THE THIRTEEN BOOKS. BOOK ONE. Great art Thou, O Lord, and greatly to be praised: great is Thy power, and of Thy wisdom there is no number. And man desires to praise Thee, man who is but a portion of Thy creation, man who bears about with him his mortality, who bears about with him the testimony of his sin and the testimony that Thou dost resist the proud: and yet man, this portion of Thy creation, desires to praise Thee. Thou dost stir him up, that it may be a delight to praise Thee, for Thou hast made us for Thyself, and our heart is restless until it rest in Thee. Grant me, O Lord, to know and to understand whether it is first to call upon Thee or to praise Thee, and whether to know Thee comes before to call upon Thee. But who calls upon Thee not knowing Thee? For one not knowing might call upon another instead of Thee. Or rather, art Thou called upon that Thou mayest be known?
But how shall they call upon 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 Him shall find Him, and they that find Him shall praise Him. Let me seek Thee, O Lord, in calling upon Thee, and let me call upon Thee believing in Thee: for Thou hast been preached unto us. My faith calls upon Thee, O Lord, the faith which Thou hast given me, which Thou hast breathed into me through the humanity of Thy Son, through the ministry of Thy preacher. And how shall I call upon my God, my God and my Lord, since indeed when I call upon Him I am calling Him into my very self? And what room is there within me, into which my God may come? Into what place may God come into me, the God who made heaven and earth? Is it so, O Lord my God, that there is anything in me which can contain Thee?
Or do heaven and earth, which Thou hast made and in which Thou hast made me, contain Thee? Or, because without Thee whatever exists could not be, does it come to pass that whatever exists contains Thee? Since therefore I too exist, why do I beg that Thou shouldst come into me, who would not be unless Thou wert in me? For I am not yet in hell, and yet even there Thou art. For though I should descend into hell, Thou art present. I should not therefore be, my God, I should not be at all, unless Thou wert in me. Or rather, should I not be unless I were in Thee, from whom are all things, through whom are all things, in whom are all things? Even so, O Lord, even so. Whither do I call Thee, since I am in Thee? Or from whence wouldst Thou come into me? For whither could I withdraw beyond heaven and earth, that from thence my God might come into me, He who said: I fill heaven and earth?
Do heaven and earth then contain Thee, since Thou fillest them? Or dost Thou fill them, and yet there remains over, since they do not contain Thee? And into what dost Thou pour back whatever of Thee remains over when heaven and earth are filled? Or hast Thou no need to be contained by anything, Thou who containest all things, since what Thou fillest, Thou fillest by containing? For the vessels which are full of Thee do not make Thee stable, for though they be broken Thou art not poured out. And when Thou art poured out upon us, Thou dost not lie low, but liftest us up; nor art Thou scattered, but Thou gatherest us together. But Thou who fillest all things, dost fill them with Thy whole self. Or, because all things cannot contain Thee whole, do they contain a part of Thee, and do all things at once contain the same part? Or do single things contain single parts, the greater greater parts, the smaller smaller?
Is there then some part of Thee that is greater, some part that is lesser? Or art Thou everywhere whole, and does no single thing contain Thee whole? What then art Thou, my God? What, I ask, but the Lord God? For who is Lord but the Lord? Or who is God save our God? Most high, most good, most mighty, most almighty, most merciful and most just, most hidden and most present, most beautiful and most strong, steadfast and incomprehensible, unchangeable yet changing all things, never new, never old, making all things new, leading the proud into decay though they know it not; ever working, ever at rest, gathering yet lacking nothing, bearing and filling and protecting, creating and nourishing and bringing to perfection, seeking though nothing is wanting to Thee.
