, glorified

Him not as God, neither were thankful. Into this also had I fallen, but Thy right hand upheld me, and took me

thence, and Thou placedst me where I might recover. For Thou hast said unto man, Behold, the fear of the

Lord is wisdom, and, Desire not to seem wise; because they who affirmed themselves to be wise, became

fools. But I had now found the goodly pearl, which, selling all that I had, I ought to have bought, and I

To Simplicianus then I went, the father of Ambrose (a Bishop now) in receiving Thy grace, and whom

Ambrose truly loved as a father. To him I related the mazes of my wanderings. But when I mentioned that I

had read certain books of the Platonists, which Victorinus, sometime Rhetoric Professor of Rome (who had

died a Christian, as I had heard), had translated into Latin, he testified his joy that I had not fallen upon the

writings of other philosophers, full of fallacies and deceits, after the rudiments of this world, whereas the

Platonists many ways led to the belief in God and His Word. Then to exhort me to the humility of Christ,

hidden from the wise, and revealed to little ones, he spoke of Victorinus himself, whom while at Rome he

had most intimately known: and of him he related what I will not conceal. For it contains great praise of Thy

grace, to be confessed unto Thee, how that aged man, most learned and skilled in the liberal sciences, and

who had read, and weighed so many works of the philosophers; the instructor of so many noble Senators,

who also, as a monument of his excellent discharge of his office, had (which men of this world esteem a high

honour) both deserved and obtained a statue in the Roman Forum; he, to that age a worshipper of idols, and a

partaker of the sacrilegious rites, to which almost all the nobility of Rome were given up, and had inspired the

whom Rome once conquered, now adored, all which the aged Victorinus had with thundering eloquence so

many years defended; he now blushed not to be the child of Thy Christ, and the newborn babe of Thy

fountain; submitting his neck to the yoke of humility, and subduing his forehead to the reproach of the Cross.

O Lord, Lord, Which hast bowed the heavens and come down, touched the mountains and they did smoke, by

what means didst Thou convey Thyself into that breast? He used to read (as Simplicianus said) the holy

Scripture, most studiously sought and searched into all the Christian writings, and said to Simplicianus (not

openly, but privately and as a friend), "Understand that I am already a Christian." Whereto he answered, "I

will not believe it, nor will I rank you among Christians, unless I see you in the Church of Christ." The other,

in banter, replied, "Do walls then make Christians?" And this he often said, that he was already a Christian;

and Simplicianus as often made the same answer, and the conceit of the "walls" was by the other as often

renewed. For he feared to offend his friends, proud daemonworshippers, from the height of whose

Babylonian dignity, as from cedars of Libanus, which the Lord had not yet broken down, he supposed the

weight of enmity would fall upon him. But after that by reading and earnest thought he had gathered

firmness, and feared to be denied by Christ before the holy angels, should he now be afraid to confess Him

before men, and appeared to himself guilty of a heavy offence, in being ashamed of the Sacraments of the

humility of Thy Word, and not being ashamed of the sacrilegious rites of those proud daemons, whose pride

he had imitated and their rites adopted, he became boldfaced against vanity, and shamefaced towards the

truth, and suddenly and unexpectedly said to Simplicianus (as himself told me), "Go we to the Church; I wish

to be made a Christian." But he, not containing himself for joy, went with him. And having been admitted to

the first Sacrament and become a Catechumen, not long after he further gave in his name, that he might be

regenerated by baptism, Rome wondering, the Church rejoicing. The proud saw, and were wroth; they

gnashed with their teeth, and melted away. But the Lord God was the hope of Thy servant, and he regarded

To conclude, when the hour was come for making profession of his faith (which at Rome they, who are about

to approach to Thy grace, deliver, from an elevated place, in the sight of all the faithful, in a set form of

words committed to memory), the presbyters, he said, offered Victorinus (as was done to such as seemed

likely through bashfulness to be alarmed) to make his profession more privately: but he chose rather to

profess his salvation in the presence of the holy multitude. "For it was not salvation that he taught in rhetoric,

and yet that he had publicly professed: how much less then ought he, when pronouncing Thy word, to dread

Thy meek flock, who, when delivering his own words, had not feared a mad multitude!" When, then, he went

up to make his profession, all, as they knew him, whispered his name one to another with the voice of

congratulation. And who there knew him not? and there ran a low murmur through all the mouths of the

rejoicing multitude, Victorinus! Victorinus! Sudden was the burst of rapture, that they saw him; suddenly

were they hushed that they might hear him. He pronounced the true faith with an excellent boldness, and all

wished to draw him into their very heart; yea by their love and joy they drew him thither, such were the hands

Good God! what takes place in man, that he should more rejoice at the salvation of a soul despaired of, and

freed from greater peril, than if there had always been hope of him, or the danger had been less? For so Thou

also, merciful Father, dost more rejoice over one penitent than over ninetynine just persons that need no

repentance. And with much joyfulness do we hear, so often as we hear with what joy the sheep which had

strayed is brought back upon the shepherd's shoulder, and the groat is restored to Thy treasury, the

neighbours rejoicing with the woman who found it; and the joy of the solemn service of Thy house forceth to

tears, when in Thy house it is read of Thy younger son, that he was dead, and liveth again; had been lost, and

is found. For Thou rejoicest in us, and in Thy holy angels, holy through holy charity. For Thou art ever the

same; for all things which abide not the same nor for ever, Thou for ever knowest in the same way.

What then takes place in the soul, when it is more delighted at finding or recovering the things it loves, than

if it had ever had them? yea, and other things witness hereunto; and all things are full of witnesses, crying

out, "So is it." The conquering commander triumpheth; yet had he not conquered unless he had fought; and

the more peril there was in the battle, so much the more joy is there in the triumph. The storm tosses the

sailors, threatens shipwreck; all wax pale at approaching death; sky and sea are calmed, and they are

exceeding joyed, as having been exceeding afraid. A friend is sick, and his pulse threatens danger; all who

long for his recovery are sick in mind with him. He is restored, though as yet he walks not with his former

strength; yet there is such joy, as was not, when before he walked sound and strong. Yea, the very pleasures

of human life men acquire by difficulties, not those only which fall upon us unlooked for, and against our

wills, but even by selfchosen, and pleasureseeking trouble. Eating and drinking have no pleasure, unless

there precede the pinching of hunger and thirst. Men, given to drink, eat certain salt meats, to procure a

troublesome heat, which the drink allaying, causes pleasure. It is also ordered that the affianced bride should

not at once be given, lest as a husband he should hold cheap whom, as betrothed, he sighed not after.

This law holds in foul and accursed joy; this in permitted and lawful joy; this in the very purest perfection of

friendship; this, in him who was dead, and lived again; had been lost and was found. Every where the greater

joy is ushered in by the greater pain. What means this, O Lord my God, whereas Thou art everlastingly joy to

Thyself, and some things around Thee evermore rejoice in Thee? What means this, that this portion of things

thus ebbs and flows alternately displeased and reconciled? Is this their allotted measure? Is this all Thou hast

assigned to them, whereas from the highest heavens to the lowest earth, from the beginning of the world to

the end of ages, from the angel to the worm, from the first motion to the last, Thou settest each in its place,

and realisest each in their season, every thing good after its kind? Woe is me! how high art Thou in the

highest, and how deep in the deepest! and Thou never departest, and we scarcely return to Thee.

Up, Lord, and do; stir us up, and recall us; kindle and draw us; inflame, grow sweet unto us, let us now love,

let us run. Do not many, out of a deeper hell of blindness than Victorinus, return to Thee, approach, and are

enlightened, receiving that Light, which they who receive, receive power from Thee to become Thy sons?

But if they be less known to the nations, even they that know them, joy less for them. For when many joy

together, each also has more exuberant joy for that they are kindled and inflamed one by the other. Again,

because those known to many, influence the more towards salvation, and lead the way with many to follow.

And therefore do they also who preceded them much rejoice in them, because they rejoice not in them alone.

For far be it, that in Thy tabernacle the persons of the rich should be accepted before the poor, or the noble

before the ignoble; seeing rather Thou hast chosen the weak things of the world to confound the strong; and

the base things of this world, and the things despised hast Thou chosen, and those things which are not, that

Thou mightest bring to nought things that are. And yet even that least of Thy apostles, by whose tongue Thou

soundedst forth these words, when through his warfare, Paulus the Proconsul, his pride conquered, was made

to pass under the easy yoke of Thy Christ, and became a provincial of the great King; he also for his former

name Saul, was pleased to be called Paul, in testimony of so great a victory. For the enemy is more overcome

in one, of whom he hath more hold; by whom he hath hold of more. But the proud he hath more hold of,

through their nobility; and by them, of more through their authority. By how much the more welcome then

the heart of Victorinus was esteemed, which the devil had held as an impregnable possession, the tongue of

Victorinus, with which mighty and keen weapon he had slain many; so much the more abundantly ought Thy

sons to rejoice, for that our King hath bound the strong man, and they saw his vessels taken from him and

cleansed, and made meet for Thy honour; and become serviceable for the Lord, unto every good work.

But when that man of Thine, Simplicianus, related to me this of Victorinus, I was on fire to imitate him; for

for this very end had he related it. But when he had subjoined also, how in the days of the Emperor Julian a

law was made, whereby Christians were forbidden to teach the liberal sciences or oratory; and how he,

obeying this law, chose rather to give over the wordy school than Thy Word, by which Thou makest eloquent

the tongues of the dumb; he seemed to me not more resolute than blessed, in having thus found opportunity to

wait on Thee only. Which thing I was sighing for, bound as I was, not with another's irons, but by my own

iron will. My will the enemy held, and thence had made a chain for me, and bound me. For of a forward will,

was a lust made; and a lust served, became custom; and custom not resisted, became necessity. By which

links, as it were, joined together (whence I called it a chain) a hard bondage held me enthralled. But that new

will which had begun to be in me, freely to serve Thee, and to wish to enjoy Thee, O God, the only assured

pleasantness, was not yet able to overcome my former wilfulness, strengthened by age. Thus did my two

wills, one new, and the other old, one carnal, the other spiritual, struggle within me; and by their discord,

Thus, I understood, by my own experience, what I had read, how the flesh lusteth against the spirit and the

spirit against the flesh. Myself verily either way; yet more myself, in that which I approved in myself, than in

that which in myself I disapproved. For in this last, it was now for the more part not myself, because in much

I rather endured against my will, than acted willingly. And yet it was through me that custom had obtained

this power of warring against me, because I had come willingly, whither I willed not. And who has any right

to speak against it, if just punishment follow the sinner? Nor had I now any longer my former plea, that I

therefore as yet hesitated to be above the world and serve Thee, for that the truth was not altogether

ascertained to me; for now it too was. But I still under service to the earth, refused to fight under Thy banner,

and feared as much to be freed of all incumbrances, as we should fear to be encumbered with it. Thus with

the baggage of this present world was I held down pleasantly, as in sleep: and the thoughts wherein I

meditated on Thee were like the efforts of such as would awake, who yet overcome with a heavy drowsiness,

are again drenched therein. And as no one would sleep for ever, and in all men's sober judgment waking is

better, yet a man for the most part, feeling a heavy lethargy in all his limbs, defers to shake off sleep, and

though half displeased, yet, even after it is time to rise, with pleasure yields to it, so was I assured that much

better were it for me to give myself up to Thy charity, than to give myself over to mine own cupidity; but

though the former course satisfied me and gained the mastery, the latter pleased me and held me mastered.

Nor had I any thing to answer Thee calling to me, Awake, thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and

Christ shall give thee light. And when Thou didst on all sides show me that what Thou saidst was true, I,

convicted by the truth, had nothing at all to answer, but only those dull and drowsy words, "Anon, anon,"

"presently," "leave me but a little." But "presently, presently," had no present, and my "little while" went on

for a long while; in vain I delighted in Thy law according to the inner man, when another law in my members

rebelled against the law of my mind, and led me captive under the law of sin which was in my members. For

the law of sin is the violence of custom, whereby the mind is drawn and holden, even against its will; but

deservedly, for that it willingly fell into it. Who then should deliver me thus wretched from the body of this

And how Thou didst deliver me out of the bonds of desire, wherewith I was bound most straitly to carnal

concupiscence, and out of the drudgery of worldly things, I will now declare, and confess unto Thy name, O

Lord, my helper and my redeemer. Amid increasing anxiety, I was doing my wonted business, and daily

sighing unto Thee. I attended Thy Church, whenever free from the business under the burden of which I

groaned. Alypius was with me, now after the third sitting released from his law business, and awaiting to

whom to sell his counsel, as I sold the skill of speaking, if indeed teaching can impart it. Nebridius had now,

in consideration of our friendship, consented to teach under Verecundus, a citizen and a grammarian of

Milan, and a very intimate friend of us all; who urgently desired, and by the right of friendship challenged

from our company, such faithful aid as he greatly needed. Nebridius then was not drawn to this by any desire

of advantage (for he might have made much more of his learning had he so willed), but as a most kind and

gentle friend, he would not be wanting to a good office, and slight our request. But he acted herein very

discreetly, shunning to become known to personages great according to this world, avoiding the distraction of

mind thence ensuing, and desiring to have it free and at leisure, as many hours as might be, to seek, or read,

Upon a day then, Nebridius being absent (I recollect not why), to, there came to see me and Alypius, one

Pontitianus, our countryman so far as being an African, in high office in the Emperor's court. What he would

with us, I know not, but we sat down to converse, and it happened that upon a table for some game, before us,

he observed a book, took, opened it, and contrary to his expectation, found it the Apostle Paul; for he thought

it some of those books which I was wearing myself in teaching. Whereat smiling, and looking at me, he

expressed his joy and wonder that he had on a sudden found this book, and this only before my eyes. For he

was a Christian, and baptised, and often bowed himself before Thee our God in the Church, in frequent and

continued prayers. When then I had told him that I bestowed very great pains upon those Scriptures, a

conversation arose (suggested by his account) on Antony the Egyptian monk: whose name was in high

reputation among Thy servants, though to that hour unknown to us. Which when he discovered, he dwelt the

more upon that subject, informing and wondering at our ignorance of one so eminent. But we stood amazed,

hearing Thy wonderful works most fully attested, in times so recent, and almost in our own, wrought in the

true Faith and Church Catholic. We all wondered; we, that they were so great, and he, that they had not

Thence his discourse turned to the flocks in the monasteries, and their holy ways, a sweetsmelling savour

unto Thee, and the fruitful deserts of the wilderness, whereof we knew nothing. And there was a monastery at

Milan, full of good brethren, without the city walls, under the fostering care of Ambrose, and we knew it not.

He went on with his discourse, and we listened in intent silence. He told us then how one afternoon at Triers,

when the Emperor was taken up with the Circensian games, he and three others, his companions, went out to

walk in gardens near the city walls, and there as they happened to walk in pairs, one went apart with him, and

the other two wandered by themselves; and these, in their wanderings, lighted upon a certain cottage,

inhabited by certain of Thy servants, poor in spirit, of whom is the kingdom of heaven, and there they found a

little book containing the life of Antony. This one of them began to read, admire, and kindle at it; and as he

read, to meditate on taking up such a life, and giving over his secular service to serve Thee. And these two

were of those whom they style agents for the public affairs. Then suddenly, filled with a holy love, and a

sober shame, in anger with himself cast his eyes upon his friend, saying, "Tell me, I pray thee, what would

we attain by all these labours of ours? what aim we at? what serve we for? Can our hopes in court rise higher

than to be the Emperor's favourites? and in this, what is there not brittle, and full of perils? and by how many

perils arrive we at a greater peril? and when arrive we thither? But a friend of God, if I wish it, I become now

at once." So spake he. And in pain with the travail of a new life, he turned his eyes again upon the book, and

read on, and was changed inwardly, where Thou sawest, and his mind was stripped of the world, as soon

appeared. For as he read, and rolled up and down the waves of his heart, he stormed at himself a while, then

discerned, and determined on a better course; and now being Thine, said to his friend, "Now have I broken

loose from those our hopes, and am resolved to serve God; and this, from this hour, in this place, I begin

upon. If thou likest not to imitate me, oppose not." The other answered, he would cleave to him, to partake so

glorious a reward, so glorious a service. Thus both being now Thine, were building the tower at the necessary

cost, the forsaking all that they had, and following Thee. Then Pontitianus and the other with him, that had

walked in other parts of the garden, came in search of them to the same place; and finding them, reminded

them to return, for the day was now far spent. But they relating their resolution and purpose, and how that

will was begun and settled in them, begged them, if they would not join, not to molest them. But the others,

though nothing altered from their former selves, did yet bewail themselves (as he affirmed), and piously

congratulated them, recommending themselves to their prayers; and so, with hearts lingering on the earth,

went away to the palace. But the other two, fixing their heart on heaven, remained in the cottage. And both

had affianced brides, who when they heard hereof, also dedicated their virginity unto God.

Such was the story of Pontitianus; but Thou, O Lord, while he was speaking, didst turn me round towards

myself, taking me from behind my back where I had placed me, unwilling to observe myself; and setting me

before my face, that I might see how foul I was, how crooked and defiled, bespotted and ulcerous. And I

beheld and stood aghast; and whither to flee from myself I found not. And if I sought to turn mine eye from

off myself, he went on with his relation, and Thou again didst set me over against myself, and thrustedst me

before my eyes, that I might find out mine iniquity, and hate it. I had known it, but made as though I saw it

But now, the more ardently I loved those whose healthful affections I heard of, that they had resigned

themselves wholly to Thee to be cured, the more did I abhor myself, when compared with them. For many of

my years (some twelve) had now run out with me since my nineteenth, when, upon the reading of Cicero's

Hortensius, I was stirred to an earnest love of wisdom; and still I was deferring to reject mere earthly felicity,

and give myself to search out that, whereof not the finding only, but the very search, was to be preferred to

the treasures and kingdoms of the world, though already found, and to the pleasures of the body, though

spread around me at my will. But I wretched, most wretched, in the very commencement of my early youth,

had begged chastity of Thee, and said, "Give me chastity and continency, only not yet." For I feared lest Thou

shouldest hear me soon, and soon cure me of the disease of concupiscence, which I wished to have satisfied,

rather than extinguished. And I had wandered through crooked ways in a sacrilegious superstition, not indeed

assured thereof, but as preferring it to the others which I did not seek religiously, but opposed maliciously.

And I had thought that I therefore deferred from day to day to reject the hopes of this world, and follow Thee

only, because there did not appear aught certain, whither to direct my course. And now was the day come

wherein I was to be laid bare to myself, and my conscience was to upbraid me. "Where art thou now, my

tongue? Thou saidst that for an uncertain truth thou likedst not to cast off the baggage of vanity; now, it is

certain, and yet that burden still oppresseth thee, while they who neither have so worn themselves out with

seeking it, nor for often years and more have been thinking thereon, have had their shoulders lightened, and

received wings to fly away." Thus was I gnawed within, and exceedingly confounded with a horrible shame,

while Pontitianus was so speaking. And he having brought to a close his tale and the business he came for,

went his way; and I into myself. What said I not against myself? with what scourges of condemnation lashed

I not my soul, that it might follow me, striving to go after Thee! Yet it drew back; refused, but excused not

itself. All arguments were spent and confuted; there remained a mute shrinking; and she feared, as she would

death, to be restrained from the flux of that custom, whereby she was wasting to death.

Then in this great contention of my inward dwelling, which I had strongly raised against my soul, in the

chamber of my heart, troubled in mind and countenance, I turned upon Alypius. "What ails us?" I exclaim:

"what is it? what heardest thou? The unlearned start up and take heaven by force, and we with our learning,

and without heart, to, where we wallow in flesh and blood! Are we ashamed to follow, because others are

gone before, and not ashamed not even to follow?" Some such words I uttered, and my fever of mind tore me

away from him, while he, gazing on me in astonishment, kept silence. For it was not my wonted tone; and my

forehead, cheeks, eyes, colour, tone of voice, spake my mind more than the words I uttered. A little garden

there was to our lodging, which we had the use of, as of the whole house; for the master of the house, our

host, was not living there. Thither had the tumult of my breast hurried me, where no man might hinder the hot

contention wherein I had engaged with myself, until it should end as Thou knewest, I knew not. Only I was

healthfully distracted and dying, to live; knowing what evil thing I was, and not knowing what good thing I

was shortly to become. I retired then into the garden, and Alypius, on my steps. For his presence did not

lessen my privacy; or how could he forsake me so disturbed? We sate down as far removed as might be from

the house. I was troubled in spirit, most vehemently indignant that I entered not into Thy will and covenant,

O my God, which all my bones cried out unto me to enter, and praised it to the skies. And therein we enter

not by ships, or chariots, or feet, no, move not so far as I had come from the house to that place where we

were sitting. For, not to go only, but to go in thither was nothing else but to will to go, but to will resolutely

and thoroughly; not to turn and toss, this way and that, a maimed and halfdivided will, struggling, with one

Lastly, in the very fever of my irresoluteness, I made with my body many such motions as men sometimes

would, but cannot, if either they have not the limbs, or these be bound with bands, weakened with infirmity,

or any other way hindered. Thus, if I tore my hair, beat my forehead, if locking my fingers I clasped my knee;

I willed, I did it. But I might have willed, and not done it; if the power of motion in my limbs had not obeyed.

So many things then I did, when "to will" was not in itself "to be able"; and I did not what both I longed

incomparably more to do, and which soon after, when I should will, I should be able to do; because soon

after, when I should will, I should will thoroughly. For in these things the ability was one with the will, and to

will was to do; and yet was it not done: and more easily did my body obey the weakest willing of my soul, in

moving its limbs at its nod, than the soul obeyed itself to accomplish in the will alone this its momentous

Whence is this monstrousness? and to what end? Let Thy mercy gleam that I may ask, if so be the secret

penalties of men, and those darkest pangs of the sons of Adam, may perhaps answer me. Whence is this

monstrousness? and to what end? The mind commands the body, and it obeys instantly; the mind commands

itself, and is resisted. The mind commands the hand to be moved; and such readiness is there, that command

is scarce distinct from obedience. Yet the mind is mind, the hand is body. The mind commands the mind, its

own self, to will, and yet it doth not. Whence this monstrousness? and to what end? It commands itself, I say,

to will, and would not command, unless it willed, and what it commands is not done. But it willeth not

entirely: therefore doth it not command entirely. For so far forth it commandeth, as it willeth: and, so far forth

is the thing commanded, not done, as it willeth not. For the will commandeth that there be a will; not another,

but itself. But it doth not command entirely, therefore what it commandeth, is not. For were the will entire, it

would not even command it to be, because it would already be. It is therefore no monstrousness partly to will,

partly to nill, but a disease of the mind, that it doth not wholly rise, by truth upborne, borne down by custom.

And therefore are there two wills, for that one of them is not entire: and what the one lacketh, the other hath.

Let them perish from Thy presence, O God, as perish vain talkers and seducers of the soul: who observing

that in deliberating there were two wills, affirm that there are two minds in us of two kinds, one good, the

other evil. Themselves are truly evil, when they hold these evil things; and themselves shall become good

when they hold the truth and assent unto the truth, that Thy Apostle may say to them, Ye were sometimes

darkness, but now light in the Lord. But they, wishing to be light, not in the Lord, but in themselves,

imagining the nature of the soul to be that which God is, are made more gross darkness through a dreadful

arrogancy; for that they went back farther from Thee, the true Light that enlightened every man that cometh

into the world. Take heed what you say, and blush for shame: draw near unto Him and be enlightened, and

your faces shall not be ashamed. Myself when I was deliberating upon serving the Lord my God now, as I

had long purposed, it was I who willed, I who nilled, I, I myself. I neither willed entirely, nor nilled entirely.

Therefore was I at strife with myself, and rent asunder by myself. And this rent befell me against my will, and

yet indicated, not the presence of another mind, but the punishment of my own. Therefore it was no more I

that wrought it, but sin that dwelt in me; the punishment of a sin more freely committed, in that I was a son of

For if there he so many contrary natures as there be conflicting wills, there shall now be not two only, but

many. If a man deliberate whether he should go to their conventicle or to the theatre, these Manichees cry

out, Behold, here are two natures: one good, draws this way; another bad, draws back that way. For whence

else is this hesitation between conflicting wills? But I say that both be bad: that which draws to them, as that

which draws back to the theatre. But they believe not that will to be other than good, which draws to them.

What then if one of us should deliberate, and amid the strife of his two wills be in a strait, whether he should

go to the theatre or to our church? would not these Manichees also be in a strait what to answer? For either

they must confess (which they fain would not) that the will which leads to our church is good, as well as

theirs, who have received and are held by the mysteries of theirs: or they must suppose two evil natures, and

two evil souls conflicting in one man, and it will not be true, which they say, that there is one good and

another bad; or they must be converted to the truth, and no more deny that where one deliberates, one soul

Let them no more say then, when they perceive two conflicting wills in one man, that the conflict is between

two contrary souls, of two contrary substances, from two contrary principles, one good, and the other bad.

For Thou, O true God, dost disprove, check, and convict them; as when, both wills being bad, one deliberates

whether he should kill a man by poison or by the sword; whether he should seize this or that estate of

another's, when he cannot both; whether he should purchase pleasure by luxury, or keep his money by

covetousness; whether he go to the circus or the theatre, if both be open on one day; or thirdly, to rob

another's house, if he have the opportunity; or, fourthly, to commit adultery, if at the same time he have the

means thereof also; all these meeting together in the same juncture of time, and all being equally desired,

which cannot at one time be acted: for they rend the mind amid four, or even (amid the vast variety of things

desired) more, conflicting wills, nor do they yet allege that there are so many divers substances. So also in

wills which are good. For I ask them, is it good to take pleasure in reading the Apostle? or good to take

pleasure in a sober Psalm? or good to discourse on the Gospel? They will answer to each, "it is good." What

then if all give equal pleasure, and all at once? Do not divers wills distract the mind, while he deliberates

which he should rather choose? yet are they all good, and are at variance till one be chosen, whither the one

entire will may be borne, which before was divided into many. Thus also, when, above, eternity delights us,

and the pleasure of temporal good holds us down below, it is the same soul which willeth not this or that with

an entire will; and therefore is rent asunder with grievous perplexities, while out of truth it sets this first, but

Thus soulsick was I, and tormented, accusing myself much more severely than my wont, rolling and turning

me in my chain, till that were wholly broken, whereby I now was but just, but still was, held. And Thou, O

Lord, pressedst upon me in my inward parts by a severe mercy, redoubling the lashes of fear and shame, lest I

should again give way, and not bursting that same slight remaining tie, it should recover strength, and bind

me the faster. For I said with myself, "Be it done now, be it done now." And as I spake, I all but enacted it: I

all but did it, and did it not: yet sunk not back to my former state, but kept my stand hard by, and took breath.

And I essayed again, and wanted somewhat less of it, and somewhat less, and all but touched, and laid hold

of it; and yet came not at it, nor touched nor laid hold of it; hesitating to die to death and to live to life: and

the worse whereto I was inured, prevailed more with me than the better whereto I was unused: and the very

moment wherein I was to become other than I was, the nearer it approached me, the greater horror did it

strike into me; yet did it not strike me back, nor turned me away, but held me in suspense.

The very toys of toys, and vanities of vanities, my ancient mistresses, still held me; they plucked my fleshy

garment, and whispered softly, "Dost thou cast us off? and from that moment shall we no more be with thee

for ever? and from that moment shall not this or that be lawful for thee for ever?" And what was it which they

suggested in that I said, "this or that," what did they suggest, O my God? Let Thy mercy turn it away from the

soul of Thy servant. What defilements did they suggest! what shame! And now I much less than half heard

them, and not openly showing themselves and contradicting me, but muttering as it were behind my back,

and privily plucking me, as I was departing, but to look back on them. Yet they did retard me, so that I

hesitated to burst and shake myself free from them, and to spring over whither I was called; a violent habit

But now it spake very faintly. For on that side whither I had set my face, and whither I trembled to go, there

appeared unto me the chaste dignity of Continency, serene, yet not relaxedly, gay, honestly alluring me to

come and doubt not; and stretching forth to receive and embrace me, her holy hands full of multitudes of

good examples: there were so many young men and maidens here, a multitude of youth and every age, grave

widows and aged virgins; and Continence herself in all, not barren, but a fruitful mother of children of joys,

by Thee her Husband, O Lord. And she smiled on me with a persuasive mockery, as would she say, "Canst

not thou what these youths, what these maidens can? or can they either in themselves, and not rather in the

Lord their God? The Lord their God gave me unto them. Why standest thou in thyself, and so standest not?

cast thyself upon Him, fear not He will not withdraw Himself that thou shouldest fall; cast thyself fearlessly

upon Him, He will receive, and will heal thee." And I blushed exceedingly, for that I yet heard the muttering

of those toys, and hung in suspense. And she again seemed to say, "Stop thine ears against those thy unclean

members on the earth, that they may be mortified. They tell thee of delights, but not as doth the law of the

Lord thy God." This controversy in my heart was self against self only. But Alypius sitting close by my side,

But when a deep consideration had from the secret bottom of my soul drawn together and heaped up all my

misery in the sight of my heart; there arose a mighty storm, bringing a mighty shower of tears. Which that I

might pour forth wholly, in its natural expressions, I rose from Alypius: solitude was suggested to me as fitter

for the business of weeping; so I retired so far that even his presence could not be a burden to me. Thus was it

then with me, and he perceived something of it; for something I suppose I had spoken, wherein the tones of

my voice appeared choked with weeping, and so had risen up. He then remained where we were sitting, most

extremely astonished. I cast myself down I know not how, under a certain figtree, giving full vent to my

tears; and the floods of mine eyes gushed out an acceptable sacrifice to Thee. And, not indeed in these words,

yet to this purpose, spake I much unto Thee: and Thou, O Lord, how long? how long, Lord, wilt Thou be

angry for ever? Remember not our former iniquities, for I felt that I was held by them. I sent up these

sorrowful words: How long, how long, "tomorrow, and tomorrow?" Why not now? why not is there this

So was I speaking and weeping in the most bitter contrition of my heart, when, lo! I heard from a

neighbouring house a voice, as of boy or girl, I know not, chanting, and oft repeating, "Take up and read;

Take up and read. " Instantly, my countenance altered, I began to think most intently whether children were

wont in any kind of play to sing such words: nor could I remember ever to have heard the like. So checking

the torrent of my tears, I arose; interpreting it to be no other than a command from God to open the book, and

read the first chapter I should find. For I had heard of Antony, that coming in during the reading of the

Gospel, he received the admonition, as if what was being read was spoken to him: Go, sell all that thou hast,

and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven, and come and follow me: and by such oracle he

was forthwith converted unto Thee. Eagerly then I returned to the place where Alypius was sitting; for there

had I laid the volume of the Apostle when I arose thence. I seized, opened, and in silence read that section on

which my eyes first fell: Not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and

envying; but put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh, in concupiscence. No

further would I read; nor needed I: for instantly at the end of this sentence, by a light as it were of serenity

Then putting my finger between, or some other mark, I shut the volume, and with a calmed countenance

made it known to Alypius. And what was wrought in him, which I knew not, he thus showed me. He asked to

see what I had read: I showed him; and he looked even further than I had read, and I knew not what followed.

This followed, him that is weak in the faith, receive; which he applied to himself, and disclosed to me. And

by this admonition was he strengthened; and by a good resolution and purpose, and most corresponding to his

character, wherein he did always very far differ from me, for the better, without any turbulent delay he joined

me. Thence we go in to my mother; we tell her; she rejoiceth: we relate in order how it took place; she leaps

for joy, and triumpheth, and blesseth Thee, Who are able to do above that which we ask or think; for she

perceived that Thou hadst given her more for me, than she was wont to beg by her pitiful and most sorrowful

groanings. For thou convertedst me unto Thyself, so that I sought neither wife, nor any hope of this world,

standing in that rule of faith, where Thou hadst showed me unto her in a vision, so many years before. And

Thou didst convert her mourning into joy, much more plentiful than she had desired, and in a much more

precious and purer way than she erst required, by having grandchildren of my body.

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 Let my heart and my tongue praise Thee; yea, let all my bones say,

O Lord, who is like unto Thee? Let them say, and answer Thou me, and say unto my soul, I am thy salvation.

Who am I, and what am I? What evil have not been either my deeds, or if not my deeds, my words, or if not

my words, my will? But Thou, O Lord, are good and merciful, and Thy right hand had respect unto the depth

of my death, and from the bottom of my heart emptied that abyss of corruption. And this Thy whole gift was,

to nill what I willed, and to will what Thou willedst. But where through all those years, and out of what low

and deep recess was my freewill called forth in a moment, whereby to submit my neck to Thy easy yoke,

and my shoulders unto Thy light burden, O Christ Jesus, my Helper and my Redeemer? How sweet did it at

once become to me, to want the sweetnesses of those toys! and what I feared to be parted from, was now a

joy to part with. For Thou didst cast them forth from me, Thou true and highest sweetness. Thou castest them

forth, and for them enteredst in Thyself, sweeter than all pleasure, though not to flesh and blood; brighter than

all light, but more hidden than all depths, higher than all honour, but not to the high in their own conceits.

Now was my soul free from the biting cares of canvassing and getting, and weltering in filth, and scratching

off the itch of lust. And my infant tongue spake freely to Thee, my brightness, and my riches, and my health,

And I resolved in Thy sight, not tumultuously to tear, but gently to withdraw, the service of my tongue from

the marts of liplabour: that the young, no students in Thy law, nor in Thy peace, but in lying dotages and

lawskirmishes, should no longer buy at my mouth arms for their madness. And very seasonably, it now

wanted but very few days unto the Vacation of the Vintage, and I resolved to endure them, then in a regular

way to take my leave, and having been purchased by Thee, no more to return for sale. Our purpose then was

known to Thee; but to men, other than our own friends, was it not known. For we had agreed among

ourselves not to let it out abroad to any: although to us, now ascending from the valley of tears, and singing

that song of degrees, Thou hadst given sharp arrows, and destroying coals against the subtle tongue, which as

though advising for us, would thwart, and would out of love devour us, as it doth its meat.

