 6 Confessions by St. Augustine CHAPTER 1 O LORD, I am thy servant, I am thy servant and the Son of thy handmaid. Thou hast loosed my bonds. I will offer to thee the sacrifice of thanksgiving. Let my heart and my tongue praise thee, and let all my bones say, Lord, who is like unto thee? Let them say so, and answer thou me, and say unto my soul, I am your salvation. Who am I? And what is my nature? What evil is there not in me and my deeds? Or if not in my deeds my words? Or if not in my words my will? But thou, O LORD, art good and merciful, and thy right hand didst reach into the depth of my death, and didst empty out the abyss of corruption from the bottom of my heart. And this was the result. Now I did not will to do what I willed, and began to will to do what thou didst will. But where was my free will during all those years, and from what deep and secret retreat was it called forth in a single moment, whereby I gave my neck to thy easy yoke, and my shoulders to thy light burden? O Christ Jesus, my strength and my redeemer, how sweet did it suddenly become to me to be without the sweetness of trifles. And it was now a joy to put away what I formerly feared to lose, for thou didst cast them away from me, O true and highest sweetness. Thou didst cast them away, and in their place thou didst enter in thyself, sweeter than all pleasure, though not to flesh and blood, brighter than all light, but more veil than all mystery, more exalted than all honor, though not to them that are exalted in their own eyes. Now was my soul free from the gnawing cares of seeking and getting, of wallowing in the mire, and scratching the itch of lust. And I prattled like a child to thee, O Lord my God, my light, my riches, and my salvation. Chapter 2 And it seemed right to me, in thy sight, not to snatch my tongue's service abruptly out of the speech-market, but to withdraw quietly, so that the young men who were not concerned about thy law or thy peace, but with mendacious follies and forensic stripes, might no longer purchase from my mouth weapons for their frenzy. Fortunately there were only a few days before the vintage vacation, and I determined to endure them, so that I might resign in due form, and, now bought by thee, return for sale no more. My plan was known to thee, but save for my own friends it was not known to other men, for we had agreed that it should not be made public. Although in our ascent from the valley of tears, and our singing of the song of degrees, thou hath given us sharp arrows and hot burning coals to stop that deceitful tongue which opposes under the guise of good counsel, and devours what it loves as though it were food. Thou hath pierced our heart with thy love, and we carried thy words as it were, thrust through our vitals. The examples of thy servants, whom thou hath changed from black to shining white, and from death to life, crowded into the bosom of our thoughts, and burned and consumed our sluggish temper, that we might not topple back into the abyss, and they fired us exceedingly, so that every breath of the deceitful tongue of our detractors might fan the flame and not blow it out. Though this vow and purpose of ours should find those who would loudly praise it for the sake of thy name which thou hath sanctified throughout the earth, it nevertheless looked like a self-vaunting not to wait until the vacation time now so near. For if I had left such a public office ahead of time, and had made the break in the eye of the general public, all who took notice of this act of mine and observed how near was the vintage time that I wished to anticipate would have talked about me a great deal as if I were trying to appear a great person. And what purpose would it serve that people should consider and dispute about my conversion so that my good should be evil-spoken of? Furthermore, this same summer my lungs had begun to be weak from too much literary labour. Breathing was difficult. The pains in my chest showed that the lungs were affected and were soon fatigued by too loud or prolonged speaking. This had at first been a trial to me, for it would have compelled me almost of necessity to lay down that burden of teaching, or if I was to be cured and become strong again at least to take a leave for a while. But as soon as the full desire to be still that I might know that thou art the Lord arose and was confirmed in me, thou knowest my God that I began to rejoice that I had this excuse ready, and not a feigned one either, which might somewhat temper the displeasure of those who for their son's freedom wished me never to have any freedom of my own. Full of joy then I bore it until my time ran out. It was perhaps some twenty days. Yet it was some strain to go through with it, for the greediness which helped to support the drudgery had gone, and I would have been overwhelmed had not its place been taken by patience. Some of thy servants, my brethren, may say that I sinned in this, since having once fully