Thou lovest, yet burnest not with passion; Thou art jealous, yet free from care; Thou repentest, yet grievest not; Thou art angry, yet calm; Thou changest Thy works, yet changest not Thy counsel; Thou receivest back what Thou findest, yet hast never lost; never in want, yet rejoicing in gains; never covetous, yet exacting interest. There is paid over to Thee more than is owing, that Thou mayest be debtor, and yet who has anything that is not Thine? Thou payest debts, owing nothing to any; Thou forgivest debts, losing nothing. And what have we said, my God, my life, my holy sweetness? Or what does anyone say when he speaks of Thee? Yet woe to those who keep silence about Thee, since even those who speak much are as the dumb. Who will grant me to rest in Thee? Who will grant me that Thou shouldst come into my heart and intoxicate it, that I may forget my evils and embrace Thee, my one good? What art Thou to me? Have mercy, that I may speak.
What am I myself to Thee, that Thou shouldst command me to love Thee, and shouldst be angry with me if I do it not, and threaten me with vast miseries? Is it then a small misery in itself, if I love Thee not? Woe is me! Tell me, by Thy mercies, O Lord my God, what Thou art to me. Say unto my soul: I am thy salvation. So say it, that I may hear. Behold, the ears of my heart are before Thee, O Lord; open them, and say unto my soul: I am thy salvation. I will run after this voice, and lay hold on Thee. Hide not Thy face from me: let me die, lest I die, that I may see it. Narrow is the house of my soul, that Thou mayest enter into it: let it be enlarged by Thee. It is in ruins: do Thou repair it. It has within it things that offend Thine eyes: I confess it, and I know it. But who shall cleanse it? Or to what other than Thee shall I cry:
Cleanse me, O Lord, from my secret faults, and from those of others spare Thy servant? I believe, and therefore do I speak. O Lord, Thou knowest. Have I not confessed before Thee my transgressions against myself, my God, and hast Thou not forgiven the impiety of my heart? I do not contend in judgment with Thee, who art the truth; and I would not deceive myself, lest my iniquity lie unto itself. I do not therefore contend in judgment with Thee, because if Thou, O Lord, shouldst mark iniquities, O Lord, who shall stand? But yet suffer me to speak before Thy mercy, me who am but dust and ashes; suffer me yet to speak, since behold, it is Thy mercy, not man, my mocker, to whom I speak. And perhaps Thou too dost mock me, but turning Thou wilt have mercy upon me.
For what is it that I wish to say, O Lord, but that I know not whence I came hither into this—shall I call it a dying life or a living death? I know not. And the consolations of Thy mercies received me, as I have heard from the parents of my flesh, the one from whom and the one in whom Thou didst form me in time; for I myself do not remember. The consolations of human milk therefore received me, yet neither my mother nor my nurses filled their own breasts, but Thou through them didst give me the nourishment of infancy, according to Thine ordinance and Thy riches disposed even to the foundation of things. Thou also didst grant me to wish for no more than Thou gavest, and didst grant those who nursed me the will to give me what Thou gavest them: for by an ordered affection they were willing to give me of that wherein they abounded from Thee.
For it was a good to them, this my good which came from them, though not from them but through them: for from Thee indeed are all good things, O God, and from my God is all my welfare. This I have perceived since, while Thou criest aloud to me through these very gifts which Thou bestowest within and without. For then I knew how to suck and to take pleasure in delights, and to weep at the hurts of my flesh, nothing more. Afterwards I began to smile, first in sleep, then waking. For this has been told me of myself, and I believed it, since thus we see other infants; for of my own self I remember nothing.
And lo, little by little I began to perceive where I was, and I wished to make my desires known to those through whom they might be fulfilled, and I could not, because those desires were within, while they were without, nor by any sense of theirs could they enter into my soul. And so I tossed about my limbs and my voice, signs like to my desires, the few that I could, such as I could: for they were not truly like. And when I was not obeyed, whether because I was not understood or lest it should harm me, I was indignant at my elders for not submitting, and at free persons for not serving me, and I avenged myself upon them by weeping. Such I learned that infants are, those that I could observe; and that I myself was such, those who knew not, my nurses, showed me more than those who knew. And behold, my infancy is long since dead, and I yet live.