Thou hadst pierced our hearts with Thy charity, and we carried Thy words as it were fixed in our entrails: and

the examples of Thy servants, whom for black Thou hadst made bright, and for dead, alive, being piled

together in the receptacle of our thoughts, kindled and burned up that our heavy torpor, that we should not

sink down to the abyss; and they fired us so vehemently, that all the blasts of subtle tongues from gainsayers

might only inflame us the more fiercely, not extinguish us. Nevertheless, because for Thy Name's sake which

Thou hast hallowed throughout the earth, this our vow and purpose might also find some to commend it, it

seemed like ostentation not to wait for the vacation now so near, but to quit beforehand a public profession,

which was before the eyes of all; so that all looking on this act of mine, and observing how near was the time

of vintage which I wished to anticipate, would talk much of me, as if I had desired to appear some great one.

And what end had it served me, that people should repute and dispute upon my purpose, and that our good

Moreover, it had at first troubled me that in this very summer my lungs began to give way, amid too great

literary labour, and to breathe deeply with difficulty, and by the pain in my chest to show that they were

injured, and to refuse any full or lengthened speaking; this had troubled me, for it almost constrained me of

necessity to lay down that burden of teaching, or, if I could be cured and recover, at least to intermit it. But

when the full wish for leisure, that I might see how that Thou art the Lord, arose, and was fixed, in me; my

God, Thou knowest, I began even to rejoice that I had this secondary, and that no feigned, excuse, which

might something moderate the offence taken by those who, for their sons' sake, wished me never to have the

freedom of Thy sons. Full then of such joy, I endured till that interval of time were run; it may have been

some twenty days, yet they were endured manfully; endured, for the covetousness which aforetime bore a

part of this heavy business, had left me, and I remained alone, and had been overwhelmed, had not patience

taken its place. Perchance, some of Thy servants, my brethren, may say that I sinned in this, that with a heart

fully set on Thy service, I suffered myself to sit even one hour in the chair of lies. Nor would I be

contentious. But hast not Thou, O most merciful Lord, pardoned and remitted this sin also, with my other

Verecundus was worn down with care about this our blessedness, for that being held back by bonds, whereby

he was most straitly bound, he saw that he should be severed from us. For himself was not yet a Christian, his

wife one of the faithful; and yet hereby, more rigidly than by any other chain, was he let and hindered from

the journey which we had now essayed. For he would not, he said, be a Christian on any other terms than on

those he could not. However, he offered us courteously to remain at his countryhouse so long as we should

stay there. Thou, O Lord, shalt reward him in the resurrection of the just, seeing Thou hast already given him

the lot of the righteous. For although, in our absence, being now at Rome, he was seized with bodily sickness,

and therein being made a Christian, and one of the faithful, he departed this life; yet hadst Thou mercy not on

him only, but on us also: lest remembering the exceeding kindness of our friend towards us, yet unable to

number him among Thy flock, we should be agonised with intolerable sorrow. Thanks unto Thee, our God,

we are Thine: Thy suggestions and consolations tell us, Faithful in promises, Thou now requitest Verecundus

for his countryhouse of Cassiacum, where from the fever of the world we reposed in Thee, with the eternal

freshness of Thy Paradise: for that Thou hast forgiven him his sins upon earth, in that rich mountain, that

He then had at that time sorrow, but Nebridius joy. For although he also, not being yet a Christian, had fallen

into the pit of that most pernicious error, believing the flesh of Thy Son to be a phantom: yet emerging

thence, he believed as we did; not as yet endued with any Sacraments of Thy Church, but a most ardent

searcher out of truth. Whom, not long after our conversion and regeneration by Thy Baptism, being also a

faithful member of the Church Catholic, and serving Thee in perfect chastity and continence amongst his

people in Africa, his whole house having through him first been made Christian, didst Thou release from the

flesh; and now he lives in Abraham's bosom. Whatever that be, which is signified by that bosom, there lives

my Nebridius, my sweet friend, and Thy child, O Lord, adopted of a freed man: there he liveth. For what

other place is there for such a soul? There he liveth, whereof he asked much of me, a poor inexperienced

man. Now lays he not his ear to my mouth, but his spiritual mouth unto Thy fountain, and drinketh as much

as he can receive, wisdom in proportion to his thirst, endlessly happy. Nor do I think that he is so inebriated

therewith, as to forget me; seeing Thou, Lord, Whom he drinketh, art mindful of us. So were we then,

comforting Verecundus, who sorrowed, as far as friendship permitted, that our conversion was of such sort;

and exhorting him to become faithful, according to his measure, namely, of a married estate; and awaiting

Nebridius to follow us, which, being so near, he was all but doing: and so, lo! those days rolled by at length;

for long and many they seemed, for the love I bare to the easeful liberty, that I might sing to Thee, from my

inmost marrow, My heart hath said unto Thee, I have sought Thy face: Thy face, Lord, will I seek.

Now was the day come wherein I was in deed to be freed of my Rhetoric Professorship, whereof in thought I

was already freed. And it was done. Thou didst rescue my tongue, whence Thou hadst before rescued my

heart. And I blessed Thee, rejoicing; retiring with all mine to the villa. What I there did in writing, which was

now enlisted in Thy service, though still, in this breathingtime as it were, panting from the school of pride,

my books may witness, as well what I debated with others, as what with myself alone, before Thee: what

with Nebridius, who was absent, my Epistles bear witness. And when shall I have time to rehearse all Thy

great benefits towards us at that time, especially when hasting on to yet greater mercies? For my

remembrance recalls me, and pleasant is it to me, O Lord, to confess to Thee, by what inward goads Thou

tamedst me; and how Thou hast evened me, lowering the mountains and hills of my high imaginations,

straightening my crookedness, and smoothing my rough ways; and how Thou also subduedst the brother of

my heart, Alypius, unto the name of Thy Only Begotten, our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, which he would

not at first vouchsafe to have inserted in our writings. For rather would he have them savour of the lofty

cedars of the Schools, which the Lord hath now broken down, than of the wholesome herbs of the Church,

Oh, in what accents spake I unto Thee, my God, when I read the Psalms of David, those faithful songs, and

sounds of devotion, which allow of no swelling spirit, as yet a Catechumen, and a novice in Thy real love,

resting in that villa, with Alypius a Catechumen, my mother cleaving to us, in female garb with masculine

faith, with the tranquillity of age, motherly love, Christian piety! Oh, what accents did I utter unto Thee in

those Psalms, and how was I by them kindled towards Thee, and on fire to rehearse them, if possible, through

the whole world, against the pride of mankind! And yet they are sung through the whole world, nor can any

hide himself from Thy heat. With what vehement and bitter sorrow was I angered at the Manichees! and

again I pitied them, for they knew not those Sacraments, those medicines, and were mad against the antidote

which might have recovered them of their madness. How I would they had then been somewhere near me,

and without my knowing that they were there, could have beheld my countenance, and heard my words,

when I read the fourth Psalm in that time of my rest, and how that Psalm wrought upon me: When I called,

the God of my righteousness heard me; in tribulation Thou enlargedst me. Have mercy upon me, O Lord, and

hear my prayer. Would that what I uttered on these words, they could hear, without my knowing whether they

heard, lest they should think I spake it for their sakes! Because in truth neither should I speak the same things,

nor in the same way, if I perceived that they heard and saw me; nor if I spake them would they so receive

them, as when I spake by and for myself before Thee, out of the natural feelings of my soul.

I trembled for fear, and again kindled with hope, and with rejoicing in Thy mercy, O Father; and all issued

forth both by mine eyes and voice, when Thy good Spirit turning unto us, said, O ye sons of men, how long

slow of heart? why do ye love vanity, and seek after leasing? For I had loved vanity, and sought after leasing.

And Thou, O Lord, hadst already magnified Thy Holy One, raising Him from the dead, and setting Him at

Thy right hand, whence from on high He should send His promise, the Comforter, the Spirit of truth. And He

had already sent Him, but I knew it not; He had sent Him, because He was now magnified, rising again from

the dead, and ascending into heaven. For till then, the Spirit was not yet given, because Jesus was not yet

glorified. And the prophet cries out, How long, slow of heart? why do ye love vanity, and seek after leasing?

Know this, that the Lord hath magnified His Holy One. He cries out, How long? He cries out, Know this: and

I so long, not knowing, loved vanity, and sought after leasing: and therefore I heard and trembled, because it

was spoken unto such as I remembered myself to have been. For in those phantoms which I had held for

truths, was there vanity and leasing; and I spake aloud many things earnestly and forcibly, in the bitterness of

my remembrance. Which would they had heard, who yet love vanity and seek after leasing! They would

perchance have been troubled, and have vomited it up; and Thou wouldest hear them when they cried unto

Thee; for by a true death in the flesh did He die for us, who now intercedeth unto Thee for us.

I further read, Be angry, and sin not. And how was I moved, O my God, who had now learned to be angry at

myself for things past, that I might not sin in time to come! Yea, to be justly angry; for that it was not another

nature of a people of darkness which sinned for me, as they say who are not angry at themselves, and treasure

up wrath against the day of wrath, and of the revelation of Thy just judgment. Nor were my good things now

without, nor sought with the eyes of flesh in that earthly sun; for they that would have joy from without soon

become vain, and waste themselves on the things seen and temporal, and in their famished thoughts do lick

their very shadows. Oh that they were wearied out with their famine, and said, Who will show us good

things? And we would say, and they hear, The light of Thy countenance is sealed upon us. For we are not that

light which enlighteneth every man, but we are enlightened by Thee; that having been sometimes darkness,

we may be light in Thee. Oh that they could see the eternal Internal, which having tasted, I was grieved that I

could not show It them, so long as they brought me their heart in their eyes roving abroad from Thee, while

they said, Who will show us good things? For there, where I was angry within myself in my chamber, where I

was inwardly pricked, where I had sacrificed, slaying my old man and commencing the purpose of a new life,

putting my trust in Thee, there hadst Thou begun to grow sweet unto me, and hadst put gladness in my

heart. And I cried out, as I read this outwardly, finding it inwardly. Nor would I be multiplied with worldly

goods; wasting away time, and wasted by time; whereas I had in Thy eternal Simple Essence other corn, and

And with a loud cry of my heart I cried out in the next verse, O in peace, O for The Selfsame! O what said

he, I will lay me down and sleep, for who shall hinder us, when cometh to pass that saying which is written,

Death is swallowed up in victory? And Thou surpassingly art the Selfsame, Who art not changed; and in

Thee is rest which forgetteth all toil, for there is none other with Thee, nor are we to seek those many other

things, which are not what Thou art: but Thou, Lord, alone hast made me dwell in hope. I read, and kindled;

nor found I what to do to those deaf and dead, of whom myself had been, a pestilent person, a bitter and a

blind bawler against those writings, which are honied with the honey of heaven, and lightsome with Thine

When shall I recall all which passed in those holydays? Yet neither have I forgotten, nor will I pass over the

severity of Thy scourge, and the wonderful swiftness of Thy mercy. Thou didst then torment me with pain in

my teeth; which when it had come to such height that I could not speak, it came into my heart to desire all my

friends present to pray for me to Thee, the God of all manner of health. And this I wrote on wax, and gave it

them to read. Presently so soon as with humble devotion we had bowed our knees, that pain went away. But

what pain? or how went it away? I was affrighted, O my Lord, my God; for from infancy I had never

experienced the like. And the power of Thy Nod was deeply conveyed to me, and rejoicing in faith, I praised

Thy Name. And that faith suffered me not to be at ease about my past sins, which were not yet forgiven me

The vintagevacation ended, I gave notice to the Milanese to provide their scholars with another master to

sell words to them; for that I had both made choice to serve Thee, and through my difficulty of breathing and

pain in my chest was not equal to the Professorship. And by letters I signified to Thy Prelate, the holy man

Ambrose, my former errors and present desires, begging his advice what of Thy Scriptures I had best read, to

become readier and fitter for receiving so great grace. He recommended Isaiah the Prophet: I believe, because

he above the rest is a more clear foreshower of the Gospel and of the calling of the Gentiles. But I, not

understanding the first lesson in him, and imagining the whole to be like it, laid it by, to be resumed when

Thence, when the time was come wherein I was to give in my name, we left the country and returned to

Milan. It pleased Alypius also to be with me born again in Thee, being already clothed with the humility

befitting Thy Sacraments; and a most valiant tamer of the body, so as, with unwonted venture, to wear the

frozen ground of Italy with his bare feet. We joined with us the boy Adeodatus, born after the flesh, of my

sin. Excellently hadst Thou made him. He was not quite fifteen, and in wit surpassed many grave and learned

men. I confess unto Thee Thy gifts, O Lord my God, Creator of all, and abundantly able to reform our

deformities: for I had no part in that boy, but the sin. For that we brought him up in Thy discipline, it was

Thou, none else, had inspired us with it. I confess unto Thee Thy gifts. There is a book of ours entitled The

Master; it is a dialogue between him and me. Thou knowest that all there ascribed to the person conversing

with me were his ideas, in his sixteenth year. Much besides, and yet more admirable, I found in him. That

talent struck awe into me. And who but Thou could be the workmaster of such wonders? Soon didst Thou

take his life from the earth: and I now remember him without anxiety, fearing nothing for his childhood or

youth, or his whole self. Him we joined with us, our contemporary in grace, to he brought up in Thy

discipline: and we were baptised, and anxiety for our past life vanished from us. Nor was I sated in those days

with the wondrous sweetness of considering the depth of Thy counsels concerning the salvation of mankind.

How did I weep, in Thy Hymns and Canticles, touched to the quick by the voices of Thy sweetattuned

Church! The voices flowed into mine ears, and the Truth distilled into my heart, whence the affections of my

Not long had the Church of Milan begun to use this kind of consolation and exhortation, the brethren

zealously joining with harmony of voice and hearts. For it was a year, or not much more, that Justina, mother

to the Emperor Valentinian, a child, persecuted Thy servant Ambrose, in favour of her heresy, to which she

was seduced by the Arians. The devout people kept watch in the Church, ready to die with their Bishop Thy

servant. There my mother Thy handmaid, bearing a chief part of those anxieties and watchings, lived for

prayer. We, yet unwarmed by the heat of Thy Spirit, still were stirred up by the sight of the amazed and

disquieted city. Then it was first instituted that after the manner of the Eastern Churches, Hymns and Psalms

should be sung, lest the people should wax faint through the tediousness of sorrow: and from that day to this

the custom is retained, divers (yea, almost all) Thy congregations, throughout other parts of the world

Then didst Thou by a vision discover to Thy forenamed Bishop where the bodies of Gervasius and Protasius

the martyrs lay hid (whom Thou hadst in Thy secret treasury stored uncorrupted so many years), whence

Thou mightest seasonably produce them to repress the fury of a woman, but an Empress. For when they were

discovered and dug up, and with due honour translated to the Ambrosian Basilica, not only they who were

vexed with unclean spirits (the devils confessing themselves) were cured, but a certain man who had for

many years been blind, a citizen, and well known to the city, asking and hearing the reason of the people's

confused joy, sprang forth desiring his guide to lead him thither. Led thither, he begged to be allowed to

touch with his handkerchief the bier of Thy saints, whose death is precious in Thy sight. Which when he had

done, and put to his eyes, they were forthwith opened. Thence did the fame spread, thence Thy praises

glowed, shone; thence the mind of that enemy, though not turned to the soundness of believing, was yet

turned back from her fury of persecuting. Thanks to Thee, O my God. Whence and whither hast Thou thus

led my remembrance, that I should confess these things also unto Thee? which great though they be, I had

passed by in forgetfulness. And yet then, when the odour of Thy ointments was so fragrant, did we not run

after Thee. Therefore did I more weep among the singing of Thy Hymns, formerly sighing after Thee, and at

length breathing in Thee, as far as the breath may enter into this our house of grass.

Thou that makest men to dwell of one mind in one house, didst join with us Euodius also, a young man of our

own city. Who being an officer of Court, was before us converted to Thee and baptised: and quitting his

secular warfare, girded himself to Thine. We were together, about to dwell together in our devout purpose.

We sought where we might serve Thee most usefully, and were together returning to Africa: whitherward

being as far as Ostia, my mother departed this life. Much I omit, as hastening much. Receive my confessions

and thanksgivings, O my God, for innumerable things whereof I am silent. But I will not omit whatsoever my

soul would bring forth concerning that Thy handmaid, who brought me forth, both in the flesh, that I might

be born to this temporal light, and in heart, that I might be born to Light eternal. Not her gifts, but Thine in

her, would I speak of; for neither did she make nor educate herself. Thou createdst her; nor did her father and

mother know what a one should come from them. And the sceptre of Thy Christ, the discipline of Thine only

Son, in a Christian house, a good member of Thy Church, educated her in Thy fear. Yet for her good

discipline was she wont to commend not so much her mother's diligence, as that of a certain decrepit

maidservant, who had carried her father when a child, as little ones used to be carried at the backs of elder

girls. For which reason, and for her great age, and excellent conversation, was she, in that Christian family,

well respected by its heads. Whence also the charge of her master's daughters was entrusted to her, to which

she gave diligent heed, restraining them earnestly, when necessary, with a holy severity, and teaching them

with a grave discretion. For, except at those hours wherein they were most temporately fed at their parents'

table, she would not suffer them, though parched with thirst, to drink even water; preventing an evil custom,

and adding this wholesome advice: "Ye drink water now, because you have not wine in your power; but

when you come to be married, and be made mistresses of cellars and cupboards, you will scorn water, but the

custom of drinking will abide." By this method of instruction, and the authority she had, she refrained the

greediness of childhood, and moulded their very thirst to such an excellent moderation that what they should

And yet (as Thy handmaid told me her son) there had crept upon her a love of wine. For when (as the manner

was) she, as though a sober maiden, was bidden by her parents to draw wine out of the hogshed, holding the

vessel under the opening, before she poured the wine into the flagon, she sipped a little with the tip of her

lips; for more her instinctive feelings refused. For this she did, not out of any desire of drink, but out of the

exuberance of youth, whereby it boils over in mirthful freaks, which in youthful spirits are wont to be kept

under by the gravity of their elders. And thus by adding to that little, daily littles (for whoso despiseth little

things shall fall by little and little), she had fallen into such a habit as greedily to drink off her little cup

brimfull almost of wine. Where was then that discreet old woman, and that her earnest countermanding?

Would aught avail against a secret disease, if Thy healing hand, O Lord, watched not over us? Father, mother,

and governors absent, Thou present, who createdst, who callest, who also by those set over us, workest

something towards the salvation of our souls, what didst Thou then, O my God? how didst Thou cure her?

how heal her? didst Thou not out of another soul bring forth a hard and a sharp taunt, like a lancet out of Thy

secret store, and with one touch remove all that foul stuff? For a maidservant with whom she used to go to

the cellar, falling to words (as it happens) with her little mistress, when alone with her, taunted her with this

fault, with most bitter insult, calling her winebibber. With which taunt she, stung to the quick, saw the

foulness of her fault, and instantly condemned and forsook it. As flattering friends pervert, so reproachful

enemies mostly correct. Yet not what by them Thou doest, but what themselves purposed, dost Thou repay

them. For she in her anger sought to vex her young mistress, not to amend her; and did it in private, either for

that the time and place of the quarrel so found them; or lest herself also should have anger, for discovering it

thus late. But Thou, Lord, Governor of all in heaven and earth, who turnest to Thy purposes the deepest

currents, and the ruled turbulence of the tide of times, didst by the very unhealthiness of one soul heal

another; lest any, when he observes this, should ascribe it to his own power, even when another, whom he

Brought up thus modestly and soberly, and made subject rather by Thee to her parents, than by her parents to

Thee, so soon as she was of marriageable age, being bestowed upon a husband, she served him as her lord;

and did her diligence to win him unto Thee, preaching Thee unto him by her conversation; by which Thou

ornamentedst her, making her reverently amiable, and admirable unto her husband. And she so endured the

wronging of her bed as never to have any quarrel with her husband thereon. For she looked for Thy mercy

upon him, that believing in Thee, he might be made chaste. But besides this, he was fervid, as in his

affections, so in anger: but she had learnt not to resist an angry husband, not in deed only, but not even in

word. Only when he was smoothed and tranquil, and in a temper to receive it, she would give an account of

her actions, if haply he had overhastily taken offence. In a word, while many matrons, who had milder

husbands, yet bore even in their faces marks of shame, would in familiar talk blame their husbands' lives, she

would blame their tongues, giving them, as in jest, earnest advice: "That from the time they heard the

marriage writings read to them, they should account them as indentures, whereby they were made servants;

and so, remembering their condition, ought not to set themselves up against their lords." And when they,

knowing what a choleric husband she endured, marvelled that it had never been heard, nor by any token

perceived, that Patricius had beaten his wife, or that there had been any domestic difference between them,

even for one day, and confidentially asking the reason, she taught them her practice above mentioned. Those

wives who observed it found the good, and returned thanks; those who observed it not, found no relief, and

Her motherinlaw also, at first by whisperings of evil servants incensed against her, she so overcame by

observance and persevering endurance and meekness, that she of her own accord discovered to her son the

meddling tongues whereby the domestic peace betwixt her and her daughterinlaw had been disturbed,

asking him to correct them. Then, when in compliance with his mother, and for the wellordering of the

family, he had with stripes corrected those discovered, at her will who had discovered them, she promised the

like reward to any who, to please her, should speak ill of her daughterinlaw to her: and none now

This great gift also thou bestowedst, O my God, my mercy, upon that good handmaid of Thine, in whose

womb Thou createdst me, that between any disagreeing and discordant parties where she was able, she

showed herself such a peacemaker, that hearing on both sides most bitter things, such as swelling and

indigested choler uses to break out into, when the crudities of enmities are breathed out in sour discourses to

a present friend against an absent enemy, she never would disclose aught of the one unto the other, but what

might tend to their reconcilement. A small good this might appear to me, did I not to my grief know

numberless persons, who through some horrible and widespreading contagion of sin, not only disclose to

persons mutually angered things said in anger, but add withal things never spoken, whereas to humane

humanity, it ought to seem a light thing not to toment or increase ill will by ill words, unless one study withal

by good words to quench it. Such was she, Thyself, her most inward Instructor, teaching her in the school of

Finally, her own husband, towards the very end of his earthly life, did she gain unto Thee; nor had she to

complain of that in him as a believer, which before he was a believer she had borne from him. She was also

the servant of Thy servants; whosoever of them knew her, did in her much praise and honour and love Thee;

for that through the witness of the fruits of a holy conversation they perceived Thy presence in her heart. For

she had been the wife of one man, had requited her parents, had govemed her house piously, was well

reported of for good works, had brought up children, so often travailing in birth of them, as she saw them

swerving from Thee. Lastly, of all of us Thy servants, O Lord (whom on occasion of Thy own gift Thou

sufferest to speak), us, who before her sleeping in Thee lived united together, having received the grace of

Thy baptism, did she so take care of, as though she had been mother of us all; so served us, as though she had

The day now approaching whereon she was to depart this life (which day Thou well knewest, we knew not),

it came to pass, Thyself, as I believe, by Thy secret ways so ordering it, that she and I stood alone, leaning in

a certain window, which looked into the garden of the house where we now lay, at Ostia; where removed

from the din of men, we were recruiting from the fatigues of a long journey, for the voyage. We were

discoursing then together, alone, very sweetly; and forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching

forth unto those things which are before, we were enquiring between ourselves in the presence of the Truth,

which Thou art, of what sort the eternal life of the saints was to be, which eye hath not seen, nor ear heard,

nor hath it entered into the heart of man. But yet we gasped with the mouth of our heart, after those heavenly

streams of Thy fountain, the fountain of life, which is with Thee; that being bedewed thence according to our

And when our discourse was brought to that point, that the very highest delight of the earthly senses, in the

very purest material light, was, in respect of the sweetness of that life, not only not worthy of comparison, but

not even of mention; we raising up ourselves with a more glowing affection towards the "Selfsame," did by

degrees pass through all things bodily, even the very heaven whence sun and moon and stars shine upon the

earth; yea, we were soaring higher yet, by inward musing, and discourse, and admiring of Thy works; and we

came to our own minds, and went beyond them, that we might arrive at that region of neverfailing plenty,

where Thou feedest Israel for ever with the food of truth, and where life is the Wisdom by whom all these

things are made, and what have been, and what shall be, and she is not made, but is, as she hath been, and so

shall she be ever; yea rather, to "have been," and "hereafter to be," are not in her, but only "to be," seeing she

is eternal. For to "have been," and to "be hereafter," are not eternal. And while we were discoursing and

panting after her, we slightly touched on her with the whole effort of our heart; and we sighed, and there we

leave bound the first fruits of the Spirit; and returned to vocal expressions of our mouth, where the word

spoken has beginning and end. And what is like unto Thy Word, our Lord, who endureth in Himself without

We were saying then: If to any the tumult of the flesh were hushed, hushed the images of earth, and waters,

and air, hushed also the pole of heaven, yea the very soul be hushed to herself, and by not thinking on self

surmount self, hushed all dreams and imaginary revelations, every tongue and every sign, and whatsoever

exists only in transition, since if any could hear, all these say, We made not ourselves, but He made us that

abideth for ever If then having uttered this, they too should be hushed, having roused only our ears to Him

who made them, and He alone speak, not by them but by Himself, that we may hear His Word, not through

any tongue of flesh, nor Angel's voice, nor sound of thunder, nor in the dark riddle of a similitude, but might

hear Whom in these things we love, might hear His Very Self without these (as we two now strained

ourselves, and in swift thought touched on that Eternal Wisdom which abideth over all); could this be

continued on, and other visions of kind far unlike be withdrawn, and this one ravish, and absorb, and wrap up

its beholder amid these inward joys, so that life might be for ever like that one moment of understanding

which now we sighed after; were not this, Enter into thy Master's joy? And when shall that be? When we

Such things was I speaking, and even if not in this very manner, and these same words, yet, Lord, Thou

knowest that in that day when we were speaking of these things, and this world with all its delights became,

as we spake, contemptible to us, my mother said, "Son, for mine own part I have no further delight in any

thing in this life. What I do here any longer, and to what I am here, I know not, now that my hopes in this

world are accomplished. One thing there was for which I desired to linger for a while in this life, that I might

see thee a Catholic Christian before I died. My God hath done this for me more abundantly, that I should now

see thee withal, despising earthly happiness, become His servant: what do I here?"

What answer I made her unto these things, I remember not. For scarce five days after, or not much more, she

fell sick of a fever; and in that sickness one day she fell into a swoon, and was for a while withdrawn from

these visible things. We hastened round her; but she was soon brought back to her senses; and looking on me

and my brother standing by her, said to us enquiringly, "Where was I?" And then looking fixedly on us, with

grief amazed: "Here," saith she, "shall you bury your mother." I held my peace and refrained weeping; but

my brother spake something, wishing for her, as the happier lot, that she might die, not in a strange place, but

in her own land. Whereat, she with anxious look, checking him with her eyes, for that he still savoured such

things, and then looking upon me: "Behold," saith she, "what he saith": and soon after to us both, "Lay," she

saith, "this body any where; let not the care for that any way disquiet you: this only I request, that you would

remember me at the Lord's altar, wherever you be." And having delivered this sentiment in what words she

But I, considering Thy gifts, Thou unseen God, which Thou instillest into the hearts of Thy faithful ones,

whence wondrous fruits do spring, did rejoice and give thanks to Thee, recalling what I before knew, how

careful and anxious she had ever been as to her place of burial, which she had provided and prepared for

herself by the body of her husband. For because they had lived in great harmony together, she also wished (so

little can the human mind embrace things divine) to have this addition to that happiness, and to have it

remembered among men, that after her pilgrimage beyond the seas, what was earthly of this united pair had

been permitted to be united beneath the same earth. But when this emptiness had through the fulness of Thy

goodness begun to cease in her heart, I knew not, and rejoiced admiring what she had so disclosed to me;

though indeed in that our discourse also in the window, when she said, "What do I here any longer?" there

appeared no desire of dying in her own country. I heard afterwards also, that when we were now at Ostia, she

with a mother's confidence, when I was absent, one day discoursed with certain of my friends about the

contempt of this life, and the blessing of death: and when they were amazed at such courage which Thou

hadst given to a woman, and asked, "Whether she were not afraid to leave her body so far from her own

city?" she replied, "Nothing is far to God; nor was it to be feared lest at the end of the world, He should not

recognise whence He were to raise me up." On the ninth day then of her sickness, and the fiftysixth year of

her age, and the threeandthirtieth of mine, was that religious and holy soul freed from the body.

I closed her eyes; and there flowed withal a mighty sorrow into my heart, which was overflowing into tears;

mine eyes at the same time, by the violent command of my mind, drank up their fountain wholly dry; and

woe was me in such a strife! But when she breathed her last, the boy Adeodatus burst out into a loud lament;

then, checked by us all, held his peace. In like manner also a childish feeling in me, which was, through my

heart's youthful voice, finding its vent in weeping, was checked and silenced. For we thought it not fitting to

solemnise that funeral with tearful lament, and groanings; for thereby do they for the most part express grief

for the departed, as though unhappy, or altogether dead; whereas she was neither unhappy in her death, nor

altogether dead. Of this we were assured on good grounds, the testimony of her good conversation and her

What then was it which did grievously pain me within, but a fresh wound wrought through the sudden

wrench of that most sweet and dear custom of living together? I joyed indeed in her testimony, when, in that

her last sickness, mingling her endearments with my acts of duty, she called me "dutiful," and mentioned,

with great affection of love, that she never had heard any harsh or reproachful sound uttered by my mouth

against her. But yet, O my God, Who madest us, what comparison is there betwixt that honour that I paid to

her, and her slavery for me? Being then forsaken of so great comfort in her, my soul was wounded, and that

life rent asunder as it were, which, of hers and mine together, had been made but one.

The boy then being stilled from weeping, Euodius took up the Psalter, and began to sing, our whole house

answering him, the Psalm, I will sing of mercy and judgments to Thee, O Lord. But hearing what we were

doing, many brethren and religious women came together; and whilst they (whose office it was) made ready

for the burial, as the manner is, I (in a part of the house, where I might properly), together with those who

thought not fit to leave me, discoursed upon something fitting the time; and by this balm of truth assuaged

that torment, known to Thee, they unknowing and listening intently, and conceiving me to be without all

sense of sorrow. But in Thy ears, where none of them heard, I blamed the weakness of my feelings, and

refrained my flood of grief, which gave way a little unto me; but again came, as with a tide, yet not so as to

burst out into tears, nor to change of countenance; still I knew what I was keeping down in my heart. And

being very much displeased that these human things had such power over me, which in the due order and

appointment of our natural condition must needs come to pass, with a new grief I grieved for my grief, and

And behold, the corpse was carried to the burial; we went and returned without tears. For neither in those

prayers which we poured forth unto Thee, when the Sacrifice of our ransom was offered for her, when now

the corpse was by the grave's side, as the manner there is, previous to its being laid therein, did I weep even

during those prayers; yet was I the whole day in secret heavily sad, and with troubled mind prayed Thee, as I

could, to heal my sorrow, yet Thou didst not; impressing, I believe, upon my memory by this one instance,

how strong is the bond of all habit, even upon a soul, which now feeds upon no deceiving Word. It seemed

also good to me to go and bathe, having heard that the bath had its name (balneum) from the Greek Balaneion

for that it drives sadness from the mind. And this also I confess unto Thy mercy, Father of the fatherless, that

I bathed, and was the same as before I bathed. For the bitterness of sorrow could not exude out of my heart.

Then I slept, and woke up again, and found my grief not a little softened; and as I was alone in my bed, I

And then by little and little I recovered my former thoughts of Thy handmaid, her holy conversation towards

Thee, her holy tenderness and observance towards us, whereof I was suddenly deprived: and I was minded to

weep in Thy sight, for her and for myself, in her behalf and in my own. And I gave way to the tears which I

before restrained, to overflow as much as they desired; reposing my heart upon them; and it found rest in

them, for it was in Thy ears, not in those of man, who would have scornfully interpreted my weeping. And

now, Lord, in writing I confess it unto Thee. Read it, who will, and interpret it, how he will: and if he finds

sin therein, that I wept my mother for a small portion of an hour (the mother who for the time was dead to

mine eyes, who had for many years wept for me that I might live in Thine eyes), let him not deride me; but

rather, if he be one of large charity, let him weep himself for my sins unto Thee, the Father of all the brethren

But now, with a heart cured of that wound, wherein it might seem blameworthy for an earthly feeling, I pour

out unto Thee, our God, in behalf of that Thy handmaid, a far different kind of tears, flowing from a spirit

shaken by the thoughts of the dangers of every soul that dieth in Adam. And although she having been

quickened in Christ, even before her release from the flesh, had lived to the praise of Thy name for her faith

and conversation; yet dare I not say that from what time Thou regeneratedst her by baptism, no word issued

from her mouth against Thy Commandment. Thy Son, the Truth, hath said, Whosoever shall say unto his

brother, Thou fool, shall be in danger of hell fire. And woe be even unto the commendable life of men, if,

laying aside mercy, Thou shouldest examine it. But because Thou art not extreme in enquiring after sins, we

confidently hope to find some place with Thee. But whosoever reckons up his real merits to Thee, what

reckons he up to Thee but Thine own gifts? O that men would know themselves to be men; and that he that

I therefore, O my Praise and my Life, God of my heart, laying aside for a while her good deeds, for which I

give thanks to Thee with joy, do now beseech Thee for the sins of my mother. Hearken unto me, I entreat

Thee, by the Medicine of our wounds, Who hung upon the tree, and now sitting at Thy right hand maketh

intercession to Thee for us. I know that she dealt mercifully, and from her heart forgave her debtors their

debts; do Thou also forgive her debts, whatever she may have contracted in so many years, since the water of

salvation. Forgive her, Lord, forgive, I beseech Thee; enter not into judgment with her. Let Thy mercy be

exalted above Thy justice, since Thy words are true, and Thou hast promised mercy unto the merciful; which

Thou gavest them to be, who wilt have mercy on whom Thou wilt have mercy; and wilt have compassion on

And, I believe, Thou hast already done what I ask; but accept, O Lord, the freewill offerings of my mouth.