and from my heart enlisted in thy service I permitted myself to sit a single hour in the chair of falsehood. I will not dispute it. But hast thou not, almost merciful Lord, pardoned and forgiven this sin in the holy water also, along with all the others, horrible and deadly as they were? Chapter 3 Veracundas was severely disturbed by this new happiness of mine, since he was still firmly held by his bonds and saw that he would lose my companionship. For he was not yet a Christian, though his wife was, and indeed he was more firmly enchained by her than by anything else, and held back from that journey on which we had set out. Furthermore he declared he did not wish to be a Christian on any terms except those that were impossible. However he invited us most courteously to make use of his country house so long as we would stay there. O Lord, thou wilt recompense him for this in the resurrection of the just, saying that thou hast already given him the lot of the righteous. For while we were absent at Rome he was overtaken with bodily sickness, and during it he was made a Christian and departed this life as one of the faithful. Thus thou hadst mercy on him, and not on him only, but on us as well. Lest remembering the exceeding kindness of our friend to us, and not able to count him in thy flock, we should be tortured with intolerable grief. Thanks be to thee, our God, we are thine. Thy exhortations, consolations, and faithful promises assure us that thou wilt repay Veracundus for that country house at Casi Chiacum, where we found rest in thee from the fever of the world, with the perpetual freshness of thy paradise in which thou hast forgiven him his earthly sins, in that mountain flowing with milk, that fruitful mountain, thy own. Thus Veracundus was full of grief, but Nibridius was joyous, for he was not yet a Christian, and had fallen into the pit of deadly error, believing that the flesh of thy Son, the truth, was a phantom. Yet he had come up out of that pit, and now held the same belief that we did. And though he was not as yet initiated in any of the sacraments of thy church, he was a most earnest inquirer after truth. Not long after our conversion and regeneration by thy baptism, he also became a faithful member of the Catholic Church, serving the imperfect chastity and continents among his own people in Africa, and bringing his whole household with him to Christianity. Then thou didst release him from the flesh, and now he lives in Abraham's bosom. Whatever is signified by that term bosom, there lives my Nibridius, my sweet friend, thy son by adoption, O Lord, and not a freedman any longer. There he lives, for what other place could there be for such a soul? There he lives in that abode about which he used to ask me so many questions, poor ignorant one that I was. Now he does not put his ear up to my mouth, but his spiritual mouth to thy fountain, and drinks wisdom as he desires, and as he is able, happy without end. But I do not believe that he is so inebriated by that draft as to forget me, since thou, O Lord, who art the draft, art mindful of us. Thus, then, we were comforting the unhappy veriquendus, our friendship untouched, reconciling him to our conversion, and exhorting him to a faith fit for his condition, that is, to his being married. We tarried for Nibridius to follow us since he was so close, and this he was just about to do, when at last the interim ended. The days had seemed long and many because of my eagerness for leisure and liberty in which I might sing to thee from my inmost part. My heart has said to thee, I have sought thy face, thy face, O Lord, will I seek. Chapter 4 Finally the day came on which I was actually to be relieved from the professorship of rhetoric, from which I had already been released in intention, and it was done. And thou didst deliver my tongue as thou hadst already delivered my heart, and I blessed thee for it with great joy, and retired with my friends to the villa. My books testified to what I got done there in writing, which was now hopefully devoted to thy service, though in this pause it was still as if I were painting from my exertions in the school of pride. These were the books in which I engaged in dialogue with my friends, and also those in soliloquy before they alone, and there are my letters to Nibridius who was still absent. When would there be enough time to recount all thy great blessings which thou didst bestow on us in that time, especially as I am hastening on to still greater mercies? For my memory recalls them to me, and it is pleasant to confess them to thee, O Lord. The inward goads by which thou didst subdue me, and how thou broughtest me low, leveling the mountains and hills of my thoughts, straightening my crookedness and smoothing my rough ways. And I remember by what means thou also didst subdue Ellipius, my heart's brother, to the name of thy only son, our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, which he at first