But Thou, O Lord, who ever livest and in whom nothing dies, since before the beginnings of the ages and before all that can even be called 'before' Thou art, and art God and Lord of all that Thou hast created, and with Thee stand the causes of all unstable things, and the unchangeable origins of all changeable things abide, and the everlasting reasons of all irrational and temporal things live—tell me, Thy suppliant, O God, and being merciful tell me, Thy wretched one, whether my infancy succeeded some other age of mine already dead. Was it that age which I passed within my mother's womb? For of that too something has been told me, and I myself have seen women with child. And what before that, my sweetness, my God? Was I anywhere, or anyone?
For who can tell me these things, I have no one; neither father nor mother could, nor the experience of others, nor my own memory. Dost Thou laugh at me for asking these things, and dost Thou bid me praise Thee and confess to Thee concerning that which I do know? I confess to Thee, O Lord of heaven and earth, giving Thee praise concerning my origins and my infancy, which I do not remember; and Thou hast granted to man to conjecture concerning himself from others, and to believe much concerning himself even on the authority of poor weak women. For I existed and lived even then, and at the very end of infancy I was already seeking signs by which I might make my feelings known to others. Whence comes such a living creature, save from Thee, O Lord? Or shall anyone be the maker of his own self?
Or is any vein drawn from elsewhere, by which being and life flow into us, save that Thou makest us, O Lord, to whom to be and to live are not one thing and another, because to be in the highest degree and to live in the highest degree is one and the same? For Thou art most high, and Thou changest not, neither is this present day brought to its end in Thee, and yet in Thee it is brought to its end, because in Thee are all these things too: for they would have no ways of passing on, unless Thou didst contain them. And since Thy years fail not, Thy years are this present day: and how many of our days and of our fathers' days have already passed through Thy today, and from it received their measures and somehow came to be, and yet others shall pass and shall receive and somehow shall come to be.
But Thou art the selfsame, and all things of tomorrow and beyond, and all things of yesterday and before, Thou wilt do today, Thou hast done today. What is it to me if anyone understand not? Let him too rejoice and say: What is this? Let him rejoice even so, and let him love to find Thee by not finding rather than by finding not to find Thee. Hear me, O God. Woe to the sins of men! And man saith these things, and Thou hast mercy upon him, since Thou madest him and madest not sin in him. Who reminds me of the sin of my infancy? For none is pure from sin before Thee, not even the infant whose life is but of one day upon the earth. Who reminds me of it? May not any tiny little one now do so, in whom I see what I do not remember of myself? What then was I sinning in then? Was it that I gaped after the breasts, crying?
For if I should now so gape, not indeed after the breasts, but after food suited to my years, I should most justly be laughed at and rebuked. Then therefore I did things deserving rebuke, but because I could not understand him who rebuked me, neither custom nor reason allowed me to be rebuked. For as we grow we root out and cast away such things. Nor have I seen anyone who, when cleansing something, knowingly throws away the good. Or were those things good even for that time—to seek by weeping even what would have been given to my hurt, to be bitterly indignant at free persons not subject to me, at elders, and at those by whom I was begotten, and at many others besides, wiser than they, not obeying the beck of my will, and to strive to do harm by striking, as far as I could, because I was not obeyed in commands which it would have been ruinous to obey?
Thus the weakness of an infant's limbs is innocent, but not the mind of infants. I myself have seen and known a little child that was jealous: it could not yet speak, and yet it gazed pale with a bitter look upon its foster-brother. Who knows not this? Mothers and nurses say that they expiate these things by I know not what remedies. Unless indeed this too is innocence, that where the fount of milk flows abundant and overflowing, one who is most in need of it and as yet sustains life by that one nourishment alone should not be suffered to have a partner. But these things are gently borne with, not because they are nothing or but little, but because with the increase of age they will pass away. And this thou mayest prove from the fact that these very same things cannot be borne with an even mind when they are detected in someone older.