For she, the day of her dissolution now at hand, took no thought to have her body sumptuously wound up, or

embalmed with spices; nor desired she a choice monument, or to be buried in her own land. These things she

enjoined us not; but desired only to have her name commemorated at Thy Altar, which she had served

without intermission of one day: whence she knew the holy Sacrifice to be dispensed, by which the

handwriting that was against us is blotted out; through which the enemy was triumphed over, who summing

up our offences, and seeking what to lay to our charge, found nothing in Him, in Whom we conquer. Who

shall restore to Him the innocent blood? Who repay Him the price wherewith He bought us, and so take us

from Him? Unto the Sacrament of which our ransom, Thy handmaid bound her soul by the bond of faith. Let

none sever her from Thy protection: let neither the lion nor the dragon interpose himself by force or fraud.

For she will not answer that she owes nothing, lest she be convicted and seized by the crafty accuser: but she

will answer that her sins are forgiven her by Him, to Whom none can repay that price which He, Who owed

May she rest then in peace with the husband before and after whom she had never any; whom she obeyed,

with patience bringing forth fruit unto Thee, that she might win him also unto Thee. And inspire, O Lord my

God, inspire Thy servants my brethren, Thy sons my masters, whom with voice, and heart, and pen I serve,

that so many as shall read these Confessions, may at Thy Altar remember Monnica Thy handmaid, with

Patricius, her sometimes husband, by whose bodies Thou broughtest me into this life, how I know not. May

they with devout affection remember my parents in this transitory light, my brethren under Thee our Father in

our Catholic Mother, and my fellowcitizens in that eternal Jerusalem which Thy pilgrim people sigheth after

from their Exodus, even unto their return thither. That so my mother's last request of me, may through my

confessions, more than through my prayers, be, through the prayers of many, more abundantly fulfilled to

Let me know Thee, O Lord, who knowest me: let me know Thee, as I am known. Power of my soul, enter

into it, and fit it for Thee, that Thou mayest have and hold it without spot or wrinkle. This is my hope,

therefore do I speak; and in this hope do I rejoice, when I rejoice healthfully. Other things of this life are the

less to be sorrowed for, the more they are sorrowed for; and the more to be sorrowed for, the less men sorrow

for them. For behold, Thou lovest the truth, and he that doth it, cometh to the light. This would I do in my

And from Thee, O Lord, unto whose eyes the abyss of man's conscience is naked, what could be hidden in

me though I would not confess it? For I should hide Thee from me, not me from Thee. But now, for that my

groaning is witness, that I am displeased with myself, Thou shinest out, and art pleasing, and beloved, and

longed for; that I may be ashamed of myself, and renounce myself, and choose Thee, and neither please Thee

nor myself, but in Thee. To Thee therefore, O Lord, am I open, whatever I am; and with what fruit I confess

unto Thee, I have said. Nor do I it with words and sounds of the flesh, but with the words of my soul, and the

cry of the thought which Thy ear knoweth. For when I am evil, then to confess to Thee is nothing else than to

be displeased with myself; but when holy, nothing else than not to ascribe it to myself: because Thou, O

Lord, blessest the godly, but first Thou justifieth him when ungodly. My confession then, O my God, in Thy

sight, is made silently, and not silently. For in sound, it is silent; in affection, it cries aloud. For neither do I

utter any thing right unto men, which Thou hast not before heard from me; nor dost Thou hear any such thing

What then have I to do with men, that they should hear my confessions as if they could heal all my

infirmities a race, curious to know the lives of others, slothful to amend their own? Why seek they to hear

from me what I am; who will not hear from Thee what themselves are? And how know they, when from

myself they hear of myself, whether I say true; seeing no man knows what is in man, but the spirit of man

which is in him? But if they hear from Thee of themselves, they cannot say, "The Lord lieth." For what is it to

hear from Thee of themselves, but to know themselves? and who knoweth and saith, "It is false," unless

himself lieth? But because charity believeth all things (that is, among those whom knitting unto itself it

maketh one), I also, O Lord, will in such wise confess unto Thee, that men may hear, to whom I cannot

demonstrate whether I confess truly; yet they believe me, whose ears charity openeth unto me.

But do Thou, my inmost Physician, make plain unto me what fruit I may reap by doing it. For the confessions

of my past sins, which Thou hast forgiven and covered, that Thou mightest bless me in Thee, changing my

soul by Faith and Thy Sacrament, when read and heard, stir up the heart, that it sleep not in despair and say "I

cannot," but awake in the love of Thy mercy and the sweetness of Thy grace, whereby whoso is weak, is

strong, when by it he became conscious of his own weakness. And the good delight to hear of the past evils

of such as are now freed from them, not because they are evils, but because they have been and are not. With

what fruit then, O Lord my God, to Whom my conscience daily confesseth, trusting more in the hope of Thy

mercy than in her own innocency, with what fruit, I pray, do I by this book confess to men also in Thy

presence what I now am, not what I have been? For that other fruit I have seen and spoken of. But what I now

am, at the very time of making these confessions, divers desire to know, who have or have not known me,

who have heard from me or of me; but their ear is not at my heart where I am, whatever I am. They wish then

to hear me confess what I am within; whither neither their eye, nor ear, nor understanding can reach; they

wish it, as ready to believe but will they know? For charity, whereby they are good, telleth them that in my

But for what fruit would they hear this? Do they desire to joy with me, when they hear how near, by Thy gift,

I approach unto Thee? and to pray for me, when they shall hear how much I am held back by my own

weight? To such will I discover myself For it is no mean fruit, O Lord my God, that by many thanks should

be given to Thee on our behalf, and Thou be by many entreated for us. Let the brotherly mind love in me

what Thou teachest is to be loved, and lament in me what Thou teachest is to be lamented. Let a brotherly,

not a stranger, mind, not that of the strange children, whose mouth talketh of vanity, and their right hand is a

right hand of iniquity, but that brotherly mind which when it approveth, rejoiceth for me, and when it

disapproveth me, is sorry for me; because whether it approveth or disapproveth, it loveth me. To such will I

discover myself: they will breathe freely at my good deeds, sigh for my ill. My good deeds are Thine

appointments, and Thy gifts; my evil ones are my offences, and Thy judgments. Let them breathe freely at the

one, sigh at the other; and let hymns and weeping go up into Thy sight, out of the hearts of my brethren, Thy

censers. And do Thou, O Lord, he pleased with the incense of Thy holy temple, have mercy upon me

according to Thy great mercy for Thine own name's sake; and no ways forsaking what Thou hast begun,

This is the fruit of my confessions of what I am, not of what I have been, to confess this, not before Thee

only, in a secret exultation with trembling, and a secret sorrow with hope; but in the ears also of the believing

sons of men, sharers of my joy, and partners in my mortality, my fellowcitizens, and fellowpilgrims, who

are gone before, or are to follow on, companions of my way. These are Thy servants, my brethren, whom

Thou willest to be Thy sons; my masters, whom Thou commandest me to serve, if I would live with Thee, of

Thee. But this Thy Word were little did it only command by speaking, and not go before in performing. This

then I do in deed and word, this I do under Thy wings; in over great peril, were not my soul subdued unto

Thee under Thy wings, and my infirmity known unto Thee. I am a little one, but my Father ever liveth, and

my Guardian is sufficient for me. For He is the same who begat me, and defends me: and Thou Thyself art all

my good; Thou, Almighty, Who are with me, yea, before I am with Thee. To such then whom Thou

commandest me to serve will I discover, not what I have been, but what I now am and what I yet am. But

For Thou, Lord, dost judge me: because, although no man knoweth the things of a man, but the spirit of a

man which is in him, yet is there something of man, which neither the spirit of man that is in him, itself

knoweth. But Thou, Lord, knowest all of him, Who hast made him. Yet I, though in Thy sight I despise

myself, and account myself dust and ashes; yet know I something of Thee, which I know not of myself. And

truly, now we see through a glass darkly, not face to face as yet. So long therefore as I be absent from Thee, I

am more present with myself than with Thee; and yet know I Thee that Thou art in no ways passible; but I,

what temptations I can resist, what I cannot, I know not. And there is hope, because Thou art faithful, Who

wilt not suffer us to be tempted above that we are able; but wilt with the temptation also make a way to

escape, that we may be able to bear it. I will confess then what I know of myself, I will confess also what I

know not of myself. And that because what I do know of myself, I know by Thy shining upon me; and what I

know not of myself, so long know I not it, until my darkness be made as the noonday in Thy countenance.

Not with doubting, but with assured consciousness, do I love Thee, Lord. Thou hast stricken my heart with

Thy word, and I loved Thee. Yea also heaven, and earth, and all that therein is, behold, on every side they bid

me love Thee; nor cease to say so unto all, that they may be without excuse. But more deeply wilt Thou have

mercy on whom Thou wilt have mercy, and wilt have compassion on whom Thou hast had compassion: else

in deaf ears do the heaven and the earth speak Thy praises. But what do I love, when I love Thee? not beauty

of bodies, nor the fair harmony of time, nor the brightness of the light, so gladsome to our eyes, nor sweet

melodies of varied songs, nor the fragrant smell of flowers, and ointments, and spices, not manna and honey,

not limbs acceptable to embracements of flesh. None of these I love, when I love my God; and yet I love a

kind of light, and melody, and fragrance, and meat, and embracement when I love my God, the light, melody,

fragrance, meat, embracement of my inner man: where there shineth unto my soul what space cannot contain,

and there soundeth what time beareth not away, and there smelleth what breathing disperseth not, and there

tasteth what eating diminisheth not, and there clingeth what satiety divorceth not. This is it which I love when

And what is this? I asked the earth, and it answered me, "I am not He"; and whatsoever are in it confessed the

same. I asked the sea and the deeps, and the living creeping things, and they answered, "We are not thy God,

seek above us." I asked the moving air; and the whole air with his inhabitants answered, "Anaximenes was

deceived, I am not God. " I asked the heavens, sun, moon, stars, "Nor (say they) are we the God whom thou

seekest." And I replied unto all the things which encompass the door of my flesh: "Ye have told me of my

God, that ye are not He; tell me something of Him." And they cried out with a loud voice, "He made us. " My

questioning them, was my thoughts on them: and their form of beauty gave the answer. And I turned myself

unto myself, and said to myself, "Who art thou?" And I answered, "A man." And behold, in me there present

themselves to me soul, and body, one without, the other within. By which of these ought I to seek my God? I

had sought Him in the body from earth to heaven, so far as I could send messengers, the beams of mine eyes.

But the better is the inner, for to it as presiding and judging, all the bodily messengers reported the answers of

heaven and earth, and all things therein, who said, "We are not God, but He made us." These things did my

inner man know by the ministry of the outer: I the inner knew them; I, the mind, through the senses of my

body. I asked the whole frame of the world about my God; and it answered me, "I am not He, but He made

Is not this corporeal figure apparent to all whose senses are perfect? why then speaks it not the same to all?

Animals small and great see it, but they cannot ask it: because no reason is set over their senses to judge on

what they report. But men can ask, so that the invisible things of God are clearly seen, being understood by

the things that are made; but by love of them, they are made subject unto them: and subjects cannot judge.

Nor yet do the creatures answer such as ask, unless they can judge; nor yet do they change their voice (i.e.,

their appearance), if one man only sees, another seeing asks, so as to appear one way to this man, another

way to that, but appearing the same way to both, it is dumb to this, speaks to that; yea rather it speaks to all;

but they only understand, who compare its voice received from without, with the truth within. For truth saith

unto me, "Neither heaven, nor earth, nor any other body is thy God." This, their very nature saith to him that

seeth them: "They are a mass; a mass is less in a part thereof than in the whole." Now to thee I speak, O my

soul, thou art my better part: for thou quickenest the mass of my body, giving it life, which no body can give

What then do I love, when I love my God? who is He above the head of my soul? By my very soul will I

ascend to Him. I will pass beyond that power whereby I am united to my body, and fill its whole frame with

life. Nor can I by that power find my God; for so horse and mule that have no understanding might find Him;

seeing it is the same power, whereby even their bodies live. But another power there is, not that only whereby

I animate, but that too whereby I imbue with sense my flesh, which the Lord hath framed for me:

commanding the eye not to hear, and the ear not to see; but the eye, that through it I should see, and the ear,

that through it I should hear; and to the other senses severally, what is to each their own peculiar seats and

offices; which, being divers, I the one mind, do through them enact. I will pass beyond this power of mine

also; for this also have the horse, and mule, for they also perceive through the body.

I will pass then beyond this power of my nature also, rising by degrees unto Him Who made me. And I come

to the fields and spacious palaces of my memory, where are the treasures of innumerable images, brought into

it from things of all sorts perceived by the senses. There is stored up, whatsoever besides we think, either by

enlarging or diminishing, or any other way varying those things which the sense hath come to; and whatever

else hath been committed and laid up, which forgetfulness hath not yet swallowed up and buried. When I

enter there, I require what I will to be brought forth, and something instantly comes; others must be longer

sought after, which are fetched, as it were, out of some inner receptacle; others rush out in troops, and while

one thing is desired and required, they start forth, as who should say, "Is it perchance I?" These I drive away

with the hand of my heart, from the face of my remembrance; until what I wish for be unveiled, and appear in

sight, out of its secret place. Other things come up readily, in unbroken order, as they are called for; those in

front making way for the following; and as they make way, they are hidden from sight, ready to come when I

There are all things preserved distinctly and under general heads, each having entered by its own avenue: as

light, and all colours and forms of bodies by the eyes; by the ears all sorts of sounds; all smells by the avenue

of the nostrils; all tastes by the mouth; and by the sensation of the whole body, what is hard or soft; hot or

cold; or rugged; heavy or light; either outwardly or inwardly to the body. All these doth that great harbour of

the memory receive in her numberless secret and inexpressible windings, to be forthcoming, and brought out

at need; each entering in by his own gate, and there laid up. Nor yet do the things themselves enter in; only

the images of the things perceived are there in readiness, for thought to recall. Which images, how they are

formed, who can tell, though it doth plainly appear by which sense each hath been brought in and stored up?

For even while I dwell in darkness and silence, in my memory I can produce colours, if I will, and discern

betwixt black and white, and what others I will: nor yet do sounds break in and disturb the image drawn in by

my eyes, which I am reviewing, though they also are there, lying dormant, and laid up, as it were, apart. For

these too I call for, and forthwith they appear. And though my tongue be still, and my throat mute, so can I

sing as much as I will; nor do those images of colours, which notwithstanding be there, intrude themselves

and interrupt, when another store is called for, which flowed in by the ears. So the other things, piled in and

up by the other senses, I recall at my pleasure. Yea, I discern the breath of lilies from violets, though smelling

nothing; and I prefer honey to sweet wine, smooth before rugged, at the time neither tasting nor handling, but

These things do I within, in that vast court of my memory. For there are present with me, heaven, earth, sea,

and whatever I could think on therein, besides what I have forgotten. There also meet I with myself, and

recall myself, and when, where, and what I have done, and under what feelings. There be all which I

remember, either on my own experience, or other's credit. Out of the same store do I myself with the past

continually combine fresh and fresh likenesses of things which I have experienced, or, from what I have

experienced, have believed: and thence again infer future actions, events and hopes, and all these again I

reflect on, as present. "I will do this or that," say I to myself, in that great receptacle of my mind, stored with

the images of things so many and so great, "and this or that will follow." "O that this or that might be!" "God

avert this or that!" So speak I to myself: and when I speak, the images of all I speak of are present, out of the

same treasury of memory; nor would I speak of any thereof, were the images wanting.

Great is this force of memory, excessive great, O my God; a large and boundless chamber! who ever sounded

the bottom thereof? yet is this a power of mine, and belongs unto my nature; nor do I myself comprehend all

that I am. Therefore is the mind too strait to contain itself. And where should that be, which it containeth not

of itself? Is it without it, and not within? how then doth it not comprehend itself? A wonderful admiration

surprises me, amazement seizes me upon this. And men go abroad to admire the heights of mountains, the

mighty billows of the sea, the broad tides of rivers, the compass of the ocean, and the circuits of the stars, and

pass themselves by; nor wonder that when I spake of all these things, I did not see them with mine eyes, yet

could not have spoken of them, unless I then actually saw the mountains, billows, rivers, stars which I had

seen, and that ocean which I believe to be, inwardly in my memory, and that, with the same vast spaces

between, as if I saw them abroad. Yet did not I by seeing draw them into myself, when with mine eyes I

beheld them; nor are they themselves with me, but their images only. And I know by what sense of the body

Yet not these alone does the unmeasurable capacity of my memory retain. Here also is all, learnt of the liberal

sciences and as yet unforgotten; removed as it were to some inner place, which is yet no place: nor are they

the images thereof, but the things themselves. For, what is literature, what the art of disputing, how many

kinds of questions there be, whatsoever of these I know, in such manner exists in my memory, as that I have

not taken in the image, and left out the thing, or that it should have sounded and passed away like a voice

fixed on the ear by that impress, whereby it might be recalled, as if it sounded, when it no longer sounded; or

as a smell while it passes and evaporates into air affects the sense of smell, whence it conveys into the

memory an image of itself, which remembering, we renew, or as meat, which verily in the belly hath now no

taste, and yet in the memory still in a manner tasteth; or as any thing which the body by touch perceiveth, and

which when removed from us, the memory still conceives. For those things are not transmitted into the

memory, but their images only are with an admirable swiftness caught up, and stored as it were in wondrous

But now when I hear that there be three kinds of questions, "Whether the thing be? what it is? of what kind it

is? I do indeed hold the images of the sounds of which those words be composed, and that those sounds, with

a noise passed through the air, and now are not. But the things themselves which are signified by those

sounds, I never reached with any sense of my body, nor ever discerned them otherwise than in my mind; yet

in my memory have I laid up not their images, but themselves. Which how they entered into me, let them say

if they can; for I have gone over all the avenues of my flesh, but cannot find by which they entered. For the

eyes say, "If those images were coloured, we reported of them." The ears say, "If they sound, we gave

knowledge of them." The nostrils say, "If they smell, they passed by us." The taste says, "Unless they have a

savour, ask me not." The touch says, "If it have not size, I handled it not; if I handled it not, I gave no notice

of it." Whence and how entered these things into my memory? I know not how. For when I learned them, I

gave not credit to another man's mind, but recognised them in mine; and approving them for true, I

commended them to it, laying them up as it were, whence I might bring them forth when I willed. In my heart

then they were, even before I learned them, but in my memory they were not. Where then? or wherefore,

when they were spoken, did I acknowledge them, and said, "So is it, it is true," unless that they were already

in the memory, but so thrown back and buried as it were in deeper recesses, that had not the suggestion of

Wherefore we find, that to learn these things whereof we imbibe nor the images by our senses, but perceive

within by themselves, without images, as they are, is nothing else, but by conception, to receive, and by

marking to take heed that those things which the memory did before contain at random and unarranged, be

laid up at hand as it were in that same memory where before they lay unknown, scattered and neglected, and

so readily occur to the mind familiarised to them. And how many things of this kind does my memory bear

which have been already found out, and as I said, placed as it were at hand, which we are said to have learned

and come to know which were I for some short space of time to cease to call to mind, they are again so

buried, and glide back, as it were, into the deeper recesses, that they must again, as if new, he thought out

thence, for other abode they have none: but they must be drawn together again, that they may be known; that

is to say, they must as it were be collected together from their dispersion: whence the word "cogitation" is

derived. For cogo (collect) and cogito (recollect) have the same relation to each other as ago and agito, facio

and factito. But the mind hath appropriated to itself this word (cogitation), so that, not what is "collected" any

how, but what is "recollected," i.e., brought together, in the mind, is properly said to be cogitated, or thought

The memory containeth also reasons and laws innumerable of numbers and dimensions, none of which hath

any bodily sense impressed; seeing they have neither colour, nor sound, nor taste, nor smell, nor touch. I have

heard the sound of the words whereby when discussed they are denoted: but the sounds are other than the

things. For the sounds are other in Greek than in Latin; but the things are neither Greek, nor Latin, nor any

other language. I have seen the lines of architects, the very finest, like a spider's thread; but those are still

different, they are not the images of those lines which the eye of flesh showed me: he knoweth them,

whosoever without any conception whatsoever of a body, recognises them within himself. I have perceived

also the numbers of the things with which we number all the senses of my body; but those numbers

wherewith we number are different, nor are they the images of these, and therefore they indeed are. Let him

who seeth them not, deride me for saying these things, and I will pity him, while he derides me.

All these things I remember, and how I learnt them I remember. Many things also most falsely objected

against them have I heard, and remember; which though they be false, yet is it not false that I remember

them; and I remember also that I have discerned betwixt those truths and these falsehoods objected to them.

And I perceive that the present discerning of these things is different from remembering that I oftentimes

discerned them, when I often thought upon them. I both remember then to have often understood these things;

and what I now discern and understand, I lay up in my memory, that hereafter I may remember that I

understand it now. So then I remember also to have remembered; as if hereafter I shall call to remembrance,

that I have now been able to remember these things, by the force of memory shall I call it to remembrance.

The same memory contains also the affections of my mind, not in the same manner that my mind itself

contains them, when it feels them; but far otherwise, according to a power of its own. For without rejoicing I

remember myself to have joyed; and without sorrow do I recollect my past sorrow. And that I once feared, I

review without fear; and without desire call to mind a past desire. Sometimes, on the contrary, with joy do I

remember my forepast sorrow, and with sorrow, joy. Which is not wonderful, as to the body; for mind is

one thing, body another. If I therefore with joy remember some past pain of body, it is not so wonderful. But

now seeing this very memory itself is mind (for when we give a thing in charge, to be kept in memory, we

say, "See that you keep it in mind"; and when we forget, we say, "It did not come to my mind," and, "It

slipped out of my mind," calling the memory itself the mind); this being so, how is it that when with joy I

remember my past sorrow, the mind hath joy, the memory hath sorrow; the mind upon the joyfulness which

is in it, is joyful, yet the memory upon the sadness which is in it, is not sad? Does the memory perchance not

belong to the mind? Who will say so? The memory then is, as it were, the belly of the mind, and joy and

sadness, like sweet and bitter food; which, when committed to the memory, are as it were passed into the

belly, where they may be stowed, but cannot taste. Ridiculous it is to imagine these to be alike; and yet are

But, behold, out of my memory I bring it, when I say there be four perturbations of the mind, desire, joy, fear,

sorrow; and whatsoever I can dispute thereon, by dividing each into its subordinate species, and by defining

it, in my memory find I what to say, and thence do I bring it: yet am I not disturbed by any of these

perturbations, when by calling them to mind, I remember them; yea, and before I recalled and brought them

back, they were there; and therefore could they, by recollection, thence be brought. Perchance, then, as meat

is by chewing the cud brought up out of the belly, so by recollection these out of the memory. Why then does

not the disputer, thus recollecting, taste in the mouth of his musing the sweetness of joy, or the bitterness of

sorrow? Is the comparison unlike in this, because not in all respects like? For who would willingly speak

thereof, if so oft as we name grief or fear, we should be compelled to be sad or fearful? And yet could we not

speak of them, did we not find in our memory, not only the sounds of the names according to the images

impressed by the senses of the body, but notions of the very things themselves which we never received by

any avenue of the body, but which the mind itself perceiving by the experience of its own passions,

committed to the memory, or the memory of itself retained, without being committed unto it.

But whether by images or no, who can readily say? Thus, I name a stone, I name the sun, the things

themselves not being present to my senses, but their images to my memory. I name a bodily pain, yet it is not

present with me, when nothing aches: yet unless its image were present to my memory, I should not know

what to say thereof, nor in discoursing discern pain from pleasure. I name bodily health; being sound in body,

the thing itself is present with me; yet, unless its image also were present in my memory, I could by no means

recall what the sound of this name should signify. Nor would the sick, when health were named, recognise

what were spoken, unless the same image were by the force of memory retained, although the thing itself

were absent from the body. I name numbers whereby we number; and not their images, but themselves are

present in my memory. I name the image of the sun, and that image is present in my memory. For I recall not

the image of its image, but the image itself is present to me, calling it to mind. I name memory, and I

recognise what I name. And where do I recognise it, but in the memory itself? Is it also present to itself by its

What, when I name forgetfulness, and withal recognise what I name? whence should I recognise it, did I not

remember it? I speak not of the sound of the name, but of the thing which it signifies: which if I had

forgotten, I could not recognise what that sound signifies. When then I remember memory, memory itself is,

through itself, present with itself: but when I remember forgetfulness, there are present both memory and

forgetfulness; memory whereby I remember, forgetfulness which I remember. But what is forgetfulness, but

the privation of memory? How then is it present that I remember it, since when present I cannot remember?

But if what we remember we hold it in memory, yet, unless we did remember forgetfulness, we could never

at the hearing of the name recognise the thing thereby signified, then forgetfulness is retained by memory.

Present then it is, that we forget not, and being so, we forget. It is to be understood from this that

forgetfulness when we remember it, is not present to the memory by itself but by its image: because if it were

present by itself, it would not cause us to remember, but to forget. Who now shall search out this? who shall

Lord, I, truly, toil therein, yea and toil in myself; I am become a heavy soil requiring over much sweat of the

brow. For we are not now searching out the regions of heaven, or measuring the distances of the stars, or

enquiring the balancings of the earth. It is I myself who remember, I the mind. It is not so wonderful, if what

I myself am not, be far from me. But what is nearer to me than myself? And to, the force of mine own

memory is not understood by me; though I cannot so much as name myself without it. For what shall I say,

when it is clear to me that I remember forgetfulness? Shall I say that that is not in my memory, which I

remember? or shall I say that forgetfulness is for this purpose in my memory, that I might not forget? Both

were most absurd. What third way is there? How can I say that the image of forgetfulness is retained by my

memory, not forgetfulness itself, when I remember it? How could I say this either, seeing that when the

image of any thing is impressed on the memory, the thing itself must needs be first present, whence that

image may be impressed? For thus do I remember Carthage, thus all places where I have been, thus men's

faces whom I have seen, and things reported by the other senses; thus the health or sickness of the body. For

when these things were present, my memory received from them images, which being present with me, I

might look on and bring back in my mind, when I remembered them in their absence. If then this

forgetfulness is retained in the memory through its image, not through itself, then plainly itself was once

present, that its image might be taken. But when it was present, how did it write its image in the memory,

seeing that forgetfulness by its presence effaces even what it finds already noted? And yet, in whatever way,

although that way be past conceiving and explaining, yet certain am I that I remember forgetfulness itself

Great is the power of memory, a fearful thing, O my God, a deep and boundless manifoldness; and this thing

is the mind, and this am I myself. What am I then, O my God? What nature am I? A life various and

manifold, and exceeding immense. Behold in the plains, and caves, and caverns of my memory, innumerable

and innumerably full of innumerable kinds of things, either through images, as all bodies; or by actual

presence, as the arts; or by certain notions or impressions, as the affections of the mind, which, even when the

mind doth not feel, the memory retaineth, while yet whatsoever is in the memory is also in the mind over all

these do I run, I fly; I dive on this side and on that, as far as I can, and there is no end. So great is the force of

memory, so great the force of life, even in the mortal life of man. What shall I do then, O Thou my true life,

my God? I will pass even beyond this power of mine which is called memory: yea, I will pass beyond it, that

I may approach unto Thee, O sweet Light. What sayest Thou to me? See, I am mounting up through my mind

towards Thee who abidest above me. Yea, I now will pass beyond this power of mine which is called

memory, desirous to arrive at Thee, whence Thou mayest be arrived at; and to cleave unto Thee, whence one

may cleave unto Thee. For even beasts and birds have memory; else could they not return to their dens and

nests, nor many other things they are used unto: nor indeed could they be used to any thing, but by memory. I

will pass then beyond memory also, that I may arrive at Him who hath separated me from the fourfooted

beasts and made me wiser than the fowls of the air, I will pass beyond memory also, and where shall I find

Thee, Thou truly good and certain sweetness? And where shall I find Thee? If I find Thee without my

memory, then do I not retain Thee in my memory. And how shall I find Thee, if I remember Thee not?

For the woman that had lost her groat, and sought it with a light; unless she had remembered it, she had never

found it. For when it was found, whence should she know whether it were the same, unless she remembered

it? I remember to have sought and found many a thing; and this I thereby know, that when I was seeking any

of them, and was asked, "Is this it?" "Is that it?" so long said I "No," until that were offered me which I

sought. Which had I not remembered (whatever it were) though it were offered me, yet should I not find it,

because I could not recognise it. And so it ever is, when we seek and find any lost thing. Notwithstanding,

when any thing is by chance lost from the sight, not from the memory (as any visible body), yet its image is

still retained within, and it is sought until it be restored to sight; and when it is found, it is recognised by the

image which is within: nor do we say that we have found what was lost, unless we recognise it; nor can we

recognise it, unless we remember it. But this was lost to the eyes, but retained in the memory.

But what when the memory itself loses any thing, as falls out when we forget and seek that we may recollect?

Where in the end do we search, but in the memory itself? and there, if one thing be perchance offered instead

of another, we reject it, until what we seek meets us; and when it doth, we say, "This is it"; which we should

not unless we recognised it, nor recognise it unless we remembered it. Certainly then we had forgotten it. Or,

had not the whole escaped us, but by the part whereof we had hold, was the lost part sought for; in that the

memory felt that it did not carry on together all which it was wont, and maimed, as it were, by the curtailment

of its ancient habit, demanded the restoration of what it missed? For instance, if we see or think of some one

known to us, and having forgotten his name, try to recover it; whatever else occurs, connects itself not

therewith; because it was not wont to be thought upon together with him, and therefore is rejected, until that

present itself, whereon the knowledge reposes equably as its wonted object. And whence does that present

itself, but out of the memory itself? for even when we recognise it, on being reminded by another, it is thence

it comes. For we do not believe it as something new, but, upon recollection, allow what was named to be

right. But were it utterly blotted out of the mind, we should not remember it, even when reminded. For we

have not as yet utterly forgotten that, which we remember ourselves to have forgotten. What then we have

How then do I seek Thee, O Lord? For when I seek Thee, my God, I seek a happy life. I will seek Thee, that

my soul may live. For my body liveth by my soul; and my soul by Thee. How then do I seek a happy life,

seeing I have it not, until I can say, where I ought to say it, "It is enough"? How seek I it? By remembrance,

as though I had forgotten it, remembering that I had forgotten it? Or, desiring to learn it as a thing unknown,

either never having known, or so forgotten it, as not even to remember that I had forgotten it? is not a happy

life what all will, and no one altogether wills it not? where have they known it, that they so will it? where

seen it, that they so love it? Truly we have it, how, I know not. Yea, there is another way, wherein when one

hath it, then is he happy; and there are, who are blessed, in hope. These have it in a lower kind, than they who

have it in very deed; yet are they better off than such as are happy neither in deed nor in hope. Yet even these,

had they it not in some sort, would not so will to be happy, which that they do will, is most certain. They

have known it then, I know not how, and so have it by some sort of knowledge, what, I know not, and am

perplexed whether it be in the memory, which if it be, then we have been happy once; whether all severally,

or in that man who first sinned, in whom also we all died, and from whom we are all born with misery, I now

enquire not; but only, whether the happy life be in the memory? For neither should we love it, did we not

know it. We hear the name, and we all confess that we desire the thing; for we are not delighted with the

mere sound. For when a Greek hears it in Latin, he is not delighted, not knowing what is spoken; but we

Latins are delighted, as would he too, if he heard it in Greek; because the thing itself is neither Greek nor

Latin, which Greeks and Latins, and men of all other tongues, long for so earnestly. Known therefore it is to

all, for they with one voice be asked, "would they be happy?" they would answer without doubt, "they

would." And this could not be, unless the thing itself whereof it is the name were retained in their memory.

But is it so, as one remembers Carthage who hath seen it? No. For a happy life is not seen with the eye,

because it is not a body. As we remember numbers then? No. For these, he that hath in his knowledge, seeks

not further to attain unto; but a happy life we have in our knowledge, and therefore love it, and yet still desire

to attain it, that we may be happy. As we remember eloquence then? No. For although upon hearing this

name also, some call to mind the thing, who still are not yet eloquent, and many who desire to be so, whence

it appears that it is in their knowledge; yet these have by their bodily senses observed others to be eloquent,

and been delighted, and desire to be the like (though indeed they would not be delighted but for some inward

knowledge thereof, nor wish to be the like, unless they were thus delighted); whereas a happy life, we do by

no bodily sense experience in others. As then we remember joy? Perchance; for my joy I remember, even

when sad, as a happy life, when unhappy; nor did I ever with bodily sense see, hear, smell, taste, or touch my

joy; but I experienced it in my mind, when I rejoiced; and the knowledge of it clave to my memory, so that I

can recall it with disgust sometimes, at others with longing, according to the nature of the things, wherein I

remember myself to have joyed. For even from foul things have I been immersed in a sort of joy; which now

recalling, I detest and execrate; otherwhiles in good and honest things, which I recall with longing, although

Where then and when did I experience my happy life, that I should remember, and love, and long for it? Nor

is it I alone, or some few besides, but we all would fain be happy; which, unless by some certain knowledge

we knew, we should not with so certain a will desire. But how is this, that if two men be asked whether they

would go to the wars, one, perchance, would answer that he would, the other, that he would not; but if they

were asked whether they would be happy, both would instantly without any doubting say they would; and for

no other reason would the one go to the wars, and the other not, but to be happy. Is it perchance that as one

looks for his joy in this thing, another in that, all agree in their desire of being happy, as they would (if they

were asked) that they wished to have joy, and this joy they call a happy life? Although then one obtains this

joy by one means, another by another, all have one end, which they strive to attain, namely, joy. Which being

a thing which all must say they have experienced, it is therefore found in the memory, and recognised

Far be it, Lord, far be it from the heart of Thy servant who here confesseth unto Thee, far be it, that, be the

joy what it may, I should therefore think myself happy. For there is a joy which is not given to the ungodly,

but to those who love Thee for Thine own sake, whose joy Thou Thyself art. And this is the happy life, to

rejoice to Thee, of Thee, for Thee; this is it, and there is no other. For they who think there is another, pursue

some other and not the true joy. Yet is not their will turned away from some semblance of joy.