refused to have inserted in our writings. For at first he preferred that they should smell of the cedars of the schools, which the Lord hath now broken down, rather than of the wholesome herbs of the church, hostile to serpents. Oh my God, how did I cry to thee when I read the Psalms of David, those hymns of faith, those peons of devotion which leave no room for swelling pride? I was still a novice in thy true love, a catechumen keeping holiday at the villa, with Ellipius, a catechumen like myself. My mother was also with us, in woman's garb, but with a man's faith, with the peacefulness of age and the fullness of motherly love and Christian piety. What cries I used to send up to thee in those songs, and how I was enkindled toward thee by them? I burned to sing them, if possible, throughout the whole world, against the pride of the human race, and yet indeed they are sung throughout the whole world, and none can hide himself from thy heat. With what strong and bitter regret was I indignant at the Manichaeans, yet I also pitied them, for they were ignorant of those sacraments, those medicines, and raved insanely against the cure that might have made them sane. I wished they could have been somewhere close by, and without my knowledge, could have seen my face and heard my words, when in that time of leisure I poured over the fourth psalm, and I wished they could have seen how that psalm affected me. When I called upon thee, O God of my righteousness, thou didst hear me, thou didst enlarge me when I was in distress, have mercy upon me and hear my prayer. I wish they might have heard what I said in comment on those words, without my knowing that they heard, lest they should think that I was speaking it just on their account. For indeed I should not have said quite the same things, nor quite in the same way, if I had known that I was heard and seen by them, and if I had so spoken they would not have meant the same things to them as they did to me when I spoke by and for myself before thee out of the private affections of my soul. By turns I trembled with fear and warmed with hope and rejoiced in thy mercy, O Father, all these feelings showed forth in thy eyes and voice when thy good spirit turned to us and said, O sons of men, how long will you be slow of heart, how long will you love vanity and seek after falsehood? For I had loved vanity and sought after falsehood, and thou, O Lord, had already magnified thy holy one, raising him from the dead and setting him at thy right hand, that thence he should send forth from on high his promised paraclete the spirit of truth. Already he had sent him, and I knew it not. He had sent him because he was now magnified, rising from the dead and ascending into heaven. For till then the Holy Spirit was not yet given because Jesus was not yet glorified. And the Prophet cried out, How long will you be slow of heart, how long will you love vanity and seek after falsehood? Know this, that the Lord hath magnified his holy one. He cries, How long? He cries, Know this, and I, so long loving vanity and seeking after falsehood, heard and trembled because these words were spoken to such a one as I remember that I myself had been. For in those phantoms which I once held for truth, there was vanity and falsehood. And I spoke many things loudly and earnestly, in the contrition of my memory, which I wish they had heard, who still love vanity and seek after falsehood. Perhaps they would have been troubled and have vomited up their error, and now wouldst have heard them when they cried to thee. For by a real death in the flesh he died for us, who now maketh intercession for us with thee. I read on further, Be angry and sin not, and how deeply was I touched, O my God, for I had now learned to be angry with myself for the things past so that in the future I might not sin. Yes, to be angry with good cause, for it was not another nature out of the race of darkness that had sinned for me, as they affirmed who are not angry with themselves, and who store up for themselves dire wrath against the day of wrath and the revelation of thy righteous judgment. Nor were the good things I saw now outside me, nor were they to be seen with the eyes of the flesh in the light of the earthly sun, for they that have their joys from without sink easily into emptiness and are spilled out on those things that are visible and temporal. And in their starving thoughts they lick their very shadows. If only they would grow weary with their hunger and would say, Who will show us any good? And we would answer, and they would hear, O Lord, the light of thy countenance shines bright upon us. For we are not that light that enlightens every man, but we are enlightened by thee so that we who were formerly in darkness may now be a light in thee. If only they could behold the inner light eternal which now that I had tasted it I gnashed my teeth because I could not show it to them unless they brought me their heart in their