Thou therefore, O Lord my God, who gavest life to the infant and a body, which, as we see, Thou hast furnished with senses, knit together with limbs, adorned with shape, and for its wholeness and well-being hast instilled all the impulses of a living creature—Thou commandest me to praise Thee in these things, and to confess to Thee, and to sing unto Thy name, O Most High, because Thou art God almighty and good, even hadst Thou done these things alone, which none other can do save Thou, the One, from whom is all measure, most beautiful, who givest form to all things and by Thy law dost order all things.
This age then, O Lord, which I do not remember having lived, concerning which I have believed others and which I have conjectured that I passed from observing other infants—although such conjecture is very trustworthy—I am loath to reckon as part of this life of mine which I live in this world. For as far as concerns the darkness of my forgetfulness, it is on a par with that which I lived in my mother's womb. But if I was conceived in iniquity, and in sins my mother nourished me in the womb, where, I beseech Thee, my God, where, O Lord, was I, Thy servant, where or when was I innocent? But behold, I pass over that time: and what have I now to do with it, of which I recall no traces? Did I not, passing on from infancy, come hither into boyhood? Or rather did it come into me and succeed infancy? Nor did infancy depart:
for whither did it go? And yet it now was no more. For I was no longer an infant who could not speak, but already a boy who could speak. And I remember this, and whence I had learned to speak I afterwards observed. For my elders did not teach me by offering me words in some fixed order of instruction, as they did a little later with letters; but I myself, with the mind which Thou gavest me, my God, when I wished to express the feelings of my heart by groans and various sounds and various movements of my limbs, that my will might be obeyed, and could not utter all that I wished nor to all whom I wished, I weighed things in my memory: when men named some object and at that word moved their body toward something, I saw and grasped that the thing was called by them by the name which they uttered when they wished to point it out.
But that they meant this was made plain by the movement of the body, as it were by the natural words of all nations, which are made by countenance and the beck of the eyes and the action of the other members and the sound of the voice indicating the affection of the mind in seeking, having, rejecting, or fleeing things. Thus, by hearing words placed in their proper places in various sentences and repeated often, I gradually gathered of what things they were the signs, and having trained my mouth to these signs, I now uttered my wishes through them. So with those among whom I lived I shared the signs for expressing my wishes, and I entered more deeply into the stormy fellowship of human life, depending upon the authority of my parents and the beck of my elders.
O God, my God, what miseries and mockeries did I there experience, when as a boy it was set before me as right living to obey those who admonished me, that I might flourish in this world and excel in those skills of speech that serve the honor of men and false riches. Thereupon I was put to school to learn letters, in which, wretched as I was, I knew not what use there might be. And yet, if I was slothful in learning, I was beaten. For this was praised by the elders, and many who had lived this life before us had laid out toilsome paths, through which we were compelled to pass, with multiplied labor and sorrow upon the sons of Adam.
But we found, O Lord, men praying to Thee, and we learned from them, perceiving Thee, as best we could, to be some great One who, even without appearing to our senses, couldst hear us and come to our aid. For as a boy I began to pray to Thee, my help and my refuge, and to call upon Thee I burst the knots of my tongue, and prayed to Thee, little though I was, with no little affection, that I might not be beaten at school. And when Thou didst not hear me—which was not to my folly—my stripes were laughed at by my elders, even by my very parents, who wished no harm to befall me; and these were then my great and grievous evil.
Is there anyone, O Lord, of so great a soul, cleaving to Thee with so vast an affection—is there, I say, anyone—for a certain dullness can also do this—is there then anyone who, by piously cleaving to Thee, is so greatly affected that he counts as little the racks and hooks and other such various torments, for the escaping of which Thou art entreated throughout all lands with great fear, loving those who most bitterly dread these things, even as our parents laughed at the torments with which we boys were afflicted by our masters? For we feared those torments no less, nor did we beseech Thee less to escape them; and yet we sinned by writing or reading or thinking about our letters less than was required of us.