It is not certain then that all wish to be happy, inasmuch as they who wish not to joy in Thee, which is the

only happy life, do not truly desire the happy life. Or do all men desire this, but because the flesh lusteth

against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh, that they cannot do what they would, they fall upon that

which they can, and are content therewith; because, what they are not able to do, they do not will so strongly

as would suffice to make them able? For I ask any one, had he rather joy in truth, or in falsehood? They will

as little hesitate to say "in the truth," as to say "that they desire to be happy," for a happy life is joy in the

truth: for this is a joying in Thee, Who art the Truth, O God my light, health of my countenance, my God.

This is the happy life which all desire; this life which alone is happy, all desire; to joy in the truth all desire. I

have met with many that would deceive; who would be deceived, no one. Where then did they know this

happy life, save where they know the truth also? For they love it also, since they would not be deceived. And

when they love a happy life, which is no other than joying in the truth, then also do they love the truth; which

yet they would not love, were there not some notice of it in their memory. Why then joy they not in it? why

are they not happy? because they are more strongly taken up with other things which have more power to

make them miserable, than that which they so faintly remember to make them happy. For there is yet a little

light in men; let them walk, let them walk, that the darkness overtake them not.

But why doth "truth generate hatred," and the man of Thine, preaching the truth, become an enemy to them?

whereas a happy life is loved, which is nothing else but joying in the truth; unless that truth is in that kind

loved, that they who love anything else would gladly have that which they love to be the truth: and because

they would not be deceived, would not be convinced that they are so? Therefore do they hate the truth for that

thing's sake which they loved instead of the truth. They love truth when she enlightens, they hate her when

she reproves. For since they would not be deceived, and would deceive, they love her when she discovers

herself unto them, and hate her when she discovers them. Whence she shall so repay them, that they who

would not be made manifest by her, she both against their will makes manifest, and herself becometh not

manifest unto them. Thus, thus, yea thus doth the mind of man, thus blind and sick, foul and illfavoured,

wish to be hidden, but that aught should be hidden from it, it wills not. But the contrary is requited it, that

itself should not be hidden from the Truth; but the Truth is hid from it. Yet even thus miserable, it had rather

joy in truths than in falsehoods. Happy then will it be, when, no distraction interposing, it shall joy in that

See what a space I have gone over in my memory seeking Thee, O Lord; and I have not found Thee, without

it. Nor have I found any thing concerning Thee, but what I have kept in memory, ever since I learnt Thee. For

since I learnt Thee, I have not forgotten Thee. For where I found Truth, there found I my God, the Truth

itself; which since I learnt, I have not forgotten. Since then I learnt Thee, Thou residest in my memory; and

there do I find Thee, when I call Thee to remembrance, and delight in Thee. These be my holy delights,

But where in my memory residest Thou, O Lord, where residest Thou there? what manner of lodging hast

Thou framed for Thee? what manner of sanctuary hast Thou builded for Thee? Thou hast given this honour to

my memory, to reside in it; but in what quarter of it Thou residest, that am I considering. For in thinking on

Thee, I passed beyond such parts of it as the beasts also have, for I found Thee not there among the images of

corporeal things: and I came to those parts to which I committed the affections of my mind, nor found Thee

there. And I entered into the very seat of my mind (which it hath in my memory, inasmuch as the mind

remembers itself also), neither wert Thou there: for as Thou art not a corporeal image, nor the affection of a

living being (as when we rejoice, condole, desire, fear, remember, forget, or the like); so neither art Thou the

mind itself; because Thou art the Lord God of the mind; and all these are changed, but Thou remainest

unchangeable over all, and yet hast vouchsafed to dwell in my memory, since I learnt Thee. And why seek I

now in what place thereof Thou dwellest, as if there were places therein? Sure I am, that in it Thou dwellest,

since I have remembered Thee ever since I learnt Thee, and there I find Thee, when I call Thee to

Where then did I find Thee, that I might learn Thee? For in my memory Thou wert not, before I learned Thee.

Where then did I find Thee, that I might learn Thee, but in Thee above me? Place there is none; we go

backward and forward, and there is no place. Every where, O Truth, dost Thou give audience to all who ask

counsel of Thee, and at once answerest all, though on manifold matters they ask Thy counsel. Clearly dost

Thou answer, though all do not clearly hear. All consult Thee on what they will, though they hear not always

what they will. He is Thy best servant who looks not so much to hear that from Thee which himself willeth,

Too late loved I Thee, O Thou Beauty of ancient days, yet ever new! too late I loved Thee! And behold, Thou

wert within, and I abroad, and there I searched for Thee; deformed I, plunging amid those fair forms which

Thou hadst made. Thou wert with me, but I was not with Thee. Things held me far from Thee, which, unless

they were in Thee, were not at all. Thou calledst, and shoutedst, and burstest my deafness. Thou flashedst,

shonest, and scatteredst my blindness. Thou breathedst odours, and I drew in breath and panted for Thee. I

When I shall with my whole self cleave to Thee, I shall no where have sorrow or labour; and my life shall

wholly live, as wholly full of Thee. But now since whom Thou fillest, Thou liftest up, because I am not full

of Thee I am a burden to myself. Lamentable joys strive with joyous sorrows: and on which side is the

victory, I know not. Woe is me! Lord, have pity on me. My evil sorrows strive with my good joys; and on

which side is the victory, I know not. Woe is me! Lord, have pity on me. Woe is me! lo! I hide not my

wounds; Thou art the Physician, I the sick; Thou merciful, I miserable. Is not the life of man upon earth all

trial? Who wishes for troubles and difficulties? Thou commandest them to be endured, not to be loved. No

man loves what he endures, though he love to endure. For though he rejoices that he endures, he had rather

there were nothing for him to endure. In adversity I long for prosperity, in prosperity I fear adversity. What

middle place is there betwixt these two, where the life of man is not all trial? Woe to the prosperities of the

world, once and again, through fear of adversity, and corruption of joy! Woe to the adversities of the world,

once and again, and the third time, from the longing for prosperity, and because adversity itself is a hard

thing, and lest it shatter endurance. Is not the life of man upon earth all trial: without any interval?

And all my hope is no where but in Thy exceeding great mercy. Give what Thou enjoinest, and enjoin what

Thou wilt. Thou enjoinest us continency; and when I knew, saith one, that no man can be continent, unless

God give it, this also was a part of wisdom to know whose gift she is. By continency verily are we bound up

and brought back into One, whence we were dissipated into many. For too little doth he love Thee, who loves

any thing with Thee, which he loveth not for Thee. O love, who ever burnest and never consumest! O charity,

my God, kindle me. Thou enjoinest continency: give me what Thou enjoinest, and enjoin what Thou wilt.

Verily Thou enjoinest me continency from the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the ambition of the

world. Thou enjoinest continency from concubinage; and for wedlock itself, Thou hast counselled something

better than what Thou hast permitted. And since Thou gavest it, it was done, even before I became a

dispenser of Thy Sacrament. But there yet live in my memory (whereof I have much spoken) the images of

such things as my ill custom there fixed; which haunt me, strengthless when I am awake: but in sleep, not

only so as to give pleasure, but even to obtain assent, and what is very like reality. Yea, so far prevails the

illusion of the image, in my soul and in my flesh, that, when asleep, false visions persuade to that which when

waking, the true cannot. Am I not then myself, O Lord my God? And yet there is so much difference betwixt

myself and myself, within that moment wherein I pass from waking to sleeping, or return from sleeping to

waking! Where is reason then, which, awake, resisteth such suggestions? And should the things themselves

be urged on it, it remaineth unshaken. Is it clasped up with the eyes? is it lulled asleep with the senses of the

body? And whence is it that often even in sleep we resist, and mindful of our purpose, and abiding most

chastely in it, yield no assent to such enticements? And yet so much difference there is, that when it

happeneth otherwise, upon waking we return to peace of conscience: and by this very difference discover that

Art Thou not mighty, God Almighty, so as to heal all the diseases of my soul, and by Thy more abundant

grace to quench even the impure motions of my sleep! Thou wilt increase, Lord, Thy gifts more and more in

me, that my soul may follow me to Thee, disentangled from the birdlime of concupiscence; that it rebel not

against itself, and even in dreams not only not, through images of sense, commit those debasing corruptions,

even to pollution of the flesh, but not even to consent unto them. For that nothing of this sort should have,

over the pure affections even of a sleeper, the very least influence, not even such as a thought would restrain,

to work this, not only during life, but even at my present age, is not hard for the Almighty, Who art able to

do above all that we ask or think. But what I yet am in this kind of my evil, have I confessed unto my good

Lord; rejoicing with trembling, in that which Thou hast given me, and bemoaning that wherein I am still

imperfect; hoping that Thou wilt perfect Thy mercies in me, even to perfect peace, which my outward and

There is another evil of the day, which I would were sufficient for it. For by eating and drinking we repair the

daily decays of our body, until Thou destroy both belly and meat, when Thou shalt slay my emptiness with a

wonderful fulness, and clothe this incorruptible with an eternal incorruption. But now the necessity is sweet

unto me, against which sweetness I fight, that I be not taken captive; and carry on a daily war by fastings;

often bringing my body into subjection; and my pains are removed by pleasure. For hunger and thirst are in a

manner pains; they burn and kill like a fever, unless the medicine of nourishments come to our aid. Which

since it is at hand through the consolations of Thy gifts, with which land, and water, and air serve our

This hast Thou taught me, that I should set myself to take food as physic. But while I am passing from the

discomfort of emptiness to the content of replenishing, in the very passage the snare of concupiscence besets

me. For that passing, is pleasure, nor is there any other way to pass thither, whither we needs must pass. And

health being the cause of eating and drinking, there joineth itself as an attendant a dangerous pleasure, which

mostly endeavours to go before it, so that I may for her sake do what I say I do, or wish to do, for health's

sake. Nor have each the same measure; for what is enough for health, is too little for pleasure. And oft it is

uncertain, whether it be the necessary care of the body which is yet asking for sustenance, or whether a

voluptuous deceivableness of greediness is proffering its services. In this uncertainty the unhappy soul

rejoiceth, and therein prepares an excuse to shield itself, glad that it appeareth not what sufficeth for the

moderation of health, that under the cloak of health, it may disguise the matter of gratification. These

temptations I daily endeavour to resist, and I call on Thy right hand, and to Thee do I refer my perplexities;

I hear the voice of my God commanding, Let not your hearts be overcharged with surfeiting and drunkenness.

Drunkenness is far from me; Thou wilt have mercy, that it come not near me. But full feeding sometimes

creepeth upon Thy servant; Thou wilt have mercy, that it may be far from me. For no one can be continent

unless Thou give it. Many things Thou givest us, praying for them; and what good soever we have received

before we prayed, from Thee we received it; yea to the end we might afterwards know this, did we before

receive it. Drunkard was I never, but drunkards have I known made sober by Thee. From Thee then it was,

that they who never were such, should not so be, as from Thee it was, that they who have been, should not

ever so be; and from Thee it was, that both might know from Whom it was. I heard another voice of Thine,

Go not after thy lusts, and from thy pleasure turn away. Yea by Thy favour have I heard that which I have

much loved; neither if we eat, shall we abound; neither if we eat not, shall we lack; which is to say, neither

shall the one make me plenteous, nor the other miserable. I heard also another, for I have learned in

whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content; I know how to abound, and how to suffer need. I can do all

things through Christ that strengtheneth me. Behold a soldier of the heavenly camp, not the dust which we

are. But remember, Lord, that we are dust, and that of dust Thou hast made man; and he was lost and is

found. Nor could he of himself do this, because he whom I so loved, saying this through the inbreathing of

Thy inspiration, was of the same dust. I can do all things (saith he) through Him that strengtheneth me.

Strengthen me, that I can. Give what Thou enjoinest, and enjoin what Thou wilt. He confesses to have

received, and when he glorieth, in the Lord he glorieth. Another have I heard begging that he might receive.

Take from me (saith he) the desires of the belly; whence it appeareth, O my holy God, that Thou givest, when

Thou hast taught me, good Father, that to the pure, all things are pure; but that it is evil unto the man that

eateth with offence; and, that every creature of Thine is good, and nothing to be refused, which is received

with thanksgiving; and that meat commendeth us not to God; and, that no man should judge us in meat or

drink; and, that he which eateth, let him not despise him that eateth not; and let not him that eateth not, judge

him that eateth. These things have I learned, thanks be to Thee, praise to Thee, my God, my Master, knocking

at my ears, enlightening my heart; deliver me out of all temptation. I fear not uncleanness of meat, but the

uncleanness of lusting. I know; that Noah was permitted to eat all kind of flesh that was good for food; that

Elijah was fed with flesh; that endued with an admirable abstinence, was not polluted by feeding on living

creatures, locusts. I know also that Esau was deceived by lusting for lentiles; and that David blamed himself

for desiring a draught of water; and that our King was tempted, not concerning flesh, but bread. And therefore

the people in the wilderness also deserved to be reproved, not for desiring flesh, but because, in the desire of

Placed then amid these temptations, I strive daily against concupiscence in eating and drinking. For it is not

of such nature that I can settle on cutting it off once for all, and never touching it afterward, as I could of

concubinage. The bridle of the throat then is to be held attempered between slackness and stiffness. And who

is he, O Lord, who is not some whit transported beyond the limits of necessity? whoever he is, he is a great

one; let him make Thy Name great. But I am not such, for I am a sinful man. Yet do I too magnify Thy name;

and He maketh intercession to Thee for my sins who hath overcome the world; numbering me among the

weak members of His body; because Thine eyes have seen that of Him which is imperfect, and in Thy book

With the allurements of smells, I am not much concerned. When absent, I do not miss them; when present, I

do not refuse them; yet ever ready to be without them. So I seem to myself; perchance I am deceived. For that

also is a mournful darkness whereby my abilities within me are hidden from me; so that my mind making

enquiry into herself of her own powers, ventures not readily to believe herself; because even what is in it is

mostly hidden, unless experience reveal it. And no one ought to be secure in that life, the whole whereof is

called a trial, that he who hath been capable of worse to be made better, may not likewise of better be made

The delights of the ear had more firmly entangled and subdued me; but Thou didst loosen and free me. Now,

in those melodies which Thy words breathe soul into, when sung with a sweet and attuned voice, I do a little

repose; yet not so as to be held thereby, but that I can disengage myself when I will. But with the words

which are their life and whereby they find admission into me, themselves seek in my affections a place of

some estimation, and I can scarcely assign them one suitable. For at one time I seem to myself to give them

more honour than is seemly, feeling our minds to be more holily and fervently raised unto a flame of

devotion, by the holy words themselves when thus sung, than when not; and that the several affections of our

spirit, by a sweet variety, have their own proper measures in the voice and singing, by some hidden

correspondence wherewith they are stirred up. But this contentment of the flesh, to which the soul must not

be given over to be enervated, doth oft beguile me, the sense not so waiting upon reason as patiently to follow

her; but having been admitted merely for her sake, it strives even to run before her, and lead her. Thus in

At other times, shunning overanxiously this very deception, I err in too great strictness; and sometimes to

that degree, as to wish the whole melody of sweet music which is used to David's Psalter, banished from my

ears, and the Church's too; and that mode seems to me safer, which I remember to have been often told me of

Athanasius, Bishop of Alexandria, who made the reader of the psalm utter it with so slight inflection of voice,

that it was nearer speaking than singing. Yet again, when I remember the tears I shed at the Psalmody of Thy

Church, in the beginning of my recovered faith; and how at this time I am moved, not with the singing, but

with the things sung, when they are sung with a clear voice and modulation most suitable, I acknowledge the

great use of this institution. Thus I fluctuate between peril of pleasure and approved wholesomeness; inclined

the rather (though not as pronouncing an irrevocable opinion) to approve of the usage of singing in the

church; that so by the delight of the ears the weaker minds may rise to the feeling of devotion. Yet when it

befalls me to be more moved with the voice than the words sung, I confess to have sinned penally, and then

had rather not hear music. See now my state; weep with me, and weep for me, ye, whoso regulate your

feelings within, as that good action ensues. For you who do not act, these things touch not you. But Thou, O

Lord my God, hearken; behold, and see, and have mercy and heal me, Thou, in whose presence I have

There remains the pleasure of these eyes of my flesh, on which to make my confessions in the hearing of the

ears of Thy temple, those brotherly and devout ears; and so to conclude the temptations of the lust of the

flesh, which yet assail me, groaning earnestly, and desiring to be clothed upon with my house from heaven.

The eyes love fair and varied forms, and bright and soft colours. Let not these occupy my soul; let God rather

occupy it, who made these things, very good indeed, yet is He my good, not they. And these affect me,

waking, the whole day, nor is any rest given me from them, as there is from musical, sometimes in silence,

from all voices. For this queen of colours, the light, bathing all which we behold, wherever I am through the

day, gliding by me in varied forms, soothes me when engaged on other things, and not observing it. And so

strongly doth it entwine itself, that if it be suddenly withdrawn, it is with longing sought for, and if absent

O Thou Light, which Tobias saw, when, these eyes closed, he taught his son the way of life; and himself went

before with the feet of charity, never swerving. Or which Isaac saw, when his fleshly eyes being heavy and

closed by old age, it was vouchsafed him, not knowingly, to bless his sons, but by blessing to know them. Or

which Jacob saw, when he also, blind through great age, with illumined heart, in the persons of his sons shed

light on the different races of the future people, in them foresignified; and laid his hands, mystically crossed,

upon his grandchildren by Joseph, not as their father by his outward eye corrected them, but as himself

inwardly discerned. This is the light, it is one, and all are one, who see and love it. But that corporeal light

whereof I spake, it seasoneth the life of this world for her blind lovers, with an enticing and dangerous

sweetness. But they who know how to praise Thee for it, "O allcreating Lord," take it up in Thy hymns, and

are not taken up with it in their sleep. Such would I be. These seductions of the eyes I resist, lest my feet

wherewith I walk upon Thy way be ensnared; and I lift up mine invisible eyes to Thee, that Thou wouldest

pluck my feet out of the snare. Thou dost ever and anon pluck them out, for they are ensnared. Thou ceasest

not to pluck them out, while I often entangle myself in the snares on all sides laid; because Thou that keepest

What innumerable toys, made by divers arts and manufactures, in our apparel, shoes, utensils and all sorts of

works, in pictures also and divers images, and these far exceeding all necessary and moderate use and all

pious meaning, have men added to tempt their own eyes withal; outwardly following what themselves make,

inwardly forsaking Him by whom themselves were made, and destroying that which themselves have been

made! But I, my God and my Glory, do hence also sing a hymn to Thee, and do consecrate praise to Him who

consecrateth me, because those beautiful patterns which through men's souls are conveyed into their cunning

hands, come from that Beauty, which is above our souls, which my soul day and night sigheth after. But the

framers and followers of the outward beauties derive thence the rule of judging of them, but not of using

them. And He is there, though they perceive Him not, that so they might not wander, but keep their strength

for Thee, and not scatter it abroad upon pleasurable weariness. And I, though I speak and see this, entangle

my steps with these outward beauties; but Thou pluckest me out, O Lord, Thou pluckest me out; because Thy

lovingkindness is before my eyes. For I am taken miserably, and Thou pluckest me out mercifully;

sometimes not perceiving it, when I had but lightly lighted upon them; otherwhiles with pain, because I had

To this is added another form of temptation more manifoldly dangerous. For besides that concupiscence of

the flesh which consisteth in the delight of all senses and pleasures, wherein its slaves, who go far from Thee,

waste and perish, the soul hath, through the same senses of the body, a certain vain and curious desire, veiled

under the title of knowledge and learning, not of delighting in the flesh, but of making experiments through

the flesh. The seat whereof being in the appetite of knowledge, and sight being the sense chiefly used for

attaining knowledge, it is in Divine language called The lust of the eyes. For, to see, belongeth properly to the

eyes; yet we use this word of the other senses also, when we employ them in seeking knowledge. For we do

not say, hark how it flashes, or smell how it glows, or taste how it shines, or feel how it gleams; for all these

are said to be seen. And yet we say not only, see how it shineth, which the eyes alone can perceive; but also,

see how it soundeth, see how it smelleth, see how it tasteth, see how hard it is. And so the general experience

of the senses, as was said, is called The lust of the eyes, because the office of seeing, wherein the eyes hold

the prerogative, the other senses by way of similitude take to themselves, when they make search after any

But by this may more evidently be discerned, wherein pleasure and wherein curiosity is the object of the

senses; for pleasure seeketh objects beautiful, melodious, fragrant, savoury, soft; but curiosity, for trial's sake,

the contrary as well, not for the sake of suffering annoyance, but out of the lust of making trial and knowing

them. For what pleasure hath it, to see in a mangled carcase what will make you shudder? and yet if it be

lying near, they flock thither, to be made sad, and to turn pale. Even in sleep they are afraid to see it. As if

when awake, any one forced them to see it, or any report of its beauty drew them thither! Thus also in the

other senses, which it were long to go through. From this disease of curiosity are all those strange sights

exhibited in the theatre. Hence men go on to search out the hidden powers of nature (which is besides our

end), which to know profits not, and wherein men desire nothing but to know. Hence also, if with that same

end of perverted knowledge magical arts be enquired by. Hence also in religion itself, is God tempted, when

signs and wonders are demanded of Him, not desired for any good end, but merely to make trial of.

In this so vast wilderness, full of snares and dangers, behold many of them I have cut off, and thrust out of

my heart, as Thou hast given me, O God of my salvation. And yet when dare I say, since so many things of

this kind buzz on all sides about our daily life when dare I say that nothing of this sort engages my attention,

or causes in me an idle interest? True, the theatres do not now carry me away, nor care I to know the courses

of the stars, nor did my soul ever consult ghosts departed; all sacrilegious mysteries I detest. From Thee, O

Lord my God, to whom I owe humble and singlehearted service, by what artifices and suggestions doth the

enemy deal with me to desire some sign! But I beseech Thee by our King, and by our pure and holy country,

Jerusalem, that as any consenting thereto is far from me, so may it ever be further and further. But when I

pray Thee for the salvation of any, my end and intention is far different. Thou givest and wilt give me to

Notwithstanding, in how many most petty and contemptible things is our curiosity daily tempted, and how

often we give way, who can recount? How often do we begin as if we were tolerating people telling vain

stories, lest we offend the weak; then by degrees we take interest therein! I go not now to the circus to see a

dog coursing a hare; but in the field, if passing, that coursing peradventure will distract me even from some

weighty thought, and draw me after it: not that I turn aside the body of my beast, yet still incline my mind

thither. And unless Thou, having made me see my infirmity didst speedily admonish me either through the

sight itself by some contemplation to rise towards Thee, or altogether to despise and pass it by, I dully stand

fixed therein. What, when sitting at home, a lizard catching flies, or a spider entangling them rushing into her

nets, ofttimes takes my attention? Is the thing different, because they are but small creatures? I go on from

them to praise Thee the wonderful Creator and Orderer of all, but this does not first draw my attention. It is

one thing to rise quickly, another not to fall. And of such things is my life full; and my one hope is Thy

wonderful great mercy. For when our heart becomes the receptacle of such things, and is overcharged with

throngs of this abundant vanity, then are our prayers also thereby often interrupted and distracted, and whilst

in Thy presence we direct the voice of our heart to Thine ears, this so great concern is broken off by the

rushing in of I know not what idle thoughts. Shall we then account this also among things of slight

concernment, or shall aught bring us back to hope, save Thy complete mercy, since Thou hast begun to

And Thou knowest how far Thou hast already changed me, who first healedst me of the lust of vindicating

myself, that so Thou mightest forgive all the rest of my iniquities, and heal all my infirmities, and redeem life

from corruption, and crown me with mercy and pity, and satisfy my desire with good things: who didst curb

my pride with Thy fear, and tame my neck to Thy yoke. And now I bear it and it is light unto me, because so

hast Thou promised, and hast made it; and verily so it was, and I knew it not, when I feared to take it.

But, O Lord, Thou alone Lord without pride, because Thou art the only true Lord, who hast no lord; hath this

third kind of temptation also ceased from me, or can it cease through this whole life? To wish, namely, to be

feared and loved of men, for no other end, but that we may have a joy therein which is no joy? A miserable

life this and a foul boastfulness! Hence especially it comes that men do neither purely love nor fear Thee.

And therefore dost Thou resist the proud, and givest grace to the humble: yea, Thou thunderest down upon

the ambitions of the world, and the foundations of the mountains tremble. Because now certain offices of

human society make it necessary to be loved and feared of men, the adversary of our true blessedness layeth

hard at us, every where spreading his snares of "welldone, welldone"; that greedily catching at them, we

may be taken unawares, and sever our joy from Thy truth, and set it in the deceivingness of men; and be

pleased at being loved and feared, not for Thy sake, but in Thy stead: and thus having been made like him, he

may have them for his own, not in the bands of charity, but in the bonds of punishment: who purposed to set

his throne in the north, that dark and chilled they might serve him, pervertedly and crookedly imitating Thee.

But we, O Lord, behold we are Thy little flock; possess us as Thine, stretch Thy wings over us, and let us fly

under them. Be Thou our glory; let us be loved for Thee, and Thy word feared in us. Who would be praised

of men when Thou blamest, will not be defended of men when Thou judgest; nor delivered when Thou

condemnest. But when not the sinner is praised in the desires of his soul, nor he blessed who doth ungodlily,

but a man is praised for some gift which Thou hast given him, and he rejoices more at the praise for himself

than that he hath the gift for which he is praised, he also is praised, while Thou dispraisest; better is he who

praised than he who is praised. For the one took pleasure in the gift of God in man; the other was better

By these temptations we are assailed daily, O Lord; without ceasing are we assailed. Our daily furnace is the

tongue of men. And in this way also Thou commandest us continence. Give what Thou enjoinest, and enjoin

what Thou wilt. Thou knowest on this matter the groans of my heart, and the floods of mine eyes. For I

cannot learn how far I am more cleansed from this plague, and I much fear my secret sins, which Thine eyes

know, mine do not. For in other kinds of temptations I have some sort of means of examining myself; in this,

scarce any. For, in refraining my mind from the pleasures of the flesh and idle curiosity, I see how much I

have attained to, when I do without them; foregoing, or not having them. For then I ask myself how much

more or less troublesome it is to me not to have them? Then, riches, which are desired, that they may serve to

some one or two or all of the three concupiscences, if the soul cannot discern whether, when it hath them, it

despiseth them, they may be cast aside, that so it may prove itself. But to be without praise, and therein essay

our powers, must we live ill, yea so abandonedly and atrociously, that no one should know without detesting

us? What greater madness can be said or thought of? But if praise useth and ought to accompany a good life

and good works, we ought as little to forego its company, as good life itself. Yet I know not whether I can

What then do I confess unto Thee in this kind of temptation, O Lord? What, but that I am delighted with

praise, but with truth itself, more than with praise? For were it proposed to me, whether I would, being

frenzied in error on all things, be praised by all men, or being consistent and most settled in the truth be

blamed by all, I see which I should choose. Yet fain would I that the approbation of another should not even

increase my joy for any good in me. Yet I own, it doth increase it, and not so only, but dispraise doth

diminish it. And when I am troubled at this my misery, an excuse occurs to me, which of what value it is,

Thou God knowest, for it leaves me uncertain. For since Thou hast commanded us not continency alone, that

is, from what things to refrain our love, but righteousness also, that is, whereon to bestow it, and hast willed

us to love not Thee only, but our neighbour also; often, when pleased with intelligent praise, I seem to myself

to be pleased with the proficiency or towardliness of my neighbour, or to be grieved for evil in him, when I

hear him dispraise either what he understands not, or is good. For sometimes I am grieved at my own praise,

either when those things be praised in me, in which I mislike myself, or even lesser and slight goods are more

esteemed than they ought. But again how know I whether I am therefore thus affected, because I would not

have him who praiseth me differ from me about myself; not as being influenced by concern for him, but

because those same good things which please me in myself, please me more when they please another also?

For some how I am not praised when my judgment of myself is not praised; forasmuch as either those things

are praised, which displease me; or those more, which please me less. Am I then doubtful of myself in this

Behold, in Thee, O Truth, I see that I ought not to be moved at my own praises, for my own sake, but for the

good of my neighbour. And whether it be so with me, I know not. For herein I know less of myself than of

Thee. I beseech now, O my God, discover to me myself also, that I may confess unto my brethren, who are to

pray for me, wherein I find myself maimed. Let me examine myself again more diligently. If in my praise I

am moved with the good of my neighbour, why am I less moved if another be unjustly dispraised than if it be

myself? Why am I more stung by reproach cast upon myself, than at that cast upon another, with the same

injustice, before me? Know I not this also? or is it at last that I deceive myself, and do not the truth before

Thee in my heart and tongue? This madness put far from me, O Lord, lest mine own mouth be to me the

sinner's oil to make fat my head. I am poor and needy; yet best, while in hidden groanings I displease myself,

and seek Thy mercy, until what is lacking in my defective state be renewed and perfected, on to that peace

Yet the word which cometh out of the mouth, and deeds known to men, bring with them a most dangerous

temptation through the love of praise: which, to establish a certain excellency of our own, solicits and collects

men's suffrages. It tempts, even when it is reproved by myself in myself, on the very ground that it is

reproved; and often glories more vainly of the very contempt of vainglory; and so it is no longer contempt

Within also, within is another evil, arising out of a like temptation; whereby men become vain, pleasing

themselves in themselves, though they please not, or displease or care not to please others. But pleasing

themselves, they much displease Thee, not only taking pleasure in things not good, as if good, but in Thy

good things, as though their own; or even if as Thine, yet as though for their own merits; or even if as though

from Thy grace, yet not with brotherly rejoicing, but envying that grace to others. In all these and the like

perils and travails, Thou seest the trembling of my heart; and I rather feel my wounds to be cured by Thee,

Where hast Thou not walked with me, O Truth, teaching me what to beware, and what to desire; when I

referred to Thee what I could discover here below, and consulted Thee? With my outward senses, as I might,

I surveyed the world, and observed the life, which my body hath from me, and these my senses. Thence

entered I the recesses of my memory, those manifold and spacious chambers, wonderfully furnished with

innumerable stores; and I considered, and stood aghast; being able to discern nothing of these things without

Thee, and finding none of them to be Thee. Nor was I myself, who found out these things, who went over

them all, and laboured to distinguish and to value every thing according to its dignity, taking some things

upon the report of my senses, questioning about others which I felt to be mingled with myself, numbering and

distinguishing the reporters themselves, and in the large treasurehouse of my memory revolving some

things, storing up others, drawing out others. Nor yet was I myself when I did this, i.e., that my power

whereby I did it, neither was it Thou, for Thou art the abiding light, which I consulted concerning all these,

whether they were, what they were, and how to be valued; and I heard Thee directing and commanding me;

and this I often do, this delights me, and as far as I may be freed from necessary duties, unto this pleasure

have I recourse. Nor in all these which I run over consulting Thee can I find any safe place for my soul, but in

Thee; whither my scattered members may be gathered, and nothing of me depart from Thee. And sometimes

Thou admittest me to an affection, very unusual, in my inmost soul; rising to a strange sweetness, which if it

were perfected in me, I know not what in it would not belong to the life to come. But through my miserable

encumbrances I sink down again into these lower things, and am swept back by former custom, and am held,

and greatly weep, but am greatly held. So much doth the burden of a bad custom weigh us down. Here I can

Thus then have I considered the sicknesses of my sins in that threefold concupiscence, and have called Thy

right hand to my help. For with a wounded heart have I beheld Thy brightness, and stricken back I said,

"Who can attain thither? I am cast away from the sight of Thine eyes." Thou art the Truth who presidest over

all, but I through my covetousness would not indeed forego Thee, but would with Thee possess a lie; as no

man would in such wise speak falsely, as himself to be ignorant of the truth. So then I lost Thee, because

Whom could I find to reconcile me to Thee? was I to have recourse to Angels? by what prayers? by what

sacraments? Many endeavouring to return unto Thee, and of themselves unable, have, as I hear, tried this, and

fallen into the desire of curious visions, and been accounted worthy to be deluded. For they, being high

minded, sought Thee by the pride of learning, swelling out rather than smiting upon their breasts, and so by

the agreement of their heart, drew unto themselves the princes of the air, the fellowconspirators of their

pride, by whom, through magical influences, they were deceived, seeking a mediator, by whom they might be

purged, and there was none. For the devil it was, transforming himself into an Angel of light. And it much

enticed proud flesh, that he had no body of flesh. For they were mortal, and sinners; but thou, Lord, to whom

they proudly sought to be reconciled, art immortal, and without sin. But a mediator between God and man

must have something like to God, something like to men; lest being in both like to man, he should he far from

God: or if in both like God, too unlike man: and so not be a mediator. That deceitful mediator then, by whom

in Thy secret judgments pride deserved to be deluded, hath one thing in common with man, that is sin;

another he would seem to have in common with God; and not being clothed with the mortality of flesh,

would vaunt himself to be immortal. But since the wages of sin is death, this hath he in common with men,

But the true Mediator, Whom in Thy secret mercy Thou hast showed to the humble, and sentest, that by His

example also they might learn that same humility, that Mediator between God and man, the Man Christ Jesus,

appeared betwixt mortal sinners and the immortal just One; mortal with men, just with God: that because the

wages of righteousness is life and peace, He might by a righteousness conjoined with God make void that

death of sinners, now made righteous, which He willed to have in common with them. Hence He was showed

forth to holy men of old; that so they, through faith in His Passion to come, as we through faith of it passed,

might be saved. For as Man, He was a Mediator; but as the Word, not in the middle between God and man,

How hast Thou loved us, good Father, who sparedst not Thine only Son, but deliveredst Him up for us

ungodly! How hast Thou loved us, for whom He that thought it no robbery to be equal with Thee, was made

subject even to the death of the cross, He alone, free among the dead, having power to lay down His life, and

power to take it again: for us to Thee both Victor and Victim, and therefore Victor, because the Victim; for us

to Thee Priest and Sacrifice, and therefore Priest because the Sacrifice; making us to Thee, of servants, sons

by being born of Thee, and serving us. Well then is my hope strong in Him, that Thou wilt heal all my

infirmities, by Him Who sitteth at Thy right hand and maketh intercession for us; else should I despair. For

many and great are my infirmities, many they are, and great; but Thy medicine is mightier. We might imagine

that Thy Word was far from any union with man, and despair of ourselves, unless He had been made flesh

Affrighted with my sins and the burden of my misery, I had cast in my heart, and had purposed to flee to the

wilderness: but Thou forbadest me, and strengthenedst me, saying, Therefore Christ died for all, that they

which live may now no longer live unto themselves, but unto Him that died for them. See, Lord, I cast my

care upon Thee, that I may live, and consider wondrous things out of Thy law. Thou knowest my

unskilfulness, and my infirmities; teach me, and heal me. He, Thine only Son, in Whom are hid all the

treasures of wisdom and knowledge, hath redeemed me with His blood. Let not the proud speak evil of me;

because I meditate on my ransom, and eat and drink, and communicate it; and poor, desired to be satisfied

from Him, amongst those that eat and are satisfied, and they shall praise the Lord who seek Him.