eyes, their roving eyes, and said, Who will show us any good? But even there, in the inner chamber of my soul, where I was angry with myself, where I was inwardly pricked, where I had offered my sacrifice, slaying my old man, and hoping in thee with the new resolve of a new life with my trust laid in thee, even there thou hath begun to grow sweet to me and to put gladness in my heart. And thus as I read all this I cried aloud and felt its inward meaning. Nor did I wish to be increased in worldly goods which are wasted by time, for now I possessed in thy eternal simplicity other corn and wine and oil. And with a loud cry from my heart I read the following verse, O in peace, O in the self-same, see how he says it, I will lay me down and take my rest. For who shall withstand us when the truth of this saying that is written is made manifest? Death is swallowed up in victory, for surely thou who does not change art the self-same, and in thee is rest and oblivion to all distress. There is none other beside thee, nor are we to toil for those many things which are not thee, for thou only, O Lord, makest me to dwell in hope. These things I read and was incandled, but still I could not discover what to do with those deaf and dead Manichaeans to whom I myself had belonged, for I had been a bitter and blind reviler against these writings, honeyed with the honey of heaven and luminous with thy light, and I was sorely grieved at these enemies of this scripture. When shall I call to mind all that happened during those holidays? I have not forgotten them, nor will I be silent about the severity of thy scourge and the amazing quickness of thy mercy. During that time thou didst torture me with a toothache, and when it had become so acute that I was not able to speak it came into my heart to urge all my friends who were present to pray for me to thee, the God of all health, and I wrote it down on the tablet and gave it to them to read. Presently as we bowed our knees in supplication, the pain was gone. But what pain? How did it go? I confessed that I was terrified, O Lord, my God, because from my earliest years I had never experienced such pain, and thy purposes were profoundly impressed upon me, and rejoicing in faith I praised thy name. But that faith allowed me no rest in respect of my past sins, which were not yet forgiven me through thy baptism. Now that the vintage vacation was ended, I gave notice to the citizens of Milan that they might provide their scholars with another word-merchant. I gave as my reasons my determination to serve thee, and also my insufficiency for the task, because of the difficulty in breathing and the pain in my chest. And by my letters I notified thy bishop, the holy man Ambrose, of my former errors and my present resolution, and I asked his advice as to which of thy books it was best for me to read, so that I might be the more ready and fit for the reception of so great a grace. He recommended Isaiah the prophet, and I believe it was because Isaiah foreshows more clearly than others the gospel, and the calling of the Gentiles. But because I could not understand the first part, and because I imagined the rest to be like it, I laid it aside with the intention of taking it up again later, when better practiced in our Lord's words. Chapter 6 When the time arrived for me to give in my name, we left the country and returned to Milan. Alepius also resolved to be born again in thee at the same time. He was already clothed with the humility that befits thy sacraments, and was so brave a tamer of his body that he would walk the frozen Italian soil with his naked feet, which called for unusual fortitude. We took with us the boy Adiodatus, my son, after the flesh, the offspring of my sin. Thou hadst made of him a noble lad. He was barely fifteen years old, but his intelligence excelled that of many grave and learned men. I confess to thee thy gifts, O Lord by God, creator of all, who hast power to reform our deformities, for there was nothing of me in that boy but the sin. For it was thou who didst inspire us to foster him in thy discipline, and none other, thy gifts I confess to thee. There is a book of mine, entitled De Magistro. It is a dialogue between Adiodatus and me, and thou knowest that all things there put into the mouth of my interlocutor are his, though he was then only in his sixteenth year. Many other gifts, even more wonderful, I found in him. His talent was a source of awe to me, and who but thou couldst be the worker of such marvels. And thou didst quickly remove his life from the earth, and even now I recall him to mind with a sense of security, because I fear nothing for his childhood or youth nor for his whole career. We took him for our companion, as if he were the same age in grace with ourselves, to be trained with ourselves in thy discipline. And so we were baptized, and the anxiety about our past life left us. Nor did I ever have enough in those days of the wondrous sweetness of