For I lacked not, O Lord, memory or wit, which Thou didst will us to have in sufficient measure for that age; but I delighted to play, and vengeance was taken upon me by those who were certainly doing the very same things. But the trifles of elders are called business, while when boys do such things they are punished by their elders, and no one pities the boys or the elders or both. Unless indeed some good judge of things approves of my having been beaten because I played ball as a boy, and by that play was hindered from learning my letters more quickly—those letters by which, when grown, I might play more disgracefully. Or did he do anything else, the very man by whom I was beaten, who, if he were worsted in some little dispute by a fellow-teacher, was tormented with more bile and envy than I, when in a contest of ball I was beaten by my playmate?
And yet I sinned, O Lord my God, Thou orderer and creator of all natural things, but of sins the orderer only, O Lord my God, I sinned by acting against the precepts of my parents and of those masters. For afterwards I could put to good use the letters which they wished me to learn, with whatever intent those elders of mine had. For I was disobedient not from choosing better things, but from love of play, loving in contests proud victories, and to have my ears tickled with false fables, that they might itch the more ardently, while the same curiosity flashed more and more through my eyes upon the shows and games of the elders;
yet those who put on these shows are so endowed with that dignity that almost all wish it for their little ones, whom nonetheless they willingly suffer to be beaten if by such spectacles they are hindered from the study by which they desire them to attain to the putting on of such shows. Look upon these things, O Lord, with mercy, and free us who already call upon Thee; free also those who do not yet call upon Thee, that they may call upon Thee and that Thou mayest free them. For I had heard, even while still a boy, of eternal life promised to us through the humility of the Lord our God descending to our pride, and I was already signed with the sign of His cross and seasoned with His salt from the very womb of my mother, who greatly hoped in Thee.
Thou sawest, O Lord, when, while I was still a boy, on a certain day I suddenly burned with a pressure of the stomach and was almost at the point of death—Thou sawest, my God, since Thou wast already my guardian, with what movement of mind and with what faith I begged for the baptism of Thy Christ, my God and my Lord, from the piety of my mother and of the mother of us all, Thy Church. And the mother of my flesh was troubled, since with a chaste heart in Thy faith she was travailing the more lovingly for my eternal salvation, and she would in haste have had me initiated and washed in the saving sacraments, confessing Thee, O Lord Jesus, unto the remission of sins, had I not straightway recovered.
And so my cleansing was deferred, as though it were necessary that I should be yet further defiled if I lived, because forsooth after that washing the guilt of the defilements of sin would be greater and more perilous. So I already believed, and so did she and all the household, save my father alone, who nonetheless did not prevail in me over the claim of my mother's piety, so as to prevent me from believing in Christ, even as he himself did not yet believe. For she labored earnestly that Thou, my God, shouldst be my Father rather than he; and in this Thou didst help her, that she might overcome her husband, to whom, though the better, she was subject, because in this too she was subject to Thee who commandest it.
I ask Thee, my God, I would fain know, if Thou also wouldst, with what counsel my baptism was deferred, that I should not then be baptized—whether it was for my good that the reins of sinning were as it were loosed for me, or whether they were not loosed. Whence then even now from this side and that there sounds about in our ears on every hand: 'Let him alone, let him do it; for he is not yet baptized.' And yet in the health of the body we do not say: 'Let him be wounded further; for he is not yet healed.' How much better then would it have been that I should be healed quickly, and that it should be brought about by my care and that of my own people, that the recovered salvation of my soul should be safe under Thy protection, who hadst given it. Far better indeed.
But how many and how great were the waves of temptation that seemed to hang over me after boyhood, my mother already knew them, and she chose rather to commit the earth, from which I might afterwards be shaped, than the very image itself already formed. In boyhood itself, for which less was feared on my behalf than for youth, I did not love letters and hated to be urged toward them; and yet I was urged, and it was done well for me, though I did not do well: for I would not have learned unless I had been compelled. For no one does well against his will, even if what he does is good. Nor did those who urged me do well, but it was done well for me by Thee, my God. For they regarded not to what end I might refer that which they compelled me to learn, save to glut the insatiable cravings of a wealthy poverty and an ignominious glory.