Lord, since eternity is Thine, art Thou ignorant of what I say to Thee? or dost Thou see in time, what passeth

in time? Why then do I lay in order before Thee so many relations? Not, of a truth, that Thou mightest learn

them through me, but to stir up mine own and my readers' devotions towards Thee, that we may all say, Great

is the Lord, and greatly to be praised. I have said already; and again will say, for love of Thy love do I this.

For we pray also, and yet Truth hath said, Your Father knoweth what you have need of, before you ask. It is

then our affections which we lay open unto Thee, confessing our own miseries, and Thy mercies upon us, that

Thou mayest free us wholly, since Thou hast begun, that we may cease to be wretched in ourselves, and be

blessed in Thee; seeing Thou hast called us, to become poor in spirit, and meek, and mourners, and hungering

and athirst after righteousness, and merciful, and pure in heart, and peacemakers. See, I have told Thee

many things, as I could and as I would, because Thou first wouldest that I should confess unto Thee, my Lord

But how shall I suffice with the tongue of my pen to utter all Thy exhortations, and all Thy terrors, and

comforts, and guidances, whereby Thou broughtest me to preach Thy Word, and dispense Thy Sacrament to

Thy people? And if I suffice to utter them in order, the drops of time are precious with me; and long have I

burned to meditate in Thy law, and therein to confess to Thee my skill and unskilfulness, the daybreak of Thy

enlightening, and the remnants of my darkness, until infirmity be swallowed up by strength. And I would not

have aught besides steal away those hours which I find free from the necessities of refreshing my body and

the powers of my mind, and of the service which we owe to men, or which though we owe not, we yet pay.

O Lord my god, give ear unto my prayer, and let Thy mercy hearken unto my desire: because it is anxious not

for myself alone, but would serve brotherly charity; and Thou seest my heart, that so it is. I would sacrifice to

Thee the service of my thought and tongue; do Thou give me, what I may offer Thee. For I am poor and

needy, Thou rich to all that call upon Thee; Who, inaccessible to care, carest for us. Circumcise from all

rashness and all lying both my inward and outward lips: let Thy Scriptures be my pure delights: let me not be

deceived in them, nor deceive out of them. Lord, hearken and pity, O Lord my God, Light of the blind, and

Strength of the weak; yea also Light of those that see, and Strength of the strong; hearken unto my soul, and

hear it crying out of the depths. For if Thine ears be not with us in the depths also, whither shall we go?

whither cry? The day is Thine, and the night is Thine; at Thy beck the moments flee by. Grant thereof a space

for our meditations in the hidden things of Thy law, and close it not against us who knock. For not in vain

wouldest Thou have the darksome secrets of so many pages written; nor are those forests without their harts

which retire therein and range and walk; feed, lie down, and ruminate. Perfect me, O Lord, and reveal them

unto me. Behold, Thy voice is my joy; Thy voice exceedeth the abundance of pleasures. Give what I love: for

I do love; and this hast Thou given: forsake not Thy own gifts, nor despise Thy green herb that thirsteth. Let

me confess unto Thee whatsoever I shall find in Thy books, and hear the voice of praise, and drink in Thee,

and meditate on the wonderful things out of Thy law; even from the beginning, wherein Thou madest the

Lord, have mercy on me, and hear my desire. For it is not, I deem, of the earth, not of gold and silver, and

precious stones, or gorgeous apparel, or honours and offices, or the pleasures of the flesh, or necessaries for

the body and for this life of our pilgrimage: all which shall be added unto those that seek Thy kingdom and

Thy righteousness. Behold, O Lord my God, wherein is my desire. The wicked have told me of delights, but

not such as Thy law, O Lord. Behold, wherein is my desire. Behold, Father, behold, and see and approve; and

be it pleasing in the sight of Thy mercy, that I may find grace before Thee, that the inward parts of Thy words

be opened to me knocking. I beseech by our Lord Jesus Christ Thy Son, the Man of Thy right hand, the Son

of man, whom Thou hast established for Thyself, as Thy Mediator and ours, through Whom Thou soughtest

us, not seeking Thee, but soughtest us, that we might seek Thee, Thy Word, through Whom Thou madest all

things, and among them, me also; Thy OnlyBegotten, through Whom Thou calledst to adoption the

believing people, and therein me also; I beseech Thee by Him, who sitteth at Thy right hand, and

intercedeth with Thee for us, in Whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge. These do I

seek in Thy books. Of Him did Moses write; this saith Himself; this saith the Truth.

I would hear and understand, how "In the Beginning Thou madest the heaven and earth." Moses wrote this,

wrote and departed, passed hence from Thee to Thee; nor is he now before me. For if he were, I would hold

him and ask him, and beseech him by Thee to open these things unto me, and would lay the ears of my body

to the sounds bursting out of his mouth. And should he speak Hebrew, in vain will it strike on my senses, nor

would aught of it touch my mind; but if Latin, I should know what he said. But whence should I know,

whether he spake truth? Yea, and if I knew this also, should I know it from him? Truly within me, within, in

the chamber of my thoughts, Truth, neither Hebrew, nor Greek, nor Latin, nor barbarian, without organs of

voice or tongue, or sound of syllables, would say, "It is truth," and I forthwith should say confidently to that

man of Thine, "thou sayest truly." Whereas then I cannot enquire of him, Thee, Thee I beseech, O Truth, full

of Whom he spake truth, Thee, my God, I beseech, forgive my sins; and Thou, who gavest him Thy servant

Behold, the heavens and the earth are; they proclaim that they were created; for they change and vary.

Whereas whatsoever hath not been made, and yet is, hath nothing in it, which before it had not; and this it is,

to change and vary. They proclaim also, that they made not themselves; "therefore we are, because we have

been made; we were not therefore, before we were, so as to make ourselves." Now the evidence of the thing,

is the voice of the speakers. Thou therefore, Lord, madest them; who art beautiful, for they are beautiful; who

art good, for they are good; who art, for they are; yet are they not beautiful nor good, nor are they, as Thou

their Creator art; compared with Whom, they are neither beautiful, nor good, nor are. This we know, thanks

But how didst Thou make the heaven and the earth? and what the engine of Thy so mighty fabric? For it was

not as a human artificer, forming one body from another, according to the discretion of his mind, which can

in some way invest with such a form, as it seeth in itself by its inward eye. And whence should he be able to

do this, unless Thou hadst made that mind? and he invests with a form what already existeth, and hath a

being, as clay, or stone, or wood, or gold, or the like. And whence should they be, hadst not Thou appointed

them? Thou madest the artificer his body, Thou the mind commanding the limbs, Thou the matter whereof he

makes any thing; Thou the apprehension whereby to take in his art, and see within what he doth without;

Thou the sense of his body, whereby, as by an interpreter, he may from mind to matter, convey that which he

doth, and report to his mind what is done; that it within may consult the truth, which presideth over itself,

whether it be well done or no. All these praise Thee, the Creator of all. But how dost Thou make them? how,

O God, didst Thou make heaven and earth? Verily, neither in the heaven, nor in the earth, didst Thou make

heaven and earth; nor in the air, or waters, seeing these also belong to the heaven and the earth; nor in the

whole world didst Thou make the whole world; because there was no place where to make it, before it was

made, that it might be. Nor didst Thou hold any thing in Thy hand, whereof to make heaven and earth. For

whence shouldest Thou have this, which Thou hadst not made, thereof to make any thing? For what is, but

because Thou art? Therefore Thou spokest, and they were made, and in Thy Word Thou madest them.

But how didst Thou speak? In the way that the voice came out of the cloud, saying, This is my beloved Son?

For that voice passed by and passed away, began and ended; the syllables sounded and passed away, the

second after the first, the third after the second, and so forth in order, until the last after the rest, and silence

after the last. Whence it is abundantly clear and plain that the motion of a creature expressed it, itself

temporal, serving Thy eternal will. And these Thy words, created for a time, the outward ear reported to the

intelligent soul, whose inward ear lay listening to Thy Eternal Word. But she compared these words sounding

in time, with that Thy Eternal Word in silence, and said "It is different, far different. These words are far

beneath me, nor are they, because they flee and pass away; but the Word of my Lord abideth above me for

ever." If then in sounding and passing words Thou saidst that heaven and earth should be made, and so

madest heaven and earth, there was a corporeal creature before heaven and earth, by whose motions in time

that voice might take his course in time. But there was nought corporeal before heaven and earth; or if there

were, surely Thou hadst, without such a passing voice, created that, whereof to make this passing voice, by

which to say, Let the heaven and the earth be made. For whatsoever that were, whereof such a voice were

made, unless by Thee it were made, it could not be at all. By what Word then didst Thou speak, that a body

Thou callest us then to understand the Word, God, with Thee God, Which is spoken eternally, and by It are

all things spoken eternally. For what was spoken was not spoken successively, one thing concluded that the

next might be spoken, but all things together and eternally. Else have we time and change; and not a true

eternity nor true immortality. This I know, O my God, and give thanks. I know, I confess to Thee, O Lord,

and with me there knows and blesses Thee, whoso is not unthankful to assure Truth. We know, Lord, we

know; since inasmuch as anything is not which was, and is, which was not, so far forth it dieth and ariseth.

Nothing then of Thy Word doth give place or replace, because It is truly immortal and eternal. And therefore

unto the Word coeternal with Thee Thou dost at once and eternally say all that Thou dost say; and whatever

Thou sayest shall be made is made; nor dost Thou make, otherwise than by saying; and yet are not all things

Why, I beseech Thee, O Lord my God? I see it in a way; but how to express it, I know not, unless it be, that

whatsoever begins to be, and leaves off to be, begins then, and leaves off then, when in Thy eternal Reason it

is known, that it ought to begin or leave off; in which Reason nothing beginneth or leaveth off. This is Thy

Word, which is also "the Beginning, because also It speaketh unto us." Thus in the Gospel He speaketh

through the flesh; and this sounded outwardly in the ears of men; that it might be believed and sought

inwardly, and found in the eternal Verity; where the good and only Master teacheth all His disciples. There,

Lord, hear I Thy voice speaking unto me; because He speaketh us, who teacheth us; but He that teacheth us

not, though He speaketh, to us He speaketh not. Who now teacheth us, but the unchangeable Truth? for even

when we are admonished through a changeable creature; we are but led to the unchangeable Truth; where we

learn truly, while we stand and hear Him, and rejoice greatly because of the Bridegroom's voice, restoring us

to Him, from Whom we are. And therefore the Beginning, because unless It abided, there should not, when

we went astray, be whither to return. But when we return from error, it is through knowing; and that we may

In this Beginning, O God, hast Thou made heaven and earth, in Thy Word, in Thy Son, in Thy Power, in Thy

Wisdom, in Thy Truth; wondrously speaking, and wondrously making. Who shall comprehend? Who declare

it? What is that which gleams through me, and strikes my heart without hurting it; and I shudder and kindle? I

shudder, inasmuch as I unlike it; I kindle, inasmuch as I am like it. It is Wisdom, Wisdom's self which

gleameth through me; severing my cloudiness which yet again mantles over me, fainting from it, through the

darkness which for my punishment gathers upon me. For my strength is brought down in need, so that I

cannot support my blessings, till Thou, Lord, Who hast been gracious to all mine iniquities, shalt heal all my

infirmities. For Thou shalt also redeem my life from corruption, and crown me with loving kindness and

tender mercies, and shalt satisfy my desire with good things, because my youth shall be renewed like an

eagle's. For in hope we are saved, wherefore we through patience wait for Thy promises. Let him that is able,

hear Thee inwardly discoursing out of Thy oracle: I will boldly cry out, How wonderful are Thy works, O

Lord, in Wisdom hast Thou made them all; and this Wisdom is the Beginning, and in that Beginning didst

Lo, are they not full of their old leaven, who say to us, "What was God doing before He made heaven and

earth? For if (say they) He were unemployed and wrought not, why does He not also henceforth, and for ever,

as He did heretofore? For did any new motion arise in God, and a new will to make a creature, which He had

never before made, how then would that be a true eternity, where there ariseth a will, which was not? For the

will of God is not a creature, but before the creature; seeing nothing could be created, unless the will of the

Creator had preceded. The will of God then belongeth to His very Substance. And if aught have arisen in

God's Substance, which before was not, that Substance cannot be truly called eternal. But if the will of God

has been from eternity that the creature should be, why was not the creature also from eternity?"

Who speak thus, do not yet understand Thee, O Wisdom of God, Light of souls, understand not yet how the

things be made, which by Thee, and in Thee are made: yet they strive to comprehend things eternal, whilst

their heart fluttereth between the motions of things past and to come, and is still unstable. Who shall hold it,

and fix it, that it be settled awhile, and awhile catch the glory of that everfixed Eternity, and compare it with

the times which are never fixed, and see that it cannot be compared; and that a long time cannot become long,

but out of many motions passing by, which cannot be prolonged altogether; but that in the Eternal nothing

passeth, but the whole is present; whereas no time is all at once present: and that all time past, is driven on by

time to come, and all to come followeth upon the past; and all past and to come, is created, and flows out of

that which is ever present? Who shall hold the heart of man, that it may stand still, and see how eternity ever

stillstanding, neither past nor to come, uttereth the times past and to come? Can my hand do this, or the

See, I answer him that asketh, "What did God before He made heaven and earth?" I answer not as one is said

to have done merrily (eluding the pressure of the question), "He was preparing hell (saith he) for pryers into

mysteries." It is one thing to answer enquiries, another to make sport of enquirers. So I answer not; for rather

had I answer, "I know not," what I know not, than so as to raise a laugh at him who asketh deep things and

gain praise for one who answereth false things. But I say that Thou, our God, art the Creator of every

creature: and if by the name "heaven and earth," every creature be understood; I boldly say, "that before God

made heaven and earth, He did not make any thing." For if He made, what did He make but a creature? And

would I knew whatsoever I desire to know to my profit, as I know, that no creature was made, before there

But if any excursive brain rove over the images of forepassed times, and wonder that Thou the God Almighty

and Allcreating and Allsupporting, Maker of heaven and earth, didst for innumerable ages forbear from so

great a work, before Thou wouldest make it; let him awake and consider, that he wonders at false conceits.

For whence could innumerable ages pass by, which Thou madest not, Thou the Author and Creator of all

ages? or what times should there be, which were not made by Thee? or how should they pass by, if they never

were? Seeing then Thou art the Creator of all times, if any time was before Thou madest heaven and earth,

why say they that Thou didst forego working? For that very time didst Thou make, nor could times pass by,

before Thou madest those times. But if before heaven and earth there was no time, why is it demanded, what

Nor dost Thou by time, precede time: else shouldest Thou not precede all times. But Thou precedest all

things past, by the sublimity of an everpresent eternity; and surpassest all future because they are future, and

when they come, they shall be past; but Thou art the Same, and Thy years fail not. Thy years neither come

nor go; whereas ours both come and go, that they all may come. Thy years stand together, because they do

stand; nor are departing thrust out by coming years, for they pass not away; but ours shall all be, when they

shall no more be. Thy years are one day; and Thy day is not daily, but Today, seeing Thy Today gives not

place unto tomorrow, for neither doth it replace yesterday. Thy Today, is Eternity; therefore didst Thou

beget The Coeternal, to whom Thou saidst, This day have I begotten Thee. Thou hast made all things; and

At no time then hadst Thou not made any thing, because time itself Thou madest. And no times are coeternal

with Thee, because Thou abidest; but if they abode, they should not be times. For what is time? Who can

readily and briefly explain this? Who can even in thought comprehend it, so as to utter a word about it? But

what in discourse do we mention more familiarly and knowingly, than time? And, we understand, when we

speak of it; we understand also, when we hear it spoken of by another. What then is time? If no one asks me,

I know: if I wish to explain it to one that asketh, I know not: yet I say boldly that I know, that if nothing

passed away, time past were not; and if nothing were coming, a time to come were not; and if nothing were,

time present were not. Those two times then, past and to come, how are they, seeing the past now is not, and

that to come is not yet? But the present, should it always be present, and never pass into time past, verily it

should not be time, but eternity. If time present (if it is to be time) only cometh into existence, because it

passeth into time past, how can we say that either this is, whose cause of being is, that it shall not be; so,

namely, that we cannot truly say that time is, but because it is tending not to be?

And yet we say, "a long time" and "a short time"; still, only of time past or to come. A long time past (for

example) we call an hundred years since; and a long time to come, an hundred years hence. But a short time

past, we call (suppose) often days since; and a short time to come, often days hence. But in what sense is that

long or short, which is not? For the past, is not now; and the future, is not yet. Let us not then say, "it is long";

but of the past, "it hath been long"; and of the future, "it will be long." O my Lord, my Light, shall not here

also Thy Truth mock at man? For that past time which was long, was it long when it was now past, or when it

was yet present? For then might it be long, when there was, what could be long; but when past, it was no

longer; wherefore neither could that be long, which was not at all. Let us not then say, "time past hath been

long": for we shall not find, what hath been long, seeing that since it was past, it is no more, but let us say,

"that present time was long"; because, when it was present, it was long. For it had not yet passed away, so as

not to be; and therefore there was, what could be long; but after it was past, that ceased also to be long, which

Let us see then, thou soul of man, whether present time can be long: for to thee it is given to feel and to

measure length of time. What wilt thou answer me? Are an hundred years, when present, a long time? See

first, whether an hundred years can be present. For if the first of these years be now current, it is present, but

the other ninety and nine are to come, and therefore are not yet, but if the second year be current, one is now

past, another present, the rest to come. And so if we assume any middle year of this hundred to be present, all

before it, are past; all after it, to come; wherefore an hundred years cannot be present. But see at least whether

that one which is now current, itself is present; for if the current month be its first, the rest are to come; if the

second, the first is already past, and the rest are not yet. Therefore, neither is the year now current present;

and if not present as a whole, then is not the year present. For twelve months are a year; of which whatever

by the current month is present; the rest past, or to come. Although neither is that current month present; but

one day only; the rest being to come, if it be the first; past, if the last; if any of the middle, then amid past and

See how the present time, which alone we found could be called long, is abridged to the length scarce of one

day. But let us examine that also; because neither is one day present as a whole. For it is made up of four and

twenty hours of night and day: of which, the first hath the rest to come; the last hath them past; and any of the

middle hath those before it past, those behind it to come. Yea, that one hour passeth away in flying particles.

Whatsoever of it hath flown away, is past; whatsoever remaineth, is to come. If an instant of time be

conceived, which cannot be divided into the smallest particles of moments, that alone is it, which may be

called present. Which yet flies with such speed from future to past, as not to be lengthened out with the least

stay. For if it be, it is divided into past and future. The present hath no space. Where then is the time, which

we may call long? Is it to come? Of it we do not say, "it is long"; because it is not yet, so as to be long; but

we say, "it will be long." When therefore will it be? For if even then, when it is yet to come, it shall not be

long (because what can be long, as yet is not), and so it shall then be long, when from future which as yet is

not, it shall begin now to be, and have become present, that so there should exist what may be long; then does

And yet, Lord, we perceive intervals of times, and compare them, and say, some are shorter, and others

longer. We measure also, how much longer or shorter this time is than that; and we answer, "This is double,

or treble; and that, but once, or only just so much as that." But we measure times as they are passing, by

perceiving them; but past, which now are not, or the future, which are not yet, who can measure? unless a

man shall presume to say, that can be measured, which is not. When then time is passing, it may be perceived

I ask, Father, I affirm not: O my God, rule and guide me. "Who will tell me that there are not three times (as

we learned when boys, and taught boys), past, present, and future; but present only, because those two are

not? Or are they also; and when from future it becometh present, doth it come out of some secret place; and

so, when retiring, from present it becometh past? For where did they, who foretold things to come, see them,

if as yet they be not? For that which is not, cannot be seen. And they who relate things past, could not relate

them, if in mind they did not discern them, and if they were not, they could no way be discerned. Things then

Permit me, Lord, to seek further. O my hope, let not my purpose be confounded. For if times past and to

come be, I would know where they be. Which yet if I cannot, yet I know, wherever they be, they are not there

as future, or past, but present. For if there also they be future, they are not yet there; if there also they be past,

they are no longer there. Wheresoever then is whatsoever is, it is only as present. Although when past facts

are related, there are drawn out of the memory, not the things themselves which are past, but words which,

conceived by the images of the things, they, in passing, have through the senses left as traces in the mind.

Thus my childhood, which now is not, is in time past, which now is not: but now when I recall its image, and

tell of it, I behold it in the present, because it is still in my memory. Whether there be a like cause of

foretelling things to come also; that of things which as yet are not, the images may be perceived before,

already existing, I confess, O my God, I know not. This indeed I know, that we generally think before on our

future actions, and that that forethinking is present, but the action whereof we forethink is not yet, because it

is to come. Which, when we have set upon, and have begun to do what we were forethinking, then shall that

Which way soever then this secret foreperceiving of things to come be; that only can be seen, which is. But

what now is, is not future, but present. When then things to come are said to be seen, it is not themselves

which as yet are not (that is, which are to be), but their causes perchance or signs are seen, which already are.

Therefore they are not future but present to those who now see that, from which the future, being

foreconceived in the mind, is foretold. Which foreconceptions again now are; and those who foretell those

things, do behold the conceptions present before them. Let now the numerous variety of things furnish me

some example. I behold the daybreak, I foreshow, that the sun, is about to rise. What I behold, is present;

what I foresignify, to come; not the sun, which already is; but the sunrising, which is not yet. And yet did I

not in my mind imagine the sunrising itself (as now while I speak of it), I could not foretell it. But neither is

that daybreak which I discern in the sky, the sunrising, although it goes before it; nor that imagination of

my mind; which two are seen now present, that the other which is to be may be foretold. Future things then

are not yet: and if they be not yet, they are not: and if they are not, they cannot be seen; yet foretold they may

Thou then, Ruler of Thy creation, by what way dost Thou teach souls things to come? For Thou didst teach

Thy Prophets. By what way dost Thou, to whom nothing is to come, teach things to come; or rather of the

future, dost teach things present? For, what is not, neither can it be taught. Too far is this way of my ken: it is

too mighty for me, I cannot attain unto it; but from Thee I can, when Thou shalt vouchsafe it, O sweet light of

What now is clear and plain is, that neither things to come nor past are. Nor is it properly said, "there be three

times, past, present, and to come": yet perchance it might be properly said, "there be three times; a present of

things past, a present of things present, and a present of things future." For these three do exist in some sort,

in the soul, but otherwhere do I not see them; present of things past, memory; present of things present, sight;

present of things future, expectation. If thus we be permitted to speak, I see three times, and I confess there

are three. Let it be said too, "there be three times, past, present, and to come": in our incorrect way. See, I

object not, nor gainsay, nor find fault, if what is so said be but understood, that neither what is to be, now is,

nor what is past. For but few things are there, which we speak properly, most things improperly; still the

I said then even now, we measure times as they pass, in order to be able to say, this time is twice so much as

that one; or, this is just so much as that; and so of any other parts of time, which be measurable. Wherefore,

as I said, we measure times as they pass. And if any should ask me, "How knowest thou?" I might answer, "I

know, that we do measure, nor can we measure things that are not; and things past and to come, are not." But

time present how do we measure, seeing it hath no space? It is measured while passing, but when it shall have

passed, it is not measured; for there will be nothing to be measured. But whence, by what way, and whither

passes it while it is a measuring? whence, but from the future? Which way, but through the present? whither,

but into the past? From that therefore, which is not yet, through that, which hath no space, into that, which

now is not. Yet what do we measure, if not time in some space? For we do not say, single, and double, and

triple, and equal, or any other like way that we speak of time, except of spaces of times. In what space then

do we measure time passing? In the future, whence it passeth through? But what is not yet, we measure not.

Or in the present, by which it passes? but no space, we do not measure: or in the past, to which it passes? But

My soul is on fire to know this most intricate enigma. Shut it not up, O Lord my God, good Father; through

Christ I beseech Thee, do not shut up these usual, yet hidden things, from my desire, that it be hindered from

piercing into them; but let them dawn through Thy enlightening mercy, O Lord. Whom shall I enquire of

concerning these things? and to whom shall I more fruitfully confess my ignorance, than to Thee, to Whom

these my studies, so vehemently kindled toward Thy Scriptures, are not troublesome? Give what I love; for I

do love, and this hast Thou given me. Give, Father, Who truly knowest to give good gifts unto Thy children.

Give, because I have taken upon me to know, and trouble is before me until Thou openest it. By Christ I

beseech Thee, in His Name, Holy of holies, let no man disturb me. For I believed, and therefore do I speak.

This is my hope, for this do I live, that I may contemplate the delights of the Lord. Behold, Thou hast made

my days old, and they pass away, and how, I know not. And we talk of time, and time, and times, and times,

"How long time is it since he said this"; "how long time since he did this"; and "how long time since I saw

that"; and "this syllable hath double time to that single short syllable." These words we speak, and these we

hear, and are understood, and understand. Most manifest and ordinary they are, and the selfsame things

I heard once from a learned man, that the motions of the sun, moon, and stars, constituted time, and I assented

not. For why should not the motions of all bodies rather be times? Or, if the lights of heaven should cease,

and a potter's wheel run round, should there be no time by which we might measure those whirlings, and say,

that either it moved with equal pauses, or if it turned sometimes slower, otherwhiles quicker, that some

rounds were longer, other shorter? Or, while we were saying this, should we not also be speaking in time? Or,

should there in our words be some syllables short, others long, but because those sounded in a shorter time,

these in a longer? God, grant to men to see in a small thing notices common to things great and small. The

stars and lights of heaven, are also for signs, and for seasons, and for years, and for days; they are; yet neither

should I say, that the going round of that wooden wheel was a day, nor yet he, that it was therefore no time.

I desire to know the force and nature of time, by which we measure the motions of bodies, and say (for

example) this motion is twice as long as that. For I ask, Seeing "day" denotes not the stay only of the sun

upon the earth (according to which day is one thing, night another); but also its whole circuit from east to east

again; according to which we say, "there passed so many days," the night being included when we say, "so

many days," and the nights not reckoned apart; seeing then a day is completed by the motion of the sun and

by his circuit from east to east again, I ask, does the motion alone make the day, or the stay in which that

motion is completed, or both? For if the first be the day; then should we have a day, although the sun should

finish that course in so small a space of time, as one hour comes to. If the second, then should not that make a

day, if between one sunrise and another there were but so short a stay, as one hour comes to; but the sun

must go four and twenty times about, to complete one day. If both, then neither could that be called a day; if

the sun should run his whole round in the space of one hour; nor that, if, while the sun stood still, so much

time should overpass, as the sun usually makes his whole course in, from morning to morning. I will not

therefore now ask, what that is which is called day; but, what time is, whereby we, measuring the circuit of

the sun, should say that it was finished in half the time it was wont, if so be it was finished in so small a space

as twelve hours; and comparing both times, should call this a single time, that a double time; even supposing

the sun to run his round from east to east, sometimes in that single, sometimes in that double time. Let no

man then tell me, that the motions of the heavenly bodies constitute times, because, when at the prayer of

one, the sun had stood still, till he could achieve his victorious battle, the sun stood still, but time went on.

For in its own allotted space of time was that battle waged and ended. I perceive time then to be a certain

extension. But do I perceive it, or seem to perceive it? Thou, Light and Truth, wilt show me.

Dost Thou bid me assent, if any define time to be "motion of a body?" Thou dost not bid me. For that no

body is moved, but in time, I hear; this Thou sayest; but that the motion of a body is time, I hear not; Thou

sayest it not. For when a body is moved, I by time measure, how long it moveth, from the time it began to

move until it left off? And if I did not see whence it began; and it continue to move so that I see not when it

ends, I cannot measure, save perchance from the time I began, until I cease to see. And if I look long, I can

only pronounce it to be a long time, but not how long; because when we say "how long," we do it by

comparison; as, "this is as long as that," or "twice so long as that," or the like. But when we can mark the

distances of the places, whence and whither goeth the body moved, or his parts, if it moved as in a lathe, then

can we say precisely, in how much time the motion of that body or his part, from this place unto that, was

finished. Seeing therefore the motion of a body is one thing, that by which we measure how long it is,

another; who sees not, which of the two is rather to be called time? For and if a body be sometimes moved,

sometimes stands still, then we measure, not his motion only, but his standing still too by time; and we say,

"it stood still, as much as it moved"; or "it stood still twice or thrice so long as it moved"; or any other space

which our measuring hath either ascertained, or guessed; more or less, as we use to say. Time then is not the

And I confess to Thee, O Lord, that I yet know not what time is, and again I confess unto Thee, O Lord, that I

know that I speak this in time, and that having long spoken of time, that very "long" is not long, but by the

pause of time. How then know I this, seeing I know not what time is? or is it perchance that I know not how

to express what I know? Woe is me, that do not even know, what I know not. Behold, O my God, before

Thee I lie not; but as I speak, so is my heart. Thou shalt light my candle; Thou, O Lord my God, wilt

Does not my soul most truly confess unto Thee, that I do measure times? Do I then measure, O my God, and

know not what I measure? I measure the motion of a body in time; and the time itself do I not measure? Or

could I indeed measure the motion of a body how long it were, and in how long space it could come from this

place to that, without measuring the time in which it is moved? This same time then, how do I measure? do

we by a shorter time measure a longer, as by the space of a cubit, the space of a rood? for so indeed we seem

by the space of a short syllable, to measure the space of a long syllable, and to say that this is double the

other. Thus measure we the spaces of stanzas, by the spaces of the verses, and the spaces of the verses, by the

spaces of the feet, and the spaces of the feet, by the spaces of the syllables, and the spaces of long, by the

space of short syllables; not measuring by pages (for then we measure spaces, not times); but when we utter

the words and they pass by, and we say "it is a long stanza, because composed of so many verses; long

verses, because consisting of so many feet; long feet, because prolonged by so many syllables; a long syllable

because double to a short one. But neither do we this way obtain any certain measure of time; because it may

be, that a shorter verse, pronounced more fully, may take up more time than a longer, pronounced hurriedly.

And so for a verse, a foot, a syllable. Whence it seemed to me, that time is nothing else than protraction; but

of what, I know not; and I marvel, if it be not of the mind itself? For what, I beseech Thee, O my God, do I

measure, when I say, either indefinitely "this is a longer time than that," or definitely "this is double that"?

That I measure time, I know; and yet I measure not time to come, for it is not yet; nor present, because it is

not protracted by any space; nor past, because it now is not. What then do I measure? Times passing, not

Courage, my mind, and press on mightily. God is our helper, He made us, and not we ourselves. Press on

where truth begins to dawn. Suppose, now, the voice of a body begins to sound, and does sound, and sounds

on, and list, it ceases; it is silence now, and that voice is past, and is no more a voice. Before it sounded, it

was to come, and could not be measured, because as yet it was not, and now it cannot, because it is no longer.

Then therefore while it sounded, it might; because there then was what might be measured. But yet even then

it was not at a stay; for it was passing on, and passing away. Could it be measured the rather, for that? For

while passing, it was being extended into some space of time, so that it might be measured, since the present

hath no space. If therefore then it might, then, to, suppose another voice hath begun to sound, and still

soundeth in one continued tenor without any interruption; let us measure it while it sounds; seeing when it

hath left sounding, it will then be past, and nothing left to be measured; let us measure it verily, and tell how

much it is. But it sounds still, nor can it be measured but from the instant it began in, unto the end it left in.

For the very space between is the thing we measure, namely, from some beginning unto some end.

Wherefore, a voice that is not yet ended, cannot be measured, so that it may be said how long, or short it is;

nor can it be called equal to another, or double to a single, or the like. But when ended, it no longer is. How

may it then be measured? And yet we measure times; but yet neither those which are not yet, nor those which

no longer are, nor those which are not lengthened out by some pause, nor those which have no bounds. We

measure neither times to come, nor past, nor present, nor passing; and yet we do measure times.

"Deus Creator omnium," this verse of eight syllables alternates between short and long syllables. The four

short then, the first, third, fifth, and seventh, are but single, in respect of the four long, the second, fourth,

sixth, and eighth. Every one of these to every one of those, hath a double time: I pronounce them, report on

them, and find it so, as one's plain sense perceives. By plain sense then, I measure a long syllable by a short,

and I sensibly find it to have twice so much; but when one sounds after the other, if the former be short, the

latter long, how shall I detain the short one, and how, measuring, shall I apply it to the long, that I may find

this to have twice so much; seeing the long does not begin to sound, unless the short leaves sounding? And

that very long one do I measure as present, seeing I measure it not till it be ended? Now his ending is his

passing away. What then is it I measure? where is the short syllable by which I measure? where the long

which I measure? Both have sounded, have flown, passed away, are no more; and yet I measure, and

confidently answer (so far as is presumed on a practised sense) that as to space of time this syllable is but

single, that double. And yet I could not do this, unless they were already past and ended. It is not then

themselves, which now are not, that I measure, but something in my memory, which there remains fixed.