meditating on the depth of thy counsels concerning the salvation of the human race. How freely did I weep in thy hymns and canticles. How deeply was I moved by the voices of thy sweet speaking church. The voices flowed into my ears, and the truth was poured forth into my heart, where the tide of my devotion overflowed, and my tears ran down, and I was happy in all these things. Chapter 7 The church of Milan had only recently begun to employ this mode of consolation and exaltation with all the brethren singing together with great earnestness of voice and heart. For it was only about a year, not much more, since Justina, the mother of the boy Emperor Valentinian, had persecuted thy servant Ambrose on behalf of her heresy, in which she had been seduced by the Arians. The devoted people kept guard in the church, prepared to die with their bishop thy servant. Among them my mother, thy handmaid, taking a leading part in those anxieties and vigils, lived there in prayer. And even though we were still not wholly melted by the heat of thy spirit, we were nevertheless excited by the alarmed and disturbed city. This was the time that the custom began, after the manner of the Eastern Church, that hymns and psalms should be sung, so that the people would not be worn out with the tedium of lamentation. This custom, retained from then till now, has been imitated by many, indeed by almost all thy congregations throughout the rest of the world. Then by a vision thou madeest known to thy renowned bishop the spot where lay the bodies of Gervasius and Protasius, the martyrs whom thou hadst preserved uncorrupted for so many years in thy secret storehouse, so that thou mightest produce them at a fit time to check a woman's fury, a woman indeed, but also a queen. When they were discovered and dug up and brought with due honor to the Basilica of Ambrose, as they were born along the road, many who were troubled by unclean spirits, the devils confessing themselves, were healed, and there was also a certain man, a well-known citizen of the city, blind many years, who, when he had asked and learned the reason for the people's tumultuous joy, rushed out and begged his guide to lead him to the place. When he arrived there, he begged to be permitted to touch with his handkerchief the beer of thy saints whose death is precious in thy sight. When he had done this and put it to his eyes, they were immediately opened. The fame of all this spread abroad from this thy glory shown more brightly, and also from this the mind of that angry woman, though not enlarged to the sanity of a full faith, was nevertheless restrained from the fury of persecution. Thanks be to thee, O my God, whence and wither hast thou led her memory that I should confess such things as these to thee, for great as they were, I had forgetfully passed them over. And yet at that time, when the sweet savor of thy ointment was so fragrant, I did not run after thee. Therefore I wept more bitterly as I listened to thy hymns, having so long panted after thee. And now at length I could breathe as much as the space allows in this our straw house. Chapter 8 Thou, O Lord, whom makest men of one mind to dwell in a single house, also broughtest Evodius to join our company. He was a young man of our city, who, while serving as a secret service agent, was converted to thee and baptized before us. He had relinquished his secular service and prepared himself for thine. We were together, and we were resolved to live together in our devout purpose. We cast about for some place where we might be most useful in our service to thee, and had planned on going back together to Africa, and when we had got as far as Ostia on the Tiber, my mother died. I am passing over many things, for I must hasten. Receive, O God, my confessions and thanksgiving, for the unnumbered things about which I am silent. But I will not omit anything my mind has brought back concerning thy handmade, who brought me forth, in her flesh that I might be born into this world's light, and in her heart that I might be born to life eternal. I will not speak of her gifts, but of thy gift in her, for she neither made herself nor trained herself. Thou didst create her, and neither her father nor her mother knew what kind of being was to come forth from them. And it was the rod of thy Christ, the discipline of thy only Son, that trained her in thy fear, in the house of one of thy faithful ones, who was a sound member of thy church. Yet my mother did not attribute this good training of hers as much to the diligence of her own mother as to that of a certain elderly maid servant who had nursed her father, carrying him around on her back as big girls carried babies. Because of her long-time service, and also because of her extreme age and excellent character, she was much respected by the heads of that Christian household. The care of her master's daughters was also committed to her, and she performed her task with diligence. She was quite