But Thou, by whom the very hairs of our head are numbered, didst use for my profit the error of all who urged me to learn; while of my own error, in that I was unwilling to learn, Thou didst use for my punishment, with which it was not unfitting that I should be smitten, so tiny a boy and so great a sinner. Thus out of those who did not do well Thou didst do well to me, and out of myself sinning Thou didst justly requite me. For Thou hast commanded, and so it is, that every disordered mind should be its own punishment. But what was the cause why I hated Greek letters, with which as a little boy I was steeped, is not even now sufficiently clear to me. For I had come to love Latin—not those which the first masters teach, but those which are taught by those who are called grammarians.
For those first letters, where one learns to read and write and count, I found no less burdensome and full of penalty than all the Greek ones. Yet whence was this, save from the sin and vanity of life, in that I was flesh and a spirit going forth and not returning? For surely those first letters were better, because more certain, by which there was wrought in me, and has been wrought, and I have it, that I both read, if I find anything written, and write myself, if I wish anything—better than those by which I was compelled to hold in memory the wanderings of some Aeneas, forgetful of my own wanderings, and to weep for Dido dead, who slew herself for love, while meanwhile, most wretched, I bore with dry eyes my own self dying through these things away from Thee, O God, my life.
For what is more wretched than a wretch who pities not himself, and weeps for the death of Dido, which came of loving Aeneas, but weeps not for his own death, which came of not loving Thee, O God, light of my heart and bread of the inner mouth of my soul, and the power that weds my mind and the bosom of my thought? I loved Thee not, and committed fornication against Thee, and to me committing fornication there sounded on every side: 'Well done, well done.' For the friendship of this world is fornication against Thee, and 'Well done, well done' is said, that one may be ashamed if he be not so. And these things I wept not, but I wept for Dido slain and seeking her last end by the sword, while I myself followed the last things of Thy creation, forsaking Thee, and earth going into earth: and if I were forbidden to read these things, I should grieve that I could not read what would grieve me.
Such madness! And these are accounted more honorable and richer letters than those by which I learned to read and write. But now let my God cry out in my soul, and let Thy truth say to me: It is not so, it is not so; far better is that former teaching. For behold, I am readier to forget the wanderings of Aeneas and all things of that kind than to write and read. But indeed curtains hang at the doors of the schools of grammar, yet these signify not so much the honor of secrecy as the covering of error. Let them not cry out against me, whom I now fear no more, while I confess to Thee what my soul wills, my God, and acquiesce in the reproof of my evil ways, that I may love Thy good ways.
Let not the sellers or buyers of grammar cry out against me, because if I propose to them, asking whether it be true that Aeneas once came to Carthage, as the poet says, the less learned will answer that they know not, while the more learned will even deny that it is true. But if I ask with what letters the name of Aeneas is written, all who have learned these things answer me truly, according to that compact and agreement by which men have established these signs among themselves. Likewise, if I ask which a man may forget with the greater inconvenience of this life—to read and write, or those poetic fictions—who does not see what he would answer, who has not utterly forgotten himself?
I sinned therefore as a boy, when I preferred those empty things to these more useful ones by my love, or rather hated these and loved those. For 'one and one are two, two and two are four' was to me a hateful chant, while the sweetest spectacle of vanity was the wooden horse full of armed men, and the burning of Troy, and the very shade of Creusa. Why then did I hate the Greek grammar also, which sang such things? For Homer too had skillfully woven such fables and is most sweetly vain, and yet to me as a boy he was bitter. I believe Virgil is so likewise to Greek boys, when they are compelled to learn him as I learned that one. Doubtless the difficulty, the very difficulty of thoroughly learning a foreign tongue, sprinkled as it were with gall all the sweetnesses of the Greek fabulous tales.