It is in thee, my mind, that I measure times. Interrupt me not, that is, interrupt not thyself with the tumults of

thy impressions. In thee I measure times; the impression, which things as they pass by cause in thee, remains

even when they are gone; this it is which still present, I measure, not the things which pass by to make this

impression. This I measure, when I measure times. Either then this is time, or I do not measure times. What

when we measure silence, and say that this silence hath held as long time as did that voice? do we not stretch

out our thought to the measure of a voice, as if it sounded, that so we may be able to report of the intervals of

silence in a given space of time? For though both voice and tongue be still, yet in thought we go over poems,

and verses, and any other discourse, or dimensions of motions, and report as to the spaces of times, how

much this is in respect of that, no otherwise than if vocally we did pronounce them. If a man would utter a

lengthened sound, and had settled in thought how long it should be, he hath in silence already gone through a

space of time, and committing it to memory, begins to utter that speech, which sounds on, until it be brought

unto the end proposed. Yea it hath sounded, and will sound; for so much of it as is finished, hath sounded

already, and the rest will sound. And thus passeth it on, until the present intent conveys over the future into

the past; the past increasing by the diminution of the future, until by the consumption of the future, all is past.

But how is that future diminished or consumed, which as yet is not? or how that past increased, which is now

no longer, save that in the mind which enacteth this, there be three things done? For it expects, it considers, it

remembers; that so that which it expecteth, through that which it considereth, passeth into that which it

remembereth. Who therefore denieth, that things to come are not as yet? and yet, there is in the mind an

expectation of things to come. And who denies past things to be now no longer? and yet is there still in the

mind a memory of things past. And who denieth the present time hath no space, because it passeth away in a

moment? and yet our consideration continueth, through which that which shall be present proceedeth to

become absent. It is not then future time, that is long, for as yet it is not: but a long future, is "a long

expectation of the future," nor is it time past, which now is not, that is long; but a long past, is "a long

I am about to repeat a Psalm that I know. Before I begin, my expectation is extended over the whole; but

when I have begun, how much soever of it I shall separate off into the past, is extended along my memory;

thus the life of this action of mine is divided between my memory as to what I have repeated, and expectation

as to what I am about to repeat; but "consideration" is present with me, that through it what was future, may

be conveyed over, so as to become past. Which the more it is done again and again, so much the more the

expectation being shortened, is the memory enlarged: till the whole expectation be at length exhausted, when

that whole action being ended, shall have passed into memory. And this which takes place in the whole

Psalm, the same takes place in each several portion of it, and each several syllable; the same holds in that

longer action, whereof this Psalm may be part; the same holds in the whole life of man, whereof all the

actions of man are parts; the same holds through the whole age of the sons of men, whereof all the lives of

But because Thy lovingkindness is better than all lives, behold, my life is but a distraction, and Thy right

hand upheld me, in my Lord the Son of man, the Mediator betwixt Thee, The One, and us many, many also

through our manifold distractions amid many things, that by Him I may apprehend in Whom I have been

apprehended, and may be recollected from my old conversation, to follow The One, forgetting what is

behind, and not distended but extended, not to things which shall be and shall pass away, but to those things

which are before, not distractedly but intently, I follow on for the prize of my heavenly calling, where I may

hear the voice of Thy praise, and contemplate Thy delights, neither to come, nor to pass away. But now are

my years spent in mourning. And Thou, O Lord, art my comfort, my Father everlasting, but I have been

severed amid times, whose order I know not; and my thoughts, even the inmost bowels of my soul, are rent

and mangled with tumultuous varieties, until I flow together into Thee, purified and molten by the fire of Thy

And now will I stand, and become firm in Thee, in my mould, Thy truth; nor will I endure the questions of

men, who by a penal disease thirst for more than they can contain, and say, "what did God before He made

heaven and earth?" Or, "How came it into His mind to make any thing, having never before made any thing?"

Give them, O Lord, well to bethink themselves what they say, and to find, that "never" cannot be predicated,

when "time" is not. This then that He is said "never to have made"; what else is it to say, than "in 'no have

made?" Let them see therefore, that time cannot be without created being, and cease to speak that vanity.

May they also be extended towards those things which are before; and understand Thee before all times, the

eternal Creator of all times, and that no times be coeternal with Thee, nor any creature, even if there be any

O Lord my God, what a depth is that recess of Thy mysteries, and how far from it have the consequences of

my transgressions cast me! Heal mine eyes, that I may share the joy of Thy light. Certainly, if there be mind

gifted with such vast knowledge and foreknowledge, as to know all things past and to come, as I know one

wellknown Psalm, truly that mind is passing wonderful, and fearfully amazing; in that nothing past, nothing

to come in afterages, is any more hidden from him, than when I sung that Psalm, was hidden from me what,

and how much of it had passed away from the beginning, what, and how much there remained unto the end.

But far be it that Thou the Creator of the Universe, the Creator of souls and bodies, far be it, that Thou

shouldest in such wise know all things past and to come. Far, far more wonderfully, and far more

mysteriously, dost Thou know them. For not, as the feelings of one who singeth what he knoweth, or heareth

some wellknown song, are through expectation of the words to come, and the remembering of those that are

past, varied, and his senses divided, not so doth any thing happen unto Thee, unchangeably eternal, that is,

the eternal Creator of minds. Like then as Thou in the Beginning knewest the heaven and the earth, without

any variety of Thy knowledge, so madest Thou in the Beginning heaven and earth, without any distraction of

Thy action. Whoso understandeth, let him confess unto Thee; and whoso understandeth not, let him confess

unto Thee. Oh how high art Thou, and yet the humble in heart are Thy dwellingplace; for Thou raisest up

My heart, O Lord, touched with the words of Thy Holy Scripture, is much busied, amid this poverty of my

life. And therefore most times, is the poverty of human understanding copious in words, because enquiring

hath more to say than discovering, and demanding is longer than obtaining, and our hand that knocks, hath

more work to do, than our hand that receives. We hold the promise, who shall make it null? If God be for us,

who can be against us? Ask, and ye shall have; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto

you. For every one that asketh, receiveth; and he that seeketh, findeth; and to him that knocketh, shall it be

opened. These be Thine own promises: and who need fear to be deceived, when the Truth promiseth?

The lowliness of my tongue confesseth unto Thy Highness, that Thou madest heaven and earth; this heaven

which I see, and this earth that I tread upon, whence is this earth that I bear about me; Thou madest it. But

where is that heaven of heavens, O Lord, which we hear of in the words of the Psalm. The heaven of heavens

are the Lord's; but the earth hath He given to the children of men? Where is that heaven which we see not, to

which all this which we see is earth? For this corporeal whole, not being wholly every where, hath in such

wise received its portion of beauty in these lower parts, whereof the lowest is this our earth; but to that

heaven of heavens, even the heaven of our earth, is but earth: yea both these great bodies, may not absurdly

be called earth, to that unknown heaven, which is the Lord's, not the sons' of men.

And now this earth was invisible and without form, and there was I know not what depth of abyss, upon

which there was no light, because it had no shape. Therefore didst Thou command it to be written, that

darkness was upon the face of the deep; what else than the absence of light? For had there been light, where

should it have been but by being over all, aloft, and enlightening? Where then light was not, what was the

presence of darkness, but the absence of light? Darkness therefore was upon it, because light was not upon it;

as where sound is not, there is silence. And what is it to have silence there, but to have no sound there? Hast

not Thou, O Lord, taught his soul, which confesseth unto Thee? Hast not Thou taught me, Lord, that before

Thou formedst and diversifiedst this formless matter, there was nothing, neither colour, nor figure, nor body,

nor spirit? and yet not altogether nothing; for there was a certain formlessness, without any beauty.

How then should it be called, that it might be in some measure conveyed to those of duller mind, but by some

ordinary word? And what, among all parts of the world can be found nearer to an absolute formlessness, than

earth and deep? For, occupying the lowest stage, they are less beautiful than the other higher parts are,

transparent all and shining. Wherefore then may I not conceive the formlessness of matter (which Thou hadst

created without beauty, whereof to make this beautiful world) to be suitably intimated unto men, by the name

So that when thought seeketh what the sense may conceive under this, and saith to itself, "It is no intellectual

form, as life, or justice; because it is the matter of bodies; nor object of sense, because being invisible, and

without form, there was in it no object of sight or sense"; while man's thought thus saith to itself, it may

endeavour either to know it, by being ignorant of it; or to be ignorant, by knowing it.

But I, Lord, if I would, by my tongue and my pen, confess unto Thee the whole, whatever Thyself hath taught

me of that matter, the name whereof hearing before, and not understanding, when they who understood it

not, told me of it, so I conceived of it as having innumerable forms and diverse, and therefore did not

conceive it at all, my mind tossed up and down foul and horrible "forms" out of all order, but yet "forms" and

I called it without form not that it wanted all form, but because it had such as my mind would, if presented to

it, turn from, as unwonted and jarring, and human frailness would be troubled at. And still that which I

conceived, was without form, not as being deprived of all form, but in comparison of more beautiful forms;

and true reason did persuade me, that I must utterly uncase it of all remnants of form whatsoever, if I would

conceive matter absolutely without form; and I could not; for sooner could I imagine that not to be at all,

which should be deprived of all form, than conceive a thing betwixt form and nothing, neither formed, nor

nothing, a formless almost nothing. So my mind gave over to question thereupon with my spirit, it being

filled with the images of formed bodies, and changing and varying them, as it willed; and I bent myself to the

bodies themselves, and looked more deeply into their changeableness, by which they cease to be what they

have been, and begin to be what they were not; and this same shifting from form to form, I suspected to be

through a certain formless state, not through a mere nothing; yet this I longed to know, not to suspect only.If

then my voice and pen would confess unto Thee the whole, whatsoever knots Thou didst open for me in this

question, what reader would hold out to take in the whole? Nor shall my heart for all this cease to give Thee

honour, and a song of praise, for those things which it is not able to express. For the changeableness of

changeable things, is itself capable of all those forms, into which these changeable things are changed. And

this changeableness, what is it? Is it soul? Is it body? Is it that which constituteth soul or body? Might one

say, "a nothing something", an "is, is not," I would say, this were it: and yet in some way was it even then, as

But whence had it this degree of being, but from Thee, from Whom are all things, so far forth as they are?

But so much the further from Thee, as the unliker Thee; for it is not farness of place. Thou therefore, Lord,

Who art not one in one place, and otherwise in another, but the Selfsame, and the Selfsame, and the

Selfsame, Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty, didst in the Beginning, which is of Thee, in Thy Wisdom,

which was born of Thine own Substance, create something, and that out of nothing. For Thou createdst

heaven and earth; not out of Thyself, for so should they have been equal to Thine Only Begotten Son, and

thereby to Thee also; whereas no way were it right that aught should be equal to Thee, which was not of

Thee. And aught else besides Thee was there not, whereof Thou mightest create them, O God, One Trinity,

and Trine Unity; and therefore out of nothing didst Thou create heaven and earth; a great thing, and a small

thing; for Thou art Almighty and Good, to make all things good, even the great heaven, and the petty earth.

Thou wert, and nothing was there besides, out of which Thou createdst heaven and earth; things of two sorts;

one near Thee, the other near to nothing; one to which Thou alone shouldest be superior; the other, to which

But that heaven of heavens was for Thyself, O Lord; but the earth which Thou gavest to the sons of men, to

be seen and felt, was not such as we now see and feel. For it was invisible, without form, and there was a

deep, upon which there was no light; or, darkness was above the deep, that is, more than in the deep. Because

this deep of waters, visible now, hath even in his depths, a light proper for its nature; perceivable in whatever

degree unto the fishes, and creeping things in the bottom of it. But that whole deep was almost nothing,

because hitherto it was altogether without form; yet there was already that which could be formed. For Thou,

Lord, madest the world of a matter without form, which out of nothing, Thou madest next to nothing, thereof

to make those great things, which we sons of men wonder at. For very wonderful is this corporeal heaven; of

which firmament between water and water, the second day, after the creation of light, Thou saidst, Let it be

made, and it was made. Which firmament Thou calledst heaven; the heaven, that is, to this earth and sea,

which Thou madest the third day, by giving a visible figure to the formless matter, which Thou madest before

all days. For already hadst Thou made both an heaven, before all days; but that was the heaven of this

heaven; because In the beginning Thou hadst made heaven and earth. But this same earth which Thou madest

was formless matter, because it was invisible and without form, and darkness was upon the deep, of which

invisible earth and without form, of which formlessness, of which almost nothing, Thou mightest make all

these things of which this changeable world consists, but subsists not; whose very changeableness appears

therein, that times can be observed and numbered in it. For times are made by the alterations of things, while

the figures, the matter whereof is the invisible earth aforesaid, are varied and turned.

And therefore the Spirit, the Teacher of Thy servant, when It recounts Thee to have In the Beginning created

heaven and earth, speaks nothing of times, nothing of days. For verily that heaven of heavens which Thou

createdst in the Beginning, is some intellectual creature, which, although no ways coeternal unto Thee, the

Trinity, yet partaketh of Thy eternity, and doth through the sweetness of that most happy contemplation of

Thyself, strongly restrain its own changeableness; and without any fall since its first creation, cleaving close

unto Thee, is placed beyond all the rolling vicissitude of times. Yea, neither is this very formlessness of the

earth, invisible, and without form, numbered among the days. For where no figure nor order is, there does

nothing come, or go; and where this is not, there plainly are no days, nor any vicissitude of spaces of times.

O let the Light, the Truth, the Light of my heart, not mine own darkness, speak unto me. I fell off into that,

and became darkened; but even thence, even thence I loved Thee. I went astray, and remembered Thee. I

heard Thy voice behind me, calling to me to return, and scarcely heard it, through the tumultuousness of the

enemies of peace. And now, behold, I return in distress and panting after Thy fountain. Let no man forbid

me! of this will I drink, and so live. Let me not be mine own life; from myself I lived ill, death was I to

myself; and I revive in Thee. Do Thou speak unto me, do Thou discourse unto me. I have believed Thy

Already Thou hast told me with a strong voice, O Lord, in my inner ear, that Thou art eternal, Who only hast

immortality; since Thou canst not be changed as to figure or motion, nor is Thy will altered by times: seeing

no will which varies is immortal. This is in Thy sight clear to me, and let it be more and more cleared to me, I

beseech Thee; and in the manifestation thereof, let me with sobriety abide under Thy wings. Thou hast told

me also with a strong voice, O Lord, in my inner ear, that Thou hast made all natures and substances, which

are not what Thyself is, and yet are; and that only is not from Thee, which is not, and the motion of the will

from Thee who art, unto that which in a less degree is, because such motion is transgression and sin; and that

no man's sin doth either hurt Thee, or disturb the order of Thy government, first or last. This is in Thy sight

clear unto me, and let it be more and more cleared to me, I beseech Thee: and in the manifestation thereof, let

Thou hast told me also with a strong voice, in my inner ear, that neither is that creature coeternal unto

Thyself, whose happiness Thou only art, and which with a most persevering purity, drawing its nourishment

from Thee, doth in no place and at no time put forth its natural mutability; and, Thyself being ever present

with it, unto Whom with its whole affection it keeps itself, having neither future to expect, nor conveying into

the past what it remembereth, is neither altered by any change, nor distracted into any times. O blessed

creature, if such there be, for cleaving unto Thy Blessedness; blest in Thee, its eternal Inhabitant and its

Enlightener! Nor do I find by what name I may the rather call the heaven of heavens which is the Lord's, than

Thine house, which contemplateth Thy delights without any defection of going forth to another; one pure

mind, most harmoniously one, by that settled estate of peace of holy spirits, the citizens of Thy city in

By this may the soul, whose pilgrimage is made long and far away, by this may she understand, if she now

thirsts for Thee, if her tears be now become her bread, while they daily say unto her, Where is Thy God? if

she now seeks of Thee one thing, and desireth it, that she may dwell in Thy house all the days of her life (and

what is her life, but Thou? and what Thy days, but Thy eternity, as Thy years which fail not, because Thou art

ever the same?); by this then may the soul that is able, understand how far Thou art, above all times, eternal;

seeing Thy house which at no time went into a far country, although it be not coeternal with Thee, yet by

continually and unfailingly cleaving unto Thee, suffers no changeableness of times. This is in Thy sight clear

unto me, and let it be more and more cleared unto me, I beseech Thee, and in the manifestation thereof, let

There is, behold, I know not what formlessness in those changes of these last and lowest creatures; and who

shall tell me (unless such a one as through the emptiness of his own heart, wonders and tosses himself up and

down amid his own fancies?), who but such a one would tell me, that if all figure be so wasted and consumed

away, that there should only remain that formlessness, through which the thing was changed and turned from

one figure to another, that that could exhibit the vicissitudes of times? For plainly it could not, because,

without the variety of motions, there are no times: and no variety, where there is no figure.

These things considered, as much as Thou givest, O my God, as much as Thou stirrest me up to knock, and as

much as Thou openest to me knocking, two things I find that Thou hast made, not within the compass of

time, neither of which is coeternal with Thee. One, which is so formed, that without any ceasing of

contemplation, without any interval of change, though changeable, yet not changed, it may thoroughly enjoy

Thy eternity and unchangeableness; the other which was so formless, that it had not that, which could be

changed from one form into another, whether of motion, or of repose, so as to become subject unto time. But

this Thou didst not leave thus formless, because before all days, Thou in the Beginning didst create Heaven

and Earth; the two things that I spake of. But the Earth was invisible and without form, and darkness was

upon the deep. In which words, is the formlessness conveyed unto us (that such capacities may hereby be

drawn on by degrees, as are not able to conceive an utter privation of all form, without yet coming to

nothing), out of which another Heaven might be created, together with a visible and wellformed earth: and

the waters diversly ordered, and whatsoever further is in the formation of the world, recorded to have been,

not without days, created; and that, as being of such nature, that the successive changes of times may take

place in them, as being subject to appointed alterations of motions and of forms.

This then is what I conceive, O my God, when I hear Thy Scripture saying, In the beginning God made

Heaven and Earth: and the Earth was invisible and without form, and darkness was upon the deep, and not

mentioning what day Thou createdst them; this is what I conceive, that because of the Heaven of heavens,

that intellectual Heaven, whose Intelligences know all at once, not in part, not darkly, not through a glass,

but as a whole, in manifestation, face to face; not, this thing now, and that thing anon; but (as I said) know all

at once, without any succession of times; and because of the earth invisible and without form, without any

succession of times, which succession presents "this thing now, that thing anon"; because where is no form,

there is no distinction of things: it is, then, on account of these two, a primitive formed, and a primitive

formless; the one, heaven but the Heaven of heaven, the other earth but the earth invisible and without form;

because of these two do I conceive, did Thy Scripture say without mention of days, In the Beginning God

created Heaven and Earth. For forthwith it subjoined what earth it spake of; and also, in that the Firmament is

recorded to be created the second day, and called Heaven, it conveys to us of which Heaven He before spake,

Wondrous depth of Thy words! whose surface, behold! is before us, inviting to little ones; yet are they a

wondrous depth. O my God, a wondrous depth! It is awful to look therein; an awfulness of honour, and a

trembling of love. The enemies thereof I hate vehemently; oh that Thou wouldest slay them with Thy

twoedged sword, that they might no longer be enemies unto it: for so do I love to have them slain unto

themselves, that they may live unto Thee. But behold others not faultfinders, but extollers of the book of

Genesis; "The Spirit of God," say they, "Who by His servant Moses wrote these things, would not have those

words thus understood; He would not have it understood, as thou sayest, but otherwise, as we say." Unto

"Will you affirm that to be false, which with a strong voice Truth tells me in my inner ear, concerning the

Eternity of the Creator, that His substance is no ways changed by time, nor His will separate from His

substance? Wherefore He willeth not one thing now, another anon, but once, and at once, and always, He

willeth all things that He willeth; not again and again, nor now this, now that; nor willeth afterwards, what

before He willed not, nor willeth not, what before He willed; because such a will is and no mutable thing is

eternal: but our God is eternal. Again, what He tells me in my inner ear, the expectation of things to come

becomes sight, when they are come, and this same sight becomes memory, when they be past. Now all

thought which thus varies is mutable; and is eternal: but our God is eternal." These things I infer, and put

together, and find that my God, the eternal God, hath not upon any new will made any creature, nor doth His

knowledge admit of any thing transitory. "What will ye say then, O ye gainsayers? Are these things false?"

"No," they say; "What then? Is it false, that every nature already formed, or matter capable of form, is not, but

from Him Who is supremely good, because He is supremely?" "Neither do we deny this," say they. "What

then? do you deny this, that there is a certain sublime creature, with so chaste a love cleaving unto the true

and truly eternal God, that although not coeternal with Him, yet is it not detached from Him, nor dissolved

into the variety and vicissitude of times, but reposeth in the most true contemplation of Him only?" Because

Thou, O God, unto him that loveth Thee so much as Thou commandest, dost show Thyself, and sufficest him;

and therefore doth he not decline from Thee, nor toward himself. This is the house of God, not of earthly

mould, nor of celestial bulk corporeal but spiritual, and partaker of Thy eternity, because without defection

for ever. For Thou hast made it fast for ever and ever, Thou hast given it a law which it shall not pass. Nor yet

is it coeternal with Thee, O God, because not without beginning; for it was made.

For although we find no time before it, for wisdom was created before all things; not that Wisdom which is

altogether equal and coeternal unto Thee, our God, His Father, and by Whom all things were created, and in

Whom, as the Beginning, Thou createdst heaven and earth; but that wisdom which is created, that is, the

intellectual nature, which by contemplating the light, is light. For this, though created, is also called wisdom.

But what difference there is betwixt the Light which enlighteneth, and which is enlightened, so much is there

betwixt the Wisdom that createth, and that created; as betwixt the Righteousness which justifieth, and the

righteousness which is made by justification. For we also are called Thy righteousness; for so saith a certain

servant of Thine, That we might be made the righteousness of God in Him. Therefore since a certain created

wisdom was created before all things, the rational and intellectual mind of that chaste city of Thine, our

mother which is above, and is free and eternal in the heavens (in what heavens, if not in those that praise

Thee, the Heaven of heavens? Because this is also the Heaven of heavens for the Lord); though we find no

time before it (because that which hath been created before all things, precedeth also the creature of time), yet

is the Eternity of the Creator Himself before it, from Whom, being created, it took the beginning, not indeed

Hence it is so of Thee, our God, as to be altogether other than Thou, and not the Selfsame: because though

we find time neither before it, nor even in it (it being meet ever to behold Thy face, nor is ever drawn away

from it, wherefore it is not varied by any change), yet is there in it a liability to change, whence it would wax

dark, and chill, but that by a strong affection cleaving unto Thee, like perpetual noon, it shineth and gloweth

from Thee. O house most lightsome and delightsome! I have loved thy beauty, and the place of the habitation

of the glory of my Lord, thy builder and possessor. Let my wayfaring sigh after thee, and I say to Him that

made thee, let Him take possession of me also in thee, seeing He hath made me likewise. I have gone astray

like a lost sheep: yet upon the shoulders of my Shepherd, thy builder, hope I to be brought back to thee.

"What say ye to me, O ye gainsayers that I was speaking unto, who yet believe Moses to have been the holy

servant of God, and his books the oracles of the Holy Ghost? Is not this house of God, not coeternal indeed

with God, yet after its measure, eternal in the heavens, when you seek for changes of times in vain, because

you will not find them? For that, to which it is ever good to cleave fast to God, surpasses all extension, and

all revolving periods of time." "It is," say they. "What then of all that which my heart loudly uttered unto my

God, when inwardly it heard the voice of His praise, what part thereof do you affirm to be false? Is it that the

matter was without form, in which because there was no form, there was no order? But where no order was,

there could be no vicissitude of times: and yet this almost nothing,' inasmuch as it was not altogether nothing,

was from Him certainly, from Whom is whatsoever is, in what degree soever it is." "This also," say they, "do

With these I now parley a little in Thy presence, O my God, who grant all these things to be true, which Thy

Truth whispers unto my soul. For those who deny these things, let them bark and deafen themselves as much

as they please; I will essay to persuade them to quiet, and to open in them a way for Thy word. But if they

refuse, and repel me; I beseech, O my God, be not Thou silent to me. Speak Thou truly in my heart; for only

Thou so speakest: and I will let them alone blowing upon the dust without, and raising it up into their own

eyes: and myself will enter my chamber, and sing there a song of loves unto Thee; groaning with groanings

unutterable, in my wayfaring, and remembering Jerusalem, with heart lifted up towards it, Jerusalem my

country, Jerusalem my mother, and Thyself that rulest over it, the Enlightener, Father, Guardian, Husband,

the pure and strong delight, and solid joy, and all good things unspeakable, yea all at once, because the One

Sovereign and true Good. Nor will I be turned away, until Thou gather all that I am, from this dispersed and

disordered estate, into the peace of that our most dear mother, where the firstfruits of my spirit be already

(whence I am ascertained of these things), and Thou conform and confirm it for ever, O my God, my Mercy.

But those who do not affirm all these truths to be false, who honour Thy holy Scripture, set forth by holy

Moses, placing it, as we, on the summit of authority to be followed, and do yet contradict me in some thing, I

answer thus; By Thyself judge, O our God, between my Confessions and these men's contradictions.

For they say, "Though these things be true, yet did not Moses intend those two, when, by revelation of the

Spirit, he said, In the beginning God created heaven and earth. He did not under the name of heaven, signify

that spiritual or intellectual creature which always beholds the face of God; nor under the name of earth, that

formless matter." "What then?" "That man of God," say they, "meant as we say, this declared he by those

words." "What?" "By the name of heaven and earth would he first signify," say they, "universally and

compendiously, all this visible world; so as afterwards by the enumeration of the several days, to arrange in

detail, and, as it were, piece by piece, all those things, which it pleased the Holy Ghost thus to enounce. For

such were that rude and carnal people to which he spake, that he thought them fit to be entrusted with the

knowledge of such works of God only as were visible." They agree, however, that under the words earth

invisible and without form, and that darksome deep (out of which it is subsequently shown, that all these

visible things which we all know, were made and arranged during those "days") may, not incongruously, be

What now if another should say that "this same formlessness and confusedness of matter, was for this reason

first conveyed under the name of heaven and earth, because out of it was this visible world with all those

natures which most manifestly appear in it, which is ofttimes called by the name of heaven and earth, created

and perfected?" What again if another say that "invisible and visible nature is not indeed inappropriately

called heaven and earth; and so, that the universal creation, which God made in His Wisdom, that is, in the

Beginning, was comprehended under those two words? Notwithstanding, since all things be made not of the

substance of God, but out of nothing (because they are not the same that God is, and there is a mutable nature

in them all, whether they abide, as doth the eternal house of God, or be changed, as the soul and body of man

are): therefore the common matter of all things visible and invisible (as yet unformed though capable of

form), out of which was to be created both heaven and earth (i. the invisible and visible creature when

formed), was entitled by the same names given to the earth invisible and without form and the darkness upon

the deep, but with this distinction, that by the earth invisible and without form is understood corporeal matter,

antecedent to its being qualified by any form; and by the darkness upon the deep, spiritual matter, before it

underwent any restraint of its unlimited fluidness, or received any light from Wisdom?"

It yet remains for a man to say, if he will, that "the already perfected and formed natures, visible and

invisible, are not signified under the name of heaven and earth, when we read, In the beginning God made

heaven and earth, but that the yet unformed commencement of things, the stuff apt to receive form and

making, was called by these names, because therein were confusedly contained, not as yet distinguished by

their qualities and forms, all those things which being now digested into order, are called Heaven and Earth,

All which things being heard and well considered, I will not strive about words: for that is profitable to

nothing, but the subversion of the hearers. But the law is good to edify, if a man use it lawfully: for that the

end of it is charity, out of a pure heart and good conscience, and faith unfeigned. And well did our Master

know, upon which two commandments He hung all the Law and the Prophets. And what doth it prejudice

me, O my God, Thou light of my eyes in secret, zealously confessing these things, since divers things may be

understood under these words which yet are all true, what, I say, doth it prejudice me, if I think otherwise

than another thinketh the writer thought? All we readers verily strive to trace out and to understand his

meaning whom we read; and seeing we believe him to speak truly, we dare not imagine him to have said any

thing, which ourselves either know or think to be false. While every man endeavours then to understand in

the Holy Scriptures, the same as the writer understood, what hurt is it, if a man understand what Thou, the

light of all truespeaking minds, dost show him to be true, although he whom he reads, understood not this,

For true it is, O Lord, that Thou madest heaven and earth; and it is true too, that the Beginning is Thy

Wisdom, in Which Thou createst all: and true again, that this visible world hath for its greater part the heaven

and the earth, which briefly comprise all made and created natures. And true too, that whatsoever is mutable,

gives us to understand a certain want of form, whereby it receiveth a form, or is changed, or turned. It is true,

that that is subject to no times, which so cleaveth to the unchangeable Form, as though subject to change,

never to be changed. It is true, that that formlessness which is almost nothing, cannot be subject to the

alteration of times. It is true, that that whereof a thing is made, may by a certain mode of speech, be called by

the name of the thing made of it; whence that formlessness, whereof heaven and earth were made, might be

called heaven and earth. It is true, that of things having form, there is not any nearer to having no form, than

the earth and the deep. It is true, that not only every created and formed thing, but whatsoever is capable of

being created and formed, Thou madest, of Whom are all things. It is true, that whatsoever is formed out of

Out of these truths, of which they doubt not whose inward eye Thou hast enabled to see such things, and who

unshakenly believe Thy servant Moses to have spoken in the Spirit of truth; of all these then, he taketh one,

who saith, In the Beginning God made the heaven and the earth; that is, "in His Word coeternal with Himself,

God made the intelligible and the sensible, or the spiritual and the corporeal creature." He another, that saith,

In the Beginning God made heaven and earth; that is, "in His Word coeternal with Himself, did God make the

universal bulk of this corporeal world, together with all those apparent and known creatures, which it

containeth." He another, that saith, In the Beginning God made heaven and earth; that is, "in His Word

coeternal with Himself, did God make the formless matter of creatures spiritual and corporeal." He another,

that saith, In the Beginning God created heaven and earth; that is, "in His Word coeternal with Himself, did

God create the formless matter of the creature corporeal, wherein heaven and earth lay as yet confused,

which, being now distinguished and formed, we at this day see in the bulk of this world." He another, who

saith, In the Beginning God made heaven and earth; that is, "in the very beginning of creating and working,

did God make that formless matter, confusedly containing in itself both heaven and earth; out of which, being

And with regard to the understanding of the words following, out of all those truths, he chooses one to

himself, who saith, But the earth was invisible, and without form, and darkness was upon the deep; that is,

"that corporeal thing that God made, was as yet a formless matter of corporeal things, without order, without

light. " Another he who says, The earth was invisible and without form, and darkness was upon the deep; that

is, "this all, which is called heaven and earth, was still a formless and darksome matter, of which the

corporeal heaven and the corporeal earth were to be made, with all things in them, which are known to our

corporeal senses." Another he who says, The earth was invisible and without form, and darkness was upon

the deep; that is, "this all, which is called heaven and earth, was still a formless and a darksome matter; out of

which was to be made, both that intelligible heaven, otherwhere called the Heaven of heavens, and the earth,

that is, the whole corporeal nature, under which name is comprised this corporeal heaven also; in a word, out

of which every visible and invisible creature was to be created." Another he who says, The earth was

invisible and without form, and darkness was upon the deep, "the Scripture did not call that formlessness by

the name of heaven and earth; but that formlessness, saith he, already was, which he called the earth invisible

without form, and darkness upon the deep; of which he had before said, that God had made heaven and earth,

namely, the spiritual and corporeal creature." Another he who says, The earth was invisible and without form,

and darkness was upon the deep; that is, "there already was a certain formless matter, of which the Scripture

said before, that God made heaven and earth; namely, the whole corporeal bulk of the world, divided into two

For should any attempt to dispute against these two last opinions, thus, "If you will not allow, that this

formlessness of matter seems to be called by the name of heaven and earth; Ergo, there was something which

God had not made, out of which to make heaven and earth; for neither hath Scripture told us, that God made

this matter, unless we understand it to be signified by the name of heaven and earth, or of earth alone, when it

is said, In the Beginning God made the heaven and earth; that so in what follows, and the earth was invisible

and without form (although it pleased Him so to call the formless matter), we are to understand no other

matter, but that which God made, whereof is written above, God made heaven and earth." The maintainers of

either of those two latter opinions will, upon hearing this, return for answer, "we do not deny this formless

matter to be indeed created by God, that God of Whom are all things, very good; for as we affirm that to be a

greater good, which is created and formed, so we confess that to be a lesser good which is made capable of

creation and form, yet still good. We say however that Scripture hath not set down, that God made this

formlessness, as also it hath not many others; as the Cherubim, and Seraphim, and those which the Apostle

distinctly speaks of, Thrones, Dominions, Principalities, Powers. All which that God made, is most apparent.

Or if in that which is said, He made heaven and earth, all things be comprehended, what shall we say of the

waters, upon which the Spirit of God moved? For if they be comprised in this word earth; how then can

formless matter be meant in that name of earth, when we see the waters so beautiful? Or if it be so taken; why

then is it written, that out of the same formlessness, the firmament was made, and called heaven; and that the

waters were made, is not written? For the waters remain not formless and invisible, seeing we behold them

flowing in so comely a manner. But if they then received that beauty, when God said, Let the waters under

the firmament be gathered together, that so the gathering together be itself the forming of them; what will be

said as to those waters above the firmament? Seeing neither if formless would they have been worthy of so

honourable a seat, nor is it written, by what word they were formed. If then Genesis is silent as to God's

making of any thing, which yet that God did make neither sound faith nor wellgrounded understanding

doubteth, nor again will any sober teaching dare to affirm these waters to be coeternal with God, on the

ground that we find them to be mentioned in the hook of Genesis, but when they were created, we do not

find; why (seeing truth teaches us) should we not understand that formless matter (which this Scripture calls

the earth invisible and without form, and darksome deep) to have been created of God out of nothing, and

therefore not to be coeternal to Him; notwithstanding this history hath omitted to show when it was created?"