earnest in restraining them with a holy severity when necessary, and instructing them with a sober sagacity. Thus, except at mealtimes, at their parents' table, when they were fed very temperately, she would not allow them to drink even water, however parched they were with thirst. In this way she took precautions against an evil custom and added the wholesome advice, you drink water now only because you don't control the wine, but when you are married in mistresses of pantry and cellar, you may not care for water, but the habit of drinking will be fixed. By such a method of instruction, and her authority, she restrained the longing of their tender age and regulated even the thirst of the girls to such a decorous control that they no longer wanted what they ought not to have. And yet, as thy handmaid related to me, her son, there had stolen upon her a love of wine, for in the ordinary course of things, when her parents sent her, as a sober maiden, to draw a wine from the cask, she would hold a cup under the tap, and then, before she poured the wine into the bottle, she would wet the tips of her lips with a little of it, for more than this her taste refused. She did not do this out of any craving for drink, but out of the overflowing buoyancy of her time of life which bubbles up with sportiveness and youthful spirits, but is usually borne down by the gravity of the old folks. And so, adding daily a little to that little, for he that condemns small things shall fall by a little here and a little there, she slipped into such a habit as to drink off eagerly her little cup nearly full of wine, where now was that wise old woman and her strict prohibition. Could anything prevail against our secret disease if thy medicine, O Lord, did not watch over us? Though father and mother and nurturers are absent, thou art present, thou dost create, who callest, and who also workest some good for our salvation, through those who are set over us. What dits thou do at that time, O my God? How dits thou heal her? How dits thou make her whole? Dits thou not bring forth from another woman's soul a hard and bitter insult, like a surgeon's knife from thy secret store, and with one thrust drain off all that putrefaction? For the slave girl, who used to accompany her to the cellar, felt a quarreling with her little mistress as it sometimes happened when she was alone with her, and cast in her teeth this vice of hers along with a very bitter insult calling her a drunkard. Stung by this taunt, my mother saw her own vileness, and immediately condemned and renounced it. As the flattery of friends corrupts, so often do the taunts of enemies instruct. Yet thou repayest them, not for the good thou workest through their means, but for the malice they intended. That angry slave girl wanted to infuriate her young mistress, not to cure her, and that was why she spoke up when they were alone. Or perhaps it was because their quarrel just happened to break out at that time and place. Or perhaps she was afraid of punishment for having told of it so late. But thou, O Lord, ruler of heaven and earth, who changes to thy purpose the deepest floods and controls the turbulent tide of the ages, thou healest one soul by the unsoundness of another, so that no man, when he hears of such happening, should attribute it to his own power, if another person whom he wishes to reform is reformed through a word of his. End of CHAPTERS 1 THROUGH 8. CHAPTER IX Thus modestly and soberly brought up, she was made subject to her parents by thee, rather more than by her parents, to thee. She arrived at a marriageable age, and she was given to a husband whom she served as her lord, and she busied herself to gain him to thee, preaching thee to him by her behaviour, in which thou madeest her fair and reverently amiable and admirable to her husband. For she endured with patience his infidelity, and never had any dissension with her husband on this account, for she waited for thy mercy upon him, until, by believing in thee, he might become chaste. Moreover, even though he was earnest in friendship, he was also violent in anger, but she had learned that an angry husband should not be resisted, either indeed or in word. But as soon as he'd grown calm and was tranquil, and she saw a fitting moment, she would give him a reason for her conduct, if he had been excited unreasonably. As a result, while many matrons, whose husbands were more gentle than hers, bore the marks of blows on their disfigured faces, and would in private talk blame the behaviour of their husbands, she would blame their tongues, admonishing them seriously, though in a jesting manner, that from the hour they heard what are called the matrimonial tablets read to them, they should think of them as instruments by which they were made servants. So, always being mindful of their condition, they ought not to set themselves up in opposition to their lords. And, knowing what a furious, bad tempered husband she endured