These things then being heard and perceived, according to the weakness of my capacity (which I confess unto

Thee, O Lord, that knowest it), two sorts of disagreements I see may arise, when a thing is in words related

by true reporters; one, concerning the truth of the things, the other, concerning the meaning of the relater. For

we enquire one way about the making of the creature, what is true; another way, what Moses, that excellent

minister of Thy Faith, would have his reader and hearer understand by those words. For the first sort, away

with all those who imagine themselves to know as a truth, what is false; and for this other, away with all them

too, which imagine Moses to have written things that be false. But let me be united in Thee, O Lord, with

those and delight myself in Thee, with them that feed on Thy truth, in the largeness of charity, and let us

approach together unto the words of Thy book, and seek in them for Thy meaning, through the meaning of

But which of us shall, among those so many truths, which occur to enquirers in those words, as they are

differently understood, so discover that one meaning, as to affirm, "this Moses thought," and "this would he

have understood in that history"; with the same confidence as he would, "this is true," whether Moses thought

this or that? For behold, O my God, I Thy servant, who have in this book vowed a sacrifice of confession

unto Thee, and pray, that by Thy mercy I may pay my vows unto Thee, can I, with the same confidence

wherewith I affirm, that in Thy incommutable world Thou createdst all things visible and invisible, affirm

also, that Moses meant no other than this, when he wrote, In the Beginning God made heaven and earth? No.

Because I see not in his mind, that he thought of this when he wrote these things, as I do see it in Thy truth to

be certain. For he might have his thoughts upon God's commencement of creating, when he said In the

beginning; and by heaven and earth, in this place he might intend no formed and perfected nature whether

spiritual or corporeal, but both of them inchoate and as yet formless. For I perceive, that whichsoever of the

two had been said, it might have been truly said; but which of the two he thought of in these words, I do not

so perceive. Although, whether it were either of these, or any sense beside (that I have not here mentioned),

which this so great man saw in his mind, when he uttered these words, I doubt not but that he saw it truly, and

Let no man harass me then, by saying, Moses thought not as you say, but as I say: for if he should ask me,

"How know you that Moses thought that which you infer out of his words?" I ought to take it in good part,

and would answer perchance as I have above, or something more at large, if he were unyielding. But when he

saith, "Moses meant not what you say, but what I say," yet denieth not that what each of us say, may both be

true, O my God, life of the poor, in Whose bosom is no contradiction, pour down a softening dew into my

heart, that I may patiently bear with such as say this to me, not because they have a divine Spirit, and have

seen in the heart of Thy servant what they speak, but because they be proud; not knowing Moses' opinion, but

loving their own, not because it is truth, but because it is theirs. Otherwise they would equally love another

true opinion, as I love what they say, when they say true: not because it is theirs, but because it is true; and on

that very ground not theirs because it is true. But if they therefore love it, because it is true, then is it both

theirs, and mine; as being in common to all lovers of truth. But whereas they contend that Moses did not

mean what I say, but what they say, this I like not, love not: for though it were so, yet that their rashness

belongs not to knowledge, but to overboldness, and not insight but vanity was its parent. And therefore, O

Lord, are Thy judgements terrible; seeing Thy truth is neither mine, nor his, nor another's; but belonging to us

all, whom Thou callest publicly to partake of it, warning us terribly, not to account it private to ourselves, lest

we he deprived of it. For whosoever challenges that as proper to himself, which Thou propoundest to all to

enjoy, and would have that his own which belongs to all, is driven from what is in common to his own; that

Hearken, O God, Thou best judge; Truth Itself, hearken to what I shall say to this gainsayer, hearken, for

before Thee do I speak, and before my brethren, who employ Thy law lawfully, to the end of charity: hearken

and behold, if it please Thee, what I shall say to him. For this brotherly and peaceful word do I return unto

Him: "If we both see that to be true that Thou sayest, and both see that to be true that I say, where, I pray

Thee, do we see it? Neither I in thee, nor thou in me; but both in the unchangeable Truth itself, which is

above our souls." Seeing then we strive not about the very light of the Lord God, why strive we about the

thoughts of our neighbour which we cannot so see, as the unchangeable Truth is seen: for that, if Moses

himself had appeared to us and said, "This I meant"; neither so should we see it, but should believe it. Let us

not then be puffed up for one against another, above that which is written: let us love the Lord our God with

all our heart, with all our soul, and with all our mind: and our neighbour as ourself. With a view to which two

precepts of charity, unless we believe that Moses meant, whatsoever in those books he did mean, we shall

make God a liar, imagining otherwise of our fellow servant's mind, than he hath taught us. Behold now, how

foolish it is, in such abundance of most true meanings, as may be extracted out of those words, rashly to

affirm, which of them Moses principally meant; and with pernicious contentions to offend charity itself, for

And yet I, O my God, Thou lifter up of my humility, and rest of my labour, Who hearest my confessions, and

forgivest my sins: seeing Thou commandest me to love my neighbour as myself, I cannot believe that Thou

gavest a less gift unto Moses Thy faithful servant, than I would wish or desire Thee to have given me, had I

been born in the time he was, and hadst Thou set me in that office, that by the service of my heart and tongue

those books might be dispensed, which for so long after were to profit all nations, and through the whole

world from such an eminence of authority, were to surmount all sayings of false and proud teachings. I

should have desired verily, had I then been Moses (for we all come from the same lump, and what is man,

saving that Thou art mindful of him?), I would then, had I been then what he was, and been enjoined by Thee

to write the book of Genesis, have desired such a power of expression and such a style to be given me, that

neither they who cannot yet understand how God created, might reject the sayings, as beyond their capacity;

and they who had attained thereto, might find what true opinion soever they had by thought arrived at, not

passed over in those few words of that Thy servant: and should another man by the light of truth have

discovered another, neither should that fail of being discoverable in those same words.

For as a fountain within a narrow compass, is more plentiful, and supplies a tide for more streams over larger

spaces, than any one of those streams, which, after a wide interval, is derived from the same fountain; so the

relation of that dispenser of Thine, which was to benefit many who were to discourse thereon, does out of a

narrow scantling of language, overflow into streams of clearest truth, whence every man may draw out for

himself such truth as he can upon these subjects, one, one truth, another, another, by larger circumlocutions

of discourse. For some, when they read, or hear these words, conceive that God like a man or some mass

endued with unbounded power, by some new and sudden resolution, did, exterior to itself, as it were at a

certain distance, create heaven and earth, two great bodies above and below, wherein all things were to be

contained. And when they hear, God said, Let it be made, and it was made; they conceive of words begun and

ended, sounding in time, and passing away; after whose departure, that came into being, which was

commanded so to do; and whatever of the like sort, men's acquaintance with the material world would

suggest. In whom, being yet little ones and carnal, while their weakness is by this humble kind of speech,

carried on, as in a mother's bosom, their faith is wholesomely built up, whereby they hold assured, that God

made all natures, which in admirable variety their eye beholdeth around. Which words, if any despising, as

too simple, with a proud weakness, shall stretch himself beyond the guardian nest; he will, alas, fall

miserably. Have pity, O Lord God, lest they who go by the way trample on the unfledged bird, and send

But others, unto whom these words are no longer a nest, but deep shady fruitbowers, see the fruits

concealed therein, fly joyously around, and with cheerful notes seek out, and pluck them. For reading or

hearing these words, they see that all times past and to come, are surpassed by Thy eternal and stable abiding;

and yet that there is no creature formed in time, not of Thy making. Whose will, because it is the same that

Thou art, Thou madest all things, not by any change of will, nor by a will, which before was not, and that

these things were not out of Thyself, in Thine own likeness, which is the form of all things; but out of

nothing, a formless unlikeness, which should be formed by Thy likeness (recurring to Thy Unity, according

to their appointed capacity, so far as is given to each thing in his kind), and might all be made very good;

whether they abide around Thee, or being in gradation removed in time and place, made or undergo the

beautiful variations of the Universe. These things they see, and rejoice, in the little degree they here may, in

Another bends his mind on that which is said, In the Beginning God made heaven and earth; and beholdeth

therein Wisdom, the Beginning because It also speaketh unto us. Another likewise bends his mind on the

same words, and by Beginning understands the commencement of things created; In the beginning He made,

as if it were said, He at first made. And among them that understand In the Beginning to mean, "In Thy

Wisdom Thou createdst heaven and earth," one believes the matter out of which the heaven and earth were to

be created, to be there called heaven and earth; another, natures already formed and distinguished; another,

one formed nature, and that a spiritual, under the name Heaven, the other formless, a corporeal matter, under

the name Earth. They again who by the names heaven and earth, understand matter as yet formless, out of

which heaven and earth were to be formed, neither do they understand it in one way; but the one, that matter

out of which both the intelligible and the sensible creature were to be perfected; another, that only, out of

which this sensible corporeal mass was to he made, containing in its vast bosom these visible and ordinary

natures. Neither do they, who believe the creatures already ordered and arranged, to be in this place called

heaven and earth, understand the same; but the one, both the invisible and visible, the other, the visible only,

in which we behold this lightsome heaven, and darksome earth, with the things in them contained.

But he that no otherwise understands In the Beginning He made, than if it were said, At first He made, can

only truly understand heaven and earth of the matter of heaven and earth, that is, of the universal intelligible

and corporeal creation. For if he would understand thereby the universe, as already formed, it may be rightly

demanded of him, "If God made this first, what made He afterwards?" and after the universe, he will find

nothing; whereupon must he against his will hear another question; "How did God make this first, if nothing

after?" But when he says, God made matter first formless, then formed, there is no absurdity, if he be but

qualified to discern, what precedes by eternity, what by time, what by choice, and what in original. By

eternity, as God is before all things; by time, as the flower before the fruit; by choice, as the fruit before the

flower; by original, as the sound before the tune. Of these four, the first and last mentioned, are with extreme

difficulty understood, the two middle, easily. For a rare and too lofty a vision is it, to behold Thy Eternity, O

Lord, unchangeably making things changeable; and thereby before them. And who, again, is of so

sharpsighted understanding, as to be able without great pains to discern, how the sound is therefore before the

tune; because a tune is a formed sound; and a thing not formed, may exist; whereas that which existeth not,

cannot be formed. Thus is the matter before the thing made; not because it maketh it, seeing itself is rather

made; nor is it before by interval of time; for we do not first in time utter formless sounds without singing,

and subsequently adapt or fashion them into the form of a chant, as wood or silver, whereof a chest or vessel

is fashioned. For such materials do by time also precede the forms of the things made of them, but in singing

it is not so; for when it is sung, its sound is heard; for there is not first a formless sound, which is afterwards

formed into a chant. For each sound, so soon as made, passeth away, nor canst thou find ought to recall and

by art to compose. So then the chant is concentrated in its sound, which sound of his is his matter. And this

indeed is formed, that it may be a tune; and therefore (as I said) the matter of the sound is before the form of

the tune; not before, through any power it hath to make it a tune; for a sound is no way the workmaster of the

tune; but is something corporeal, subjected to the soul which singeth, whereof to make a tune. Nor is it first in

time; for it is given forth together with the tune; nor first in choice, for a sound is not better than a tune, a tune

being not only a sound, but a beautiful sound. But it is first in original, because a tune receives not form to

become a sound, but a sound receives a form to become a tune. By this example, let him that is able,

understand how the matter of things was first made, and called heaven and earth, because heaven and earth

were made out of it. Yet was it not made first in time; because the forms of things give rise to time; but that

was without form, but now is, in time, an object of sense together with its form. And yet nothing can be

related of that matter, but as though prior in time, whereas in value it is last (because things formed are

superior to things without form) and is preceded by the Eternity of the Creator: that so there might be out of

In this diversity of the true opinions, let Truth herself produce concord. And our God have mercy upon us,

that we may use the law lawfully, the end of the commandment, pure charity. By this if man demands of me,

"which of these was the meaning of Thy servant Moses"; this were not the language of my Confessions,

should I not confess unto Thee, "I know not"; and yet I know that those senses are true, those carnal ones

excepted, of which I have spoken what seemed necessary. And even those hopeful little ones who so think,

have this benefit, that the words of Thy Book affright them not, delivering high things lowlily, and with few

words a copious meaning. And all we who, I confess, see and express the truth delivered in those words, let

us love one another, and jointly love Thee our God, the fountain of truth, if we are athirst for it, and not for

vanities; yea, let us so honour this Thy servant, the dispenser of this Scripture, full of Thy Spirit, as to believe

that, when by Thy revelation he wrote these things, he intended that, which among them chiefly excels both

So when one says, "Moses meant as I do"; and another, "Nay, but as I do," I suppose that I speak more

reverently, "Why not rather as both, if both be true?" And if there be a third, or a fourth, yea if any other seeth

any other truth in those words, why may not he be believed to have seen all these, through whom the One

God hath tempered the holy Scriptures to the senses of many, who should see therein things true but divers?

For I certainly (and fearlessly I speak it from my heart), that were I to indite any thing to have supreme

authority, I should prefer so to write, that whatever truth any could apprehend on those matters, might he

conveyed in my words, rather than set down my own meaning so clearly as to exclude the rest, which not

being false, could not offend me. I will not therefore, O my God, be so rash, as not to believe, that Thou

vouchsafedst as much to that great man. He without doubt, when he wrote those words, perceived and

thought on what truth soever we have been able to find, yea and whatsoever we have not been able, nor yet

Lastly, O Lord, who art God and not flesh and blood, if man did see less, could any thing be concealed from

Thy good Spirit (who shall lead me into the land of uprightness), which Thou Thyself by those words wert

about to reveal to readers in times to come, though he through whom they were spoken, perhaps among many

true meanings, thought on some one? which if so it be, let that which he thought on be of all the highest. But

to us, O Lord, do Thou, either reveal that same, or any other true one which Thou pleasest; that so, whether

Thou discoverest the same to us, as to that Thy servant, or some other by occasion of those words, yet Thou

mayest feed us, not error deceive us. Behold, O Lord my God, how much we have written upon a few words,

how much I beseech Thee! What strength of ours, yea what ages would suffice for all Thy books in this

manner? Permit me then in these more briefly to confess unto Thee, and to choose some one true, certain, and

good sense that Thou shalt inspire me, although many should occur, where many may occur; this being the

law my confession, that if I should say that which Thy minister intended, that is right and best; for this should

I endeavour, which if I should not attain, yet I should say that, which Thy Truth willed by his words to tell

I call upon Thee, O my God, my mercy, Who createdst me, and forgottest not me, forgetting Thee. I call Thee

into my soul which, by the longing Thyself inspirest into her, Thou preparest for Thee. Forsake me not now

calling upon Thee, whom Thou preventedst before I called, and urgedst me with much variety of repeated

calls, that I would hear Thee from afar, and be converted, and call upon Thee, that calledst after me; for Thou,

Lord, blottedst out all my evil deservings, so as not to repay into my hands, wherewith I fell from Thee; and

Thou hast prevented all my well deservings, so as to repay the work of Thy hands wherewith Thou madest

me; because before I was, Thou wert; nor was I any thing, to which Thou mightest grant to be; and yet

behold, I am, out of Thy goodness, preventing all this which Thou hast made me, and whereof Thou hast

made me. For neither hadst Thou need of me, nor am I any such good, as to be helpful unto Thee, my Lord

and God; not in serving Thee, as though Thou wouldest tire in working; or lest Thy power might be less, if

lacking my service: nor cultivating Thy service, as a land, that must remain uncultivated, unless I cultivated

Thee: but serving and worshipping Thee, that I might receive a wellbeing from Thee, from whom it comes,

For of the fulness of Thy goodness, doth Thy creature subsist, that so a good, which could no ways profit

Thee, nor was of Thee (lest so it should be equal to Thee), might yet be since it could be made of Thee. For

what did heaven and earth, which Thou madest in the Beginning, deserve of Thee? Let those spiritual and

corporeal natures which Thou madest in Thy Wisdom, say wherein they deserved of Thee, to depend thereon

(even in that their several inchoate and formless state, whether spiritual or corporeal, ready to fall away into

an immoderate liberty and fardistant unlikeliness unto Thee; the spiritual, though without form, superior to

the corporeal though formed, and the corporeal though without form, better than were it altogether nothing),

and so to depend upon Thy Word, as formless, unless by the same Word they were brought back to Thy

Unity, indued with form and from Thee the One Sovereign Good were made all very good. How did they

deserve of Thee, to be even without form, since they had not been even this, but from Thee?

How did corporeal matter deserve of Thee, to be even invisible and without form? seeing it were not even

this, but that Thou madest it, and therefore because it was not, could not deserve of Thee to be made. Or how

could the inchoate spiritual creature deserve of Thee, even to ebb and flow darksomely like the deep, unlike

Thee, unless it had been by the same Word turned to that, by Whom it was created, and by Him so

enlightened, become light; though not equally, yet conformably to that Form which is equal unto Thee? For

as in a body, to be, is not one with being beautiful, else could it not be deformed; so likewise to a created

spirit to live, is not one with living wisely; else should it be wise unchangeably. But good it is for it always to

hold fast to Thee; lest what light it hath obtained by turning to Thee, it lose by turning from Thee, and relapse

into life resembling the darksome deep. For we ourselves also, who as to the soul are a spiritual creature,

turned away from Thee our light, were in that life sometimes darkness; and still labour amidst the relics of

our darkness, until in Thy Only One we become Thy righteousness, like the mountains of God. For we have

That which Thou saidst in the beginning of the creation, Let there be light, and there was light; I do, not

unsuitably, understand of the spiritual creature: because there was already a sort of life, which Thou mightest

illuminate. But as it had no claim on Thee for a life, which could be enlightened, so neither now that it was,

had it any, to be enlightened. For neither could its formless estate be pleasing unto Thee, unless it became

light, and that not by existing simply, but by beholding the illuminating light, and cleaving to it; so that, that

it lived, and lived happily, it owes to nothing but Thy grace, being turned by a better change unto That which

cannot be changed into worse or better; which Thou alone art, because Thou alone simply art; unto Thee it

being not one thing to live, another to live blessedly, seeing Thyself art Thine own Blessedness.

What then could he wanting unto Thy good, which Thou Thyself art, although these things had either never

been, or remained without form; which thou madest, not out of any want, but out of the fulness of Thy

goodness, restraining them and converting them to form, not as though Thy joy were fulfilled by them? For to

Thee being perfect, is their imperfection displeasing, and hence were they perfected by Thee, and please

Thee; not as wert Thou imperfect, and by their perfecting wert also to be perfected. For Thy good Spirit

indeed was borne over the waters, not borne up by them, as if He rested upon them. For those, on whom Thy

good Spirit is said to rest, He causes to rest in Himself. But Thy incorruptible and unchangeable will, in itself

allsufficient for itself, was borne upon that life which Thou hadst created; to which, living is not one with

happy living, seeing it liveth also, ebbing and flowing in its own darkness: for which it remaineth to be

converted unto Him, by Whom it was made, and to live more and more by the fountain of life, and in His

Lo, now the Trinity appears unto me in a glass darkly, which is Thou my God, because Thou, O Father, in

Him Who is the Beginning of our wisdom, Which is Thy Wisdom, born of Thyself, equal unto Thee and

coeternal, that is, in Thy Son, createdst heaven and earth. Much now have we said of the Heaven of heavens,

and of the earth invisible and without form, and of the darksome deep, in reference to the wandering

instability of its spiritual deformity, unless it had been converted unto Him, from Whom it had its then degree

of life, and by His enlightening became a beauteous life, and the heaven of that heaven, which was afterwards

set between water and water. And under the name of God, I now held the Father, who made these things, and

under the name of Beginning, the Son, in whom He made these things; and believing, as I did, my God as the

Trinity, I searched further in His holy words, and to, Thy Spirit moved upon the waters. Behold the Trinity,

But what was the cause, O truespeaking Light? unto Thee lift I up my heart, let it not teach me vanities,

dispel its darkness; and tell me, I beseech Thee, by our mother charity, tell me the reason, I beseech Thee,

why after the mention of heaven, and of the earth invisible and without form, and darkness upon the deep,

Thy Scripture should then at length mention Thy Spirit? Was it because it was meet that the knowledge of

Him should be conveyed, as being "borne above"; and this could not be said, unless that were first mentioned,

over which Thy Spirit may be understood to have been borne. For neither was He borne above the Father, nor

the Son, nor could He rightly be said to be borne above, if He were borne over nothing. First then was that to

be spoken of, over which He might be borne; and then He, whom it was meet not otherwise to be spoken of

than as being borne. But wherefore was it not meet that the knowledge of Him should be conveyed otherwise,

Hence let him that is able, follow with his understanding Thy Apostle, where he thus speaks, Because Thy

love is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us: and where concerning spiritual

gifts, he teacheth and showeth unto us a more excellent way of charity; and where he bows his knee unto

Thee for us, that we may know the supereminent knowledge of the love of Christ. And therefore from the

beginning, was He borne supereminent above the waters. To whom shall I speak this? how speak of the

weight of evil desires, downwards to the steep abyss; and how charity raises up again by Thy Spirit which

was borne above the waters? to whom shall I speak it? how speak it? For it is not in space that we are merged

and emerge. What can be more, and yet what less like? They be affections, they be loves; the uncleanness of

our spirit flowing away downwards with the love of cares, and the holiness of Thine raising us upward by

love of unanxious repose; that we may lift our hearts unto Thee, where Thy Spirit is borne above the waters;

and come to that supereminent repose, when our soul shall have passed through the waters which yield no

Angels fell away, man's soul fell away, and thereby pointed the abyss in that dark depth, ready for the whole

spiritual creation, hadst not Thou said from the beginning, Let there be light, and there had been light, and

every obedient intelligence of Thy heavenly City had cleaved to Thee, and rested in Thy Spirit, Which is

borne unchangeably over every thing changeable. Otherwise, had even the heaven of heavens been in itself a

darksome deep; but now it is light in the Lord. For even in that miserable restlessness of the spirits, who fell

away and discovered their own darkness, when bared of the clothing of Thy light, dost Thou sufficiently

reveal how noble Thou madest the reasonable creature; to which nothing will suffice to yield a happy rest,

less than Thee; and so not even herself. For Thou, O our God, shalt lighten our darkness: from Thee riseth our

garment of light; and then shall our darkness be as the noon day. Give Thyself unto me, O my God, restore

Thyself unto me: behold I love, and if it be too little, I would love more strongly. I cannot measure so as to

know, how much love there yet lacketh to me, ere my life may run into Thy embracements, nor turn away,

until it be hidden in the hidden place of Thy Presence. This only I know, that woe is me except in Thee: not

only without but within myself also; and all abundance, which is not my God, is emptiness to me.

But was not either the Father, or the Son, borne above the waters? if this means, in space, like a body, then

neither was the Holy Spirit; but if the unchangeable supereminence of Divinity above all things changeable,

then were both Father, and Son, and Holy Ghost borne upon the waters. Why then is this said of Thy Spirit

only, why is it said only of Him? As if He had been in place, Who is not in place, of Whom only it is written,

that He is Thy gift? In Thy Gift we rest; there we enjoy Thee. Our rest is our place. Love lifts us up thither,

and Thy good Spirit lifts up our lowliness from the gates of death. In Thy good pleasure is our peace. The

body by its own weight strives towards its own place. Weight makes not downward only, but to his own

place. Fire tends upward, a stone downward. They are urged by their own weight, they seek their own places.

Oil poured below water, is raised above the water; water poured upon oil, sinks below the oil. They are urged

by their own weights to seek their own places. When out of their order, they are restless; restored to order,

they are at rest. My weight, is my love; thereby am I borne, whithersoever I am borne. We are inflamed, by

Thy Gift we are kindled; and are carried upwards; we glow inwardly, and go forwards. We ascend Thy ways

that be in our heart, and sing a song of degrees; we glow inwardly with Thy fire, with Thy good fire, and we

go; because we go upwards to the peace of Jerusalem: for gladdened was I in those who said unto me, We

will go up to the house of the Lord. There hath Thy good pleasure placed us, that we may desire nothing else,

Blessed creature, which being itself other than Thou, has known no other condition, than that, so soon as it

was made, it was, without any interval, by Thy Gift, Which is borne above every thing changeable, borne

aloft by that calling whereby Thou saidst, Let there be light, and there was light. Whereas in us this took

place at different times, in that we were darkness, and are made light: but of that is only said, what it would

have been, had it not been enlightened. And, this is so spoken, as if it had been unsettled and darksome

before; that so the cause whereby it was made otherwise, might appear, namely, that being turned to the Light

unfailing it became light. Whoso can, let him understand this; let him ask of Thee. Why should he trouble

Which of us comprehendeth the Almighty Trinity? and yet which speaks not of It, if indeed it be It? Rare is

the soul, which while it speaks of It, knows what it speaks of. And they contend and strive, yet, without

peace, no man sees that vision. I would that men would consider these three, that are in themselves. These

three be indeed far other than the Trinity: I do but tell, where they may practise themselves, and there prove

and feel how far they be. Now the three I spake of are, To Be, to Know, and to Will. For I Am, and Know,

and Will: I Am Knowing and Willing: and I Know myself to Be, and to Will: and I Will to Be, and to Know.

In these three then, let him discern that can, how inseparable a life there is, yea one life, mind, and one

essence, yea lastly how inseparable a distinction there is, and yet a distinction. Surely a man hath it before

him; let him look into himself, and see, and tell me. But when he discovers and can say any thing of these, let

him not therefore think that he has found that which is above these Unchangeable, which Is unchangeably,

and Knows unchangeably, and Wills unchangeably; and whether because of these three, there is in God also a

Trinity, or whether all three be in Each, so that the three belong to Each; or whether both ways at once,

wondrously, simply and yet manifoldly, Itself a bound unto Itself within Itself, yet unbounded; whereby It is,

and is Known unto Itself and sufficeth to itself, unchangeably the Selfsame, by the abundant greatness of its

Unity, who can readily conceive this? who could any ways express it? who would, any way, pronounce

Proceed in thy confession, say to the Lord thy God, O my faith, Holy, Holy, Holy, O Lord my God, in Thy

Name have we been baptised, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; in Thy Name do we baptise, Father, Son, and

Holy Ghost, because among us also, in His Christ did God make heaven and earth, namely, the spiritual and

carnal people of His Church. Yea and our earth, before it received the form of doctrine, was invisible and

without form; and we were covered with the darkness of ignorance. For Thou chastenedst man for iniquity,

and Thy judgments were like the great deep unto him. But because Thy Spirit was borne above the waters,

Thy mercy forsook not our misery, and Thou saidst, Let there be light, Repent ye, for the kingdom of heaven

is at hand. Repent ye, let there be light. And because our soul was troubled within us, we remembered Thee,

O Lord, from the land of Jordan, and that mountain equal unto Thyself, but little for our sakes: and our

darkness displeased us, we turned unto Thee and there was light. And, behold, we were sometimes darkness,

But as yet by faith and not by sight, for by hope we are saved; but hope that is seen, is not hope. As yet doth

deep call unto deep, but now in the voice of Thy waterspouts. As yet doth he that saith, I could not speak

unto you as unto spiritual, but as unto carnal, even he as yet, doth not think himself to have apprehended, and

forgetteth those things which are behind, and reacheth forth to those which are before, and groaneth being

burthened, and his soul thirsteth after the Living God, as the hart after the waterbrooks, and saith, When

shall I come? desiring to be clothed upon with his house which is from heaven, and calleth upon this lower

deep, saying, Be not conformed to this world, but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind. And, be

not children in understanding, but in malice, be ye children, that in understanding ye may be perfect; and O

foolish Galatians, who hath bewitched you? But now no longer in his own voice; but in Thine who sentest

Thy Spirit from above; through Him who ascended up on high, and set open the floodgates of His gifts, that

the force of His streams might make glad the city of God. Him doth this friend of the Bridegroom sigh after,

having now the firstfruits of the Spirit laid up with Him, yet still groaning within himself, waiting for the

adoption, to wit, the redemption of his body; to Him he sighs, a member of the Bride; for Him he is jealous,

as being a friend of the Bridegroom; for Him he is jealous, not for himself; because in the voice of Thy

waterspouts, not in his own voice, doth he call to that other depth, over whom being jealous he feareth, lest

as the serpent beguiled Eve through his subtilty, so their minds should be corrupted from the purity that is in

our Bridegroom Thy only Son. O what a light of beauty will that be, when we shall see Him as He is, and

those tears be passed away, which have been my meat day and night, whilst they daily say unto me, Where is

Behold, I too say, O my God, Where art Thou? see, where Thou art! in Thee I breathe a little, when I pour out

my soul by myself in the voice of joy and praise, the sound of him that keeps holyday. And yet again it is

sad, because it relapseth, and becomes a deep, or rather perceives itself still to be a deep. Unto it speaks my

faith which Thou hast kindled to enlighten my feet in the night, Why art thou sad, O my soul, and why dost

thou trouble me? Hope in the Lord; His word is a lanthorn unto thy feet: hope and endure, until the night, the

mother of the wicked, until the wrath of the Lord, be overpast, whereof we also were once children, who were

sometimes darkness, relics whereof we bear about us in our body, dead because of sin; until the day break,

and the shadows fly away. Hope thou in the Lord; in the morning I shall stand in Thy presence, and

contemplate Thee: I shall for ever confess unto Thee. In the morning I shall stand in Thy presence, and shall

see the health of my countenance, my God, who also shall quicken our mortal bodies, by the Spirit that

dwelleth in us, because He hath in mercy been borne over our inner darksome and floating deep: from Whom

we have in this pilgrimage received an earnest, that we should now be light: whilst we are saved by hope, and

are the children of light, and the children of the day, not the children of the night, nor of the darkness, which

yet sometimes we were. Betwixt whom and us, in this uncertainty of human knowledge, Thou only dividest;

Thou, who provest our hearts, and callest the light, day, and the darkness, night. For who discerneth us, but

Thou? And what have we, that we have not received of Thee? out of the same lump vessels are made unto

Or who, except Thou, our God, made for us that firmament of authority over us in Thy Divine Scripture? as it

is said, For heaven shall be folded up like a scroll; and now is it stretched over us like a skin. For Thy Divine

Scripture is of more eminent authority, since those mortals by whom Thou dispensest it unto us, underwent

mortality. And Thou knowest, Lord, Thou knowest, how Thou with skins didst clothe men, when they by sin

became mortal. Whence Thou hast like a skin stretched out the firmament of Thy book, that is, Thy

harmonizing words, which by the ministry of mortal men Thou spreadest over us. For by their very death was

that solid firmament of authority, in Thy discourses set forth by them, more eminently extended over all that

be under it; which whilst they lived here, was not so eminently extended. Thou hadst not as yet spread abroad

the heaven like a skin; Thou hadst not as yet enlarged in all directions the glory of their deaths.

Let us look, O Lord, upon the heavens, the work of Thy fingers; clear from our eyes that cloud, which Thou

hast spread under them. There is Thy testimony, which giveth wisdom unto the little ones: perfect, O my

God, Thy praise out of the mouth of babes and sucklings. For we know no other books, which so destroy

pride, which so destroy the enemy and the defender, who resisteth Thy reconciliation by defending his own

sins. I know not, Lord, I know not any other such pure words, which so persuade me to confess, and make my

neck pliant to Thy yoke, and invite me to serve Thee for nought. Let me understand them, good Father: grant

this to me, who am placed under them: because for those placed under them, hast Thou established them.

Other waters there be above this firmament, I believe immortal, and separated from earthly corruption. Let

them praise Thy Name, let them praise Thee, the supercelestial people, Thine angels, who have no need to

gaze up at this firmament, or by reading to know of Thy Word. For they always behold Thy face, and there

read without any syllables in time, what willeth Thy eternal will; they read, they choose, they love. They are

ever reading; and that never passes away which they read; for by choosing, and by loving, they read the very

unchangeableness of Thy counsel. Their book is never closed, nor their scroll folded up; seeing Thou Thyself

art this to them, and art eternally; because Thou hast ordained them above this firmament, which Thou hast

firmly settled over the infirmity of the lower people, where they might gaze up and learn Thy mercy,

announcing in time Thee Who madest times. For Thy mercy, O Lord, is in the heavens, and Thy truth

reacheth unto the clouds. The clouds pass away, but the heaven abideth. The preachers of Thy word pass out

of this life into another; but Thy Scripture is spread abroad over the people, even unto the end of the world.

Yet heaven and earth also shall pass away, but Thy words shall not pass away. Because the scroll shall be

rolled together: and the grass over which it was spread, shall with the goodliness of it pass away; but Thy

Word remaineth for ever, which now appeareth unto us under the dark image of the clouds, and through the

glass of the heavens, not as it is: because we also, though the wellbeloved of Thy Son, yet it hath not yet

appeared what we shall be. He looketh through the lattice of our flesh, and He spake us tenderly, and kindled

us, and we ran after His odours. But when He shall appear, then shall we be like Him, for we shall see Him as

For altogether, as Thou art, Thou only knowest; Who art unchangeably, and knowest unchangeably, and

willest unchangeably. And Thy Essence Knoweth, and Willeth unchangeably; and Thy Knowledge Is, and

Willeth unchangeably; and Thy Will Is, and Knoweth unchangeably. Nor seemeth it right in Thine eyes, that

as the Unchangeable Light knoweth Itself, so should it be known by the thing enlightened, and changeable.

Therefore is my soul like a land where no water is, because as it cannot of itself enlighten itself, so can it not

of itself satisfy itself. For so is the fountain of life with Thee, like as in Thy light we shall see light.

Who gathered the embittered together into one society? For they have all one end, a temporal and earthly

felicity, for attaining whereof they do all things, though they waver up and down with an innumerable variety

of cares. Who, Lord, but Thou, saidst, Let the waters be gathered together into one place, and let the dry land

appear, which thirsteth after Thee? For the sea also is Thine, and Thou hast made it, and Thy hands prepared

the dry land. Nor is the bitterness of men's wills, but the gathering together of the waters, called sea; for Thou

restrainest the wicked desires of men's souls, and settest them their bounds, how far they may be allowed to

pass, that their waves may break one against another: and thus makest Thou it a sea, by the order of Thy

But the souls that thirst after Thee, and that appear before Thee (being by other bounds divided from the

society of the sea), Thou waterest by a sweet spring, that the earth may bring forth her fruit, and Thou, Lord

God, so commanding, our soul may bud forth works of mercy according to their kind, loving our neighbour

in the relief of his bodily necessities, having seed in itself according to its likeness, when from feeling of our

infirmity, we compassionate so as to relieve the needy; helping them, as we would be helped; if we were in

like need; not only in things easy, as in herb yielding seed, but also in the protection of our assistance, with

our best strength, like the tree yielding fruit: that is, welldoing in rescuing him that suffers wrong, from the

hand of the powerful, and giving him the shelter of protection, by the mighty strength of just judgment.

So, Lord, so, I beseech Thee, let there spring up, as Thou doest, as Thou givest cheerfulness and ability, let

truth spring out of the earth, and righteousness look down from heaven, and let there be lights in the

firmament. Let us break our bread to the hungry, and bring the houseless poor to our house. Let us clothe the

naked, and despise not those of our own flesh. Which fruits having sprung out of the earth, see it is good: and

let our temporary light break forth; and ourselves, from this lower fruitfulness of action, arriving at the

delightfulness of contemplation, obtaining the Word of Life above, appear like lights in the world, cleaving to

the firmament of Thy Scripture. For there Thou instructest us, to divide between the things intellectual, and

things of sense, as betwixt the day and the night; or between souls, given either to things intellectual, or

things of sense, so that now not Thou only in the secret of Thy judgment, as before the firmament was made,

dividest between the light and the darkness, but Thy spiritual children also set and ranked in the same

firmament (now that Thy grace is laid open throughout the world), may give light upon the earth, and divide

betwixt the day and the night, and be for signs of times, that old things are passed away, and, behold, all

things are become new; and that our salvation is nearer than when we believed: and that the night is far spent,

and the day is at hand: and that Thou wilt crown Thy year with blessing, sending the labourers of Thy

goodness into Thy harvest, in sowing whereof, others have laboured, sending also into another field, whose

harvest shall be in the end. Thus grantest Thou the prayers of him that asketh, and blessest the years of the

just; but Thou art the same, and in Thy years which fail not, Thou preparest a garner for our passing years.

For Thou by an eternal counsel dost in their proper seasons bestow heavenly blessings upon the earth. For to

one is given by the Spirit the word of wisdom, as it were the lesser light: to another faith; to another the gift

with the light of perspicuous truth, as it were for the rule of the day. To another the word of knowledge by the

same Spirit, as it were the lesser light: to another faith; to another the gift of healing; to another the working

of miracles; to another prophecy; to another discerning of spirits; to another divers kinds of tongues. And all

these as it were stars. For all these worketh the one and selfsame spirit, dividing to every man his own as He

will; and causing stars to appear manifestly, to profit withal. But the word of knowledge, wherein are

contained all Sacraments, which are varied in their seasons as it were the moon, and those other notices of

gifts, which are reckoned up in order, as it were stars, inasmuch as they come short of that brightness of

wisdom, which gladdens the forementioned day, are only for the rule of the night. For they are necessary to

such, as that Thy most prudent servant could not speak unto as unto spiritual, but as unto carnal; even he,

who speaketh wisdom among those that are perfect. But the natural man, as it were a babe in Christ and fed

on milk, until he be strengthened for solid meat and his eye be enabled to behold the Sun, let him not dwell in

a night forsaken of all light, but be content with the light of the moon and the stars. So dost Thou speak to us,

our Allwise God, in Thy Book, Thy firmament; that we may discern all things, in an admirable

But first, wash you, be clean; put away evil from your souls, and from before mine eyes, that the dry land

may appear. Learn to do good, judge the fatherless, plead for the widow, that the earth may bring forth the

green herb for meat, and the tree bearing fruit; and come, let us reason together, saith the Lord, that there may

be lights in the firmament of the heaven, and they may shine upon the earth. That rich man asked of the good

Master, what he should do to attain eternal life. Let the good Master tell him (whom he thought no more than

man; but He is good because He is God), let Him tell him, if he would enter into life, he must keep the

commandments: let him put away from him the bitterness of malice and wickedness; not kill, not commit

adultery, not steal, not bear false witness; that the dry land may appear, and bring forth the honouring of

father and mother, and the love of our neighbour. All these (saith he) have I kept. Whence then so many

thorns, if the earth be fruitful? Go, root up the spreading thickets of covetousness; sell that thou hast, and be

filled with fruit, by giving to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven; and follow the Lord if thou wilt

be perfect, associated with them, among whom He speaketh wisdom, Who knoweth what to distribute to the

day, and to the night, that thou also mayest know it, and for thee there may be lights in the firmament of

heaven; which will not be, unless thy heart be there: nor will that either be, unless there thy treasure be; as

thou hast heard of the good Master. But that barren earth was grieved; and the thorns choked the word.

But you, chosen generation, you weak things of the world, who have forsaken all, that ye may follow the

Lord; go after Him, and confound the mighty; go after Him, ye beautiful feet, and shine ye in the firmament,

that the heavens may declare His glory, dividing between the light of the perfect, though not as the angels,

and the darkness of the little ones, though not despised. Shine over the earth; and let the day, lightened by the

sun, utter unto day, speech of wisdom; and night, shining with the moon, show unto night, the word of

knowledge. The moon and stars shine for the night; yet doth not the night obscure them, seeing they give it

light in its degree. For behold God saying, as it were, Let there be lights in the firmament of heaven; there

came suddenly a sound from heaven, as it had been the rushing of a mighty wind, and there appeared cloven

tongues like as of fire, and it sat upon each of them. And there were made lights in the firmament of heaven,

having the word of life. Run ye to and fro every where, ye holy fires, ye beauteous fires; for ye are the light

of the world, nor are ye put under a bushel; He whom you cleave unto, is exalted, and hath exalted you. Run

Let the sea also conceive and bring forth your works; and let the waters bring forth the moving creature that

hath life. For ye, separating the precious from the vile, are made the mouth of God, by whom He saith, Let

the waters bring forth, not the living creature which the earth brings forth, but the moving creature having

life, and the fowls that fly above the earth. For Thy Sacraments, O God, by the ministry of Thy holy ones,

have moved amid the waves of temptations of the world, to hallow the Gentiles in Thy Name, in Thy

Baptism. And amid these things, many great wonders were wrought, as it were great whales: and the voices

of Thy messengers flying above the earth, in the open firmament of Thy Book; that being set over them, as

their authority under which they were to fly, whithersoever they went. For there is no speech nor language,

where their voice is not heard: seeing their sound is gone through all the earth, and their words to the end of

Speak I untruly, or do I mingle and confound, and not distinguish between the lucid knowledge of these

things in the firmament of heaven, and the material works in the wavy sea, and under the firmament of

heaven? For of those things whereof the knowledge is substantial and defined, without any increase by

generation, as it were lights of wisdom and knowledge, yet even of them, the material operations are many

and divers; and one thing growing out of another, they are multiplied by Thy blessing, O God, who hast

refreshed the fastidiousness of mortal senses; that so one thing in the understanding of our mind, may, by the

motions of the body, be many ways set out, and expressed. These Sacraments have the waters brought forth;

but in Thy word. The necessities of the people estranged from the eternity of Thy truth, have brought them

forth, but in Thy Gospel; because the waters themselves cast them forth, the diseased bitterness whereof was

Now are all things fair that Thou hast made; but behold, Thyself art unutterably fairer, that madest all; from

whom had not Adam fallen, the brackishness of the sea had never flowed out of him, that is, the human race

so profoundly curious, and tempestuously swelling, and restlessly tumbling up and down; and then had there

been no need of Thy dispensers to work in many waters, after a corporeal and sensible manner, mysterious

doings and sayings. For such those moving and flying creatures now seem to me to mean, whereby people

being initiated and consecrated by corporeal Sacraments, should not further profit, unless their soul had a

spiritual life, and unless after the word of admission, it looked forwards to perfection.

And hereby, in Thy Word, not the deepness of the sea, but the earth separated from the bitterness of the

waters, brings forth, not the moving creature that hath life, but the living soul. For now hath it no more need

of baptism, as the heathen have, and as itself had, when it was covered with the waters; (for no other entrance

is there into the kingdom of heaven, since Thou hast appointed that this should be the entrance:) nor does it

seek after wonderfulness of miracles to work belief; for it is not such, that unless it sees signs and wonders, it

will not believe, now that the faithful earth is separated from the waters that were bitter with infidelity; and

tongues are for a sign, not to them that believe, but to them that believe not. Neither then does that earth

which Thou hast founded upon the waters, need that flying kind, which at Thy word the waters brought forth.

Send Thou Thy word into it by Thy messengers: for we speak of their working, yet it is Thou that workest in

them that they may work out a living soul in it. The earth brings it forth, because the earth is the cause that

they work this in the soul; as the sea was the cause that they wrought upon the moving creatures that have

life, and the fowls that fly under the firmament of heaven, of whom the earth hath no need; although it feeds

upon that fish which was taken out of the deep, upon that table which Thou hast prepared in the presence of

them that believe. For therefore was He taken out of the deep, that He might feed the dry land; and the fowl,

though bred in the sea, is yet multiplied upon the earth. For of the first preachings of the Evangelists, man's

infidelity was the cause; yet are the faithful also exhorted and blessed by them manifoldly, from day to day.

But the living soul takes his beginning from the earth: for it profits only those already among the Faithful, to

contain themselves from the love of this world, that so their soul may live unto Thee, which was dead while it

lived in pleasures; in deathbringing pleasures, Lord, for Thou, Lord, art the lifegiving delight of the pure

Now then let Thy ministers work upon the earth, not as upon the waters of infidelity, by preaching and

speaking by miracles, and Sacraments, and mystic words; wherein ignorance, the mother of admiration,

might be intent upon them, out of a reverence towards those secret signs. For such is the entrance unto the

Faith for the sons of Adam forgetful of Thee, while they hide themselves from Thy face, and become a

darksome deep. But let Thy ministers work now as on the dry land, separated from the whirlpools of the

great deep: and let them be a pattern unto the Faithful, by living before them, and stirring them up to

imitation. For thus do men hear, so as not to hear only, but to do also. Seek the Lord, and your soul shall live,

that the earth may bring forth the living soul. Be not conformed to the world. Contain yourselves from it: the

soul lives by avoiding what it dies by affecting. Contain yourselves from the ungoverned wildness of pride,

the sluggish voluptuousness of luxury, and the false name of knowledge: that so the wild beasts may be

tamed, the cattle broken to the yoke, the serpents, harmless. For these be the motions of our mind under an

allegory; that is to say, the haughtiness of pride, the delight of lust, and the poison of curiosity, are the

motions of a dead soul; for the soul dies not so as to lose all motion; because it dies by forsaking the fountain

But Thy word, O God, is the fountain of life eternal; and passeth not away: wherefore this departure of the

soul is restrained by Thy word, when it is said unto us, Be not conformed unto this world; that so the earth

may in the fountain of life bring forth a living soul; that is, a soul made continent in Thy Word, by Thy

Evangelists, by following the followers of Thy Christ. For this is after his kind; because a man is wont to

imitate his friend. Be ye (saith he) as I am, for I also am as you are. Thus in this living soul shall there be

good beasts, in meekness of action (for Thou hast commanded, Go on with thy business in meekness, so shalt

thou be beloved by all men); and good cattle, which neither if they eat, shall they overabound, nor, if they

eat not, have any lack; and good serpents, not dangerous, to do hurt, but wise to take heed; and only making

so much search into this temporal nature, as may suffice that eternity be clearly seen, being understood by the

things that are made. For these creatures are obedient unto reason, when being restrained from deadly

For behold, O Lord, our God, our Creator, when our affections have been restrained from the love of the

world, by which we died through evilliving; and begun to be a living soul, through good living; and Thy

word which Thou spokest by Thy apostle, is made good in us, Be not conformed to this world: there follows

that also, which Thou presently subjoinedst, saying, But be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind; not

now after your kind, as though following your neighbour who went before you, nor as living after the

example of some better man (for Thou saidst not, "Let man be made after his kind," but, Let us make man

after our own image and similitude), that we might prove what Thy will is. For to this purpose said that

dispenser of Thine (who begat children by the Gospel), that he might not for ever have them babes, whom he

must be fain to feed with milk, and cherish as a nurse; be ye transformed (saith he) by the renewing of your

mind, that ye may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God. Wherefore Thou sayest

not, "Let man be made," but Let us make man. Nor saidst Thou, "according to his kind"; but, after our image

and likeness. For man being renewed in his mind, and beholding and understanding Thy truth, needs not man

as his director, so as to follow after his kind; but by Thy direction proveth what is that good, that acceptable,

and perfect will of Thine: yea, Thou teachest him, now made capable, to discern the Trinity of the Unity, and

the Unity of the Trinity. Wherefore to that said in the plural. Let us make man, is yet subjoined in the

singular, And God made man: and to that said in the plural. After our likeness, is subjoined in the singular,

After the image of God. Thus is man renewed in the knowledge of God, after the image of Him that created

him: and being made spiritual, he judgeth all things (all things which are to be judged), yet himself is judged

But that he judgeth all things, this answers to his having dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowls

of the air, and over all cattle and wild beasts, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that

creepeth upon the earth. For this he doth by the understanding of his mind, whereby he perceiveth the things

of the Spirit of God; whereas otherwise, man being placed in honour, had no understanding, and is compared

unto the brute beasts, and is become like unto them. In Thy Church therefore, O our God, according to Thy

grace which Thou hast bestowed upon it (for we are Thy workmanship created unto good works), not those

only who are spiritually set over, but they also who spiritually are subject to those that are set over them, for

in this way didst Thou make man male and female, in Thy grace spiritual, where, according to the sex of

body, there is neither male nor female, because neither Jew nor Grecian, neither bond nor free. Spiritual

persons (whether such as are set over, or such as obey); do judge spiritually; not of that spiritual knowledge

which shines in the firmament (for they ought not to judge as to so supreme authority), nor may they judge of

Thy Book itself, even though something there shineth not clearly; for we submit our understanding unto it,

and hold for certain, that even what is closed to our sight, is yet rightly and truly spoken. For so man, though

now spiritual and renewed in the knowledge of God after His image that created him, ought to be a doer of

the law, not a judge. Neither doth he judge of that distinction of spiritual and carnal men, who are known unto

Thine eyes, O our God, and have not as yet discovered themselves unto us by works, that by their fruits we

might know them: but Thou, Lord, dost even now know them, and hast divided and called them in secret, or

ever the firmament was made. Nor doth he, though spiritual, judge the unquiet people of this world; for what

hath he to do, to judge them that are without, knowing not which of them shall hereafter come into the

sweetness of Thy grace; and which continue in the perpetual bitterness of ungodliness?

Man therefore, whom Thou hast made after Thine own image, received not dominion over the lights of

heaven, nor over that hidden heaven itself, nor over the day and the night, which Thou calledst before the

foundation of the heaven, nor over the gathering together of the waters, which is the sea; but He received

dominion over the fishes of the sea, and the fowls of the air, and over all cattle, and over all the earth, and

over all creeping things which creep upon the earth. For He judgeth and approveth what He findeth right, and

He disalloweth what He findeth amiss, whether in the celebration of those Sacraments by which such are

initiated, as Thy mercy searches out in many waters: or in that, in which that Fish is set forth, which, taken

out of the deep, the devout earth feedeth upon: or in the expressions and signs of words, subject to the

authority of Thy Book, such signs, as proceed out of the mouth, and sound forth, flying as it were under the

firmament, by interpreting, expounding, discoursing disputing, consecrating, or praying unto Thee, so that the

people may answer, Amen. The vocal pronouncing of all which words, is occasioned by the deep of this

world, and the blindness of the flesh, which cannot see thoughts; So that there is need to speak aloud into the

ears; so that, although flying fowls be multiplied upon the earth, yet they derive their beginning from the

waters. The spiritual man judgeth also by allowing of what is right, and disallowing what he finds amiss, in

the works and lives of the faithful; their alms, as it were the earth bringing forth fruit, and of the living soul,

living by the taming of the affections, in chastity, in fasting, in holy meditations; and of those things, which

are perceived by the senses of the body. Upon all these is he now said to judge, wherein he hath also power of

But what is this, and what kind of mystery? Behold, Thou blessest mankind, O Lord, that they may increase

and multiply, and replenish the earth; dost Thou not thereby give us a hint to understand something? why

didst Thou not as well bless the light, which Thou calledst day; nor the firmament of heaven, nor the lights,

nor the stars, nor the earth, nor the sea? I might say that Thou, O God, who created created us after Thine

Image, I might say, that it had been Thy good pleasure to bestow this blessing peculiarly upon man; hadst

Thou not in like manner blessed the fishes and the whales, that they should increase and multiply, and

replenish the waters of the sea, and that the fowls should be multiplied upon the earth. I might say likewise,

that this blessing pertained properly unto such creatures, as are bred of their own kind, had I found it given to

the fruittrees, and plants, and beasts of the earth. But now neither unto the herbs, nor the trees, nor the

beasts, nor serpents is it said, Increase and multiply; notwithstanding all these as well as the fishes, fowls, or

What then shall I say, O Truth my Light? "that it was idly said, and without meaning?" Not so, O Father of

piety, far he it from a minister of Thy word to say so. And if I understand not what Thou meanest by that

phrase, let my betters, that is, those of more understanding than myself, make better use of it, according as

Thou, my God, hast given to each man to understand. But let my confession also be pleasing in Thine eyes,

wherein I confess unto Thee, that I believe, O Lord, that Thou spokest not so in vain; nor will I suppress,

what this lesson suggests to me. For it is true, nor do I see what should hinder me from thus understanding

the figurative sayings of Thy Bible. For I know a thing to be manifoldly signified by corporeal expressions,

which is understood one way by the mind; and that understood many ways in the mind, which is signified one

way by corporeal expression. Behold, the single love of God and our neighbour, by what manifold

sacraments, and innumerable languages, and in each several language, in how innumerable modes of

speaking, it is corporeally expressed. Thus do the offspring of the waters increase and multiply. Observe

again, whosoever readest this; behold, what Scripture delivers, and the voice pronounces one only way, In the

Beginning God created heaven and earth; is it not understood manifoldly, not through any deceit of error, but

If therefore we conceive of the natures of the things themselves, not allegorically, but properly, then does the

phrase increase and multiply, agree unto all things, that come of seed. But if we treat of the words as

figuratively spoken (which I rather suppose to be the purpose of the Scripture, which doth not, surely,

superfluously ascribe this benediction to the offspring of aquatic animals and man only); then do we find

"multitude" to belong to creatures spiritual as well as corporeal, as in heaven and earth, and to righteous and

unrighteous, as in light and darkness; and to holy authors who have been the ministers of the Law unto us, as

in the firmament which is settled betwixt the waters and the waters; and to the society of people yet in the

bitterness of infidelity, as in the sea; and to the zeal of holy souls, as in the dry land; and to works of mercy

belonging to this present life, as in the herbs bearing seed, and in trees bearing fruit; and to spiritual gifts set

forth for edification, as in the lights of heaven; and to affections formed unto temperance, as in the living

soul. In all these instances we meet with multitudes, abundance, and increase; but what shall in such wise

increase and multiply that one thing may be expressed many ways, and one expression understood many

ways; we find not, except in signs corporeally expressed, and in things mentally conceived. By signs

corporeally pronounced we understand the generations of the waters, necessarily occasioned by the depth of

the flesh; by things mentally conceived, human generations, on account of the fruitfulness of reason. And for

this end do we believe Thee, Lord, to have said to these kinds, Increase and multiply. For in this blessing, I

conceive Thee to have granted us a power and a faculty, both to express several ways what we understand but

one; and to understand several ways, what we read to be obscurely delivered but in one. Thus are the waters

of the sea replenished, which are not moved but by several significations: thus with human increase is the

earth also replenished, whose dryness appeareth in its longing, and reason ruleth over it.

I would also say, O Lord my God, what the following Scripture minds me of; yea, I will say, and not fear. For

I will say the truth, Thyself inspiring me with what Thou willedst me to deliver out of those words. But by no

other inspiration than Thine, do I believe myself to speak truth, seeing Thou art the Truth, and every man a

liar. He therefore that speaketh a lie, speaketh of his own; that therefore I may speak truth, I will speak of

Thine. Behold, Thou hast given unto us for food every herb bearing seed which is upon all the earth; and

every tree, in which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed. And not to us alone, but also to all the fowls of the air,

and to the beasts of the earth, and to all creeping things; but unto the fishes and to the great whales, hast Thou

not given them. Now we said that by these fruits of the earth were signified, and figured in an allegory, the

works of mercy which are provided for the necessities of this life out of the fruitful earth. Such an earth was

the devout Onesiphorus, unto whose house Thou gavest mercy, because he often refreshed Thy Paul, and was

not ashamed of his chain. Thus did also the brethren, and such fruit did they bear, who out of Macedonia

supplied what was lacking to him. But how grieved he for some trees, which did not afford him the fruit due

unto him, where he saith, At my first answer no man stood by me, but all men forsook me. I pray God that it

may not be laid to their charge. For these fruits are due to such as minister the spiritual doctrine unto us out of

their understanding of the divine mysteries; and they are due to them, as men; yea and due to them also, as

the living soul, which giveth itself as an example, in all continency; and due unto them also, as flying

creatures, for their blessings which are multiplied upon the earth, because their sound went out into all lands.

But they are fed by these fruits, that are delighted with them; nor are they delighted with them, whose God is

their belly. For neither in them that yield them, are the things yielded the fruit, but with what mind they yield

them. He therefore that served God, and not his own belly, I plainly see why he rejoiced; I see it, and I rejoice

with him. For he had received from the Philippians, what they had sent by Epaphroditus unto him: and yet I

perceive why he rejoiced. For whereat he rejoiced upon that he fed; for, speaking in truth, I rejoiced (saith he)

greatly in the Lord, that now at the last your care of me hath flourished again, wherein ye were also careful,

but it had become wearisome unto you. These Philippians then had now dried up, with a long weariness, and

withered as it were as to bearing this fruit of a good work; and he rejoiceth for them, that they flourished

again, not for himself, that they supplied his wants. Therefore subjoins he, not that I speak in respect of want,

for I have learned in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. I know both how to be abased, and I

know how to abound; every where and in all things I am instructed both to be full, and to be hungry; both to

abound, and to suffer need. I can do all things through Him which strengtheneth me.

Whereat then rejoicest thou, O great Paul? whereat rejoicest thou? whereon feedest thou, O man, renewed in

the knowledge of God, after the image of Him that created thee, thou living soul, of so much continency, thou

tongue like flying fowls, speaking mysteries? (for to such creatures, is this food due;) what is it that feeds

thee? joy. Hear we what follows: notwithstanding, ye have well done, that ye did communicate with my

affliction. Hereat he rejoiceth, hereon feedeth; because they had well done, not because his strait was eased,

who saith unto Thee, Thou hast enlarged me when I was in distress; for that he knew to abound, and to suffer

want, in Thee Who strengthenest him. For ye Philippians also know (saith he), that in the beginning of the

Gospel, when I departed from Macedonia, no Church communicated with me as concerning giving and

receiving, but ye only. For even in Thessalonica ye sent once and again unto my necessity. Unto these good

works, he now rejoiceth that they are returned; and is gladdened that they flourished again, as when a fruitful

Was it for his own necessities, because he said, Ye sent unto my necessity? Rejoiceth he for that? Verily not

for that. But how know we this? Because himself says immediately, not because I desire a gift, but I desire

fruit. I have learned of Thee, my God, to distinguish betwixt a gift, and fruit. A gift, is the thing itself which

he gives, that imparts these necessaries unto us; as money, meat, drink, clothing, shelter, help: but the fruit, is

the good and right will of the giver. For the Good Master said not only, He that receiveth a prophet, but

added, in the name of a prophet: nor did He only say, He that receiveth a righteous man, but added, in the

name of a righteous man. So verily shall the one receive the reward of a prophet, the other, the reward of a

righteous man: nor saith He only, He that shall give to drink a cup of cold water to one of my little ones; but

added, in the name of a disciple: and so concludeth, Verily I say unto you, he shall not lose his reward. The

gift is, to receive a prophet, to receive a righteous man, to give a cup of cold water to a disciple: but the fruit,

to do this in the name of a prophet, in the name of a righteous man, in the name of a disciple. With fruit was

Elijah fed by the widow that knew she fed a man of God, and therefore fed him: but by the raven was he fed

with a gift. Nor was the inner man of Elijah so fed, but the outer only; which might also for want of that food

I will then speak what is true in Thy sight, O Lord, that when carnal men and infidels (for the gaining and

initiating whom, the initiatory Sacraments and the mighty workings of miracles are necessary, which we

suppose to be signified by the name of fishes and whales) undertake the bodily refreshment, or otherwise

succour Thy servant with something useful for this present life; whereas they be ignorant, why this is to be

done, and to what end; neither do they feed these, nor are these fed by them; because neither do the one do it

out of an holy and right intent; nor do the other rejoice at their gifts, whose fruit they as yet behold not. For

upon that is the mind fed, of which it is glad. And therefore do not the fishes and whales feed upon such

meats, as the earth brings not forth until after it was separated and divided from the bitterness of the waves of

And Thou, O God, sawest every thing that Thou hadst made, and, behold, it was very good. Yea we also see

the same, and behold, all things are very good. Of the several kinds of Thy works, when Thou hadst said "let

them be," and they were, Thou sawest each that it was good. Seven times have I counted it to be written, that

Thou sawest that that which Thou madest was good: and this is the eighth, that Thou sawest every thing that

Thou hadst made, and, behold, it was not only good, but also very good, as being now altogether. For

severally, they were only good; but altogether, both good, and very good. All beautiful bodies express the

same; by reason that a body consisting of members all beautiful, is far more beautiful than the same members

by themselves are, by whose wellordered blending the whole is perfected; notwithstanding that the members

And I looked narrowly to find, whether seven, or eight times Thou sawest that Thy works were good, when

they pleased Thee; but in Thy seeing I found no times, whereby I might understand that Thou sawest so often,

what Thou madest. And I said, "Lord, is not this Thy Scripture true, since Thou art true, and being Truth, hast

set it forth? why then dost Thou say unto me, 'that in Thy seeing there be no times'; whereas this Thy

Scripture tells me, that what Thou madest each day, Thou sawest that it was good: and when I counted them,

I found how often." Unto this Thou answerest me, for Thou art my God, and with a strong voice tellest Thy

servant in his inner ear, breaking through my deafness and crying, "O man, that which My Scripture saith, I

say: and yet doth that speak in time; but time has no relation to My Word; because My Word exists in equal

eternity with Myself. So the things which ye see through My Spirit, I see; like as what ye speak by My Spirit,

I speak. And so when ye see those things in time, I see them not in time; as when ye speak in time, I speak

And I heard, O Lord my God, and drank up a drop of sweetness out of Thy truth, and understood, that certain

men there be who mislike Thy works; and say, that many of them Thou madest, compelled by necessity; such

as the fabric of the heavens, and harmony of the stars; and that Thou madest them not of what was Thine, but

that they were otherwhere and from other sources created, for Thee to bring together and compact and

combine, when out of Thy conquered enemies Thou raisedst up the walls of the universe; that they, bound

down by the structure, might not again be able to rebel against Thee. For other things, they say Thou neither

madest them, nor even compactedst them, such as all flesh and all very minute creatures, and whatsoever hath

its root in the earth; but that a mind at enmity with Thee, and another nature not created by Thee, and contrary

unto Thee, did, in these lower stages of the world, beget and frame these things. Frenzied are they who say

But they who by Thy Spirit see these things, Thou seest in them. Therefore when they see that these things

are good, Thou seest that they are good; and whatsoever things for Thy sake please, Thou pleasest in them,

and what through Thy Spirit please us, they please Thee in us. For what man knoweth the things of a man,

save the spirit of a man, which is in him? even so the things of God knoweth no one, but the Spirit of God.

Now we (saith he) have received, not the spirit of this world, but the Spirit which is of God, that we might

know the things that are freely given to us of God. And I am admonished, "Truly the things of God knoweth

no one, but the Spirit of God: how then do we also know, what things are given us of God?" Answer is made

me; "because the things which we know by His Spirit, even these no one knoweth, but the Spirit of God. For

as it is rightly said unto those that were to speak by the Spirit of God, it is not ye that speak: so is it rightly

said to them that know through the Spirit of God, 'It is not ye that know.' And no less then is it rightly said to

those that see through the Spirit of God, 'It is not ye that see'; so whatsoever through the Spirit of God they

see to be good, it is not they, but God that sees that it is good." It is one thing then for a man to think that to

be ill which is good, as the forenamed do; another, that that which is good, a man should see that it is good

(as Thy creatures be pleasing unto many, because they be good, whom yet Thou pleasest not in them, when

they prefer to enjoy them, to Thee); and another, that when a man sees a thing that it is good, God should in

him see that it is good, so, namely, that He should be loved in that which He made, Who cannot be loved, but

by the Holy Ghost which He hath given. Because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy

Ghost, Which is given unto us: by Whom we see that whatsoever in any degree is, is good. For from Him it

Thanks to Thee, O Lord. We behold the heaven and earth, whether the corporeal part, superior and inferior,

or the spiritual and corporeal creature; and in the adorning of these parts, whereof the universal pile of the

world, or rather the universal creation, doth consist, we see light made, and divided from the darkness. We

see the firmament of heaven, whether that primary body of the world, between the spiritual upper waters and

the inferior corporeal waters, or (since this also is called heaven) this space of air through which wander the

fowls of heaven, betwixt those waters which are in vapours borne above them, and in clear nights distill down

in dew; and those heavier waters which flow along the earth. We behold a face of waters gathered together in

the fields of the sea; and the dry land both void, and formed so as to be visible and harmonized, yea and the

matter of herbs and trees. We behold the lights shining from above, the sun to suffice for the day, the moon

and the stars to cheer the night; and that by all these, times should be marked and signified. We behold on all

sides a moist element, replenished with fishes, beasts, and birds; because the grossness of the air, which bears

up the flights of birds, thickeneth itself by the exhalation of the waters. We behold the face of the earth

decked out with earthly creatures, and man, created after Thy image and likeness, even through that Thy very

image and likeness (that is the power of reason and understanding), set over all irrational creatures. And as in

his soul there is one power which has dominion by directing, another made subject, that it might obey; so was

there for the man, corporeally also, made a woman, who in the mind of her reasonable understanding should

have a parity of nature, but in the sex of her body, should be in like manner subject to the sex of her husband,

as the appetite of doing is fain to conceive the skill of rightdoing from the reason of the mind. These things

Let Thy works praise Thee, that we may love Thee; and let us love Thee, that Thy works may praise Thee,

which from time have beginning and ending, rising and setting, growth and decay, form and privation. They

have then their succession of morning and evening, part secretly, part apparently; for they were made of

nothing, by Thee, not of Thee; not of any matter not Thine, or that was before, but of matter concreated (that

is, at the same time created by Thee), because to its state without form, Thou without any interval of time

didst give form. For seeing the matter of heaven and earth is one thing, and the form another, Thou madest

the matter of merely nothing, but the form of the world out of the matter without form: yet both together, so

We have also examined what Thou willedst to be shadowed forth, whether by the creation, or the relation of

things in such an order. And we have seen, that things singly are good, and together very good, in Thy Word,

in Thy OnlyBegotten, both heaven and earth, the Head and the body of the Church, in Thy predestination

before all times, without morning and evening. But when Thou begannest to execute in time the things

predestinated, to the end Thou mightest reveal hidden things, and rectify our disorders; for our sins hung over

us, and we had sunk into the dark deep; and Thy good Spirit was borne over us, to help us in due season; and

Thou didst justify the ungodly, and dividest them from the wicked; and Thou madest the firmament of

authority of Thy Book between those placed above, who were to he docile unto Thee, and those under, who

were to be subject to them: and Thou gatheredst together the society of unbelievers into one conspiracy, that

the zeal of the faithful might appear, and they might bring forth works of mercy, even distributing to the poor

their earthly riches, to obtain heavenly. And after this didst Thou kindle certain lights in the firmament, Thy

Holy ones, having the word of life; and shining with an eminent authority set on high through spiritual gifts;

after that again, for the initiation of the unbelieving Gentiles, didst Thou out of corporeal matter produce the

Sacraments, and visible miracles, and forms of words according to the firmament of Thy Book, by which the

faithful should be blessed and multiplied. Next didst Thou form the living soul of the faithful, through

affections well ordered by the vigour of continency: and after that, the mind subjected to Thee alone and

needing to imitate no human authority, hast Thou renewed after Thy image and likeness; and didst subject its

rational actions to the excellency of the understanding, as the woman to the man; and to all Offices of Thy

Ministry, necessary for the perfecting of the faithful in this life, Thou willedst, that for their temporal uses,

good things, fruitful to themselves in time to come, be given by the same faithful. All these we see, and they

are very good, because Thou seest them in us, Who hast given unto us Thy Spirit, by which we might see

O Lord God, give peace unto us: (for Thou hast given us all things;) the peace of rest, the peace of the

Sabbath, which hath no evening. For all this most goodly array of things very good, having finished their

But the seventh day hath no evening, nor hath it setting; because Thou hast sanctified it to an everlasting

continuance; that that which Thou didst after Thy works which were very good, resting the seventh day,

although Thou madest them in unbroken rest, that may the voice of Thy Book announce beforehand unto us,

that we also after our works (therefore very good, because Thou hast given them us), shall rest in Thee also in

For then shalt Thou rest in us, as now Thou workest in us; and so shall that be Thy rest through us, as these

are Thy works through us. But Thou, Lord, ever workest, and art ever at rest. Nor dost Thou see in time, nor

art moved in time, nor restest in a time; and yet Thou makest things seen in time, yea the times themselves,

We therefore see these things which Thou madest, because they are: but they are, because Thou seest them.

And we see without, that they are, and within, that they are good, but Thou sawest them there, when made,

where Thou sawest them, yet to be made. And we were at a later time moved to do well, after our hearts had

conceived of Thy Spirit; but in the former time we were moved to do evil, forsaking Thee; but Thou, the One,

the Good God, didst never cease doing good. And we also have some good works, of Thy gift, but not

eternal; after them we trust to rest in Thy great hallowing. But Thou, being the Good which needeth no good,

art ever at rest, because Thy rest is Thou Thyself. And what man can teach man to understand this? or what

Angel, an Angel? or what Angel, a man? Let it be asked of Thee, sought in Thee, knocked for at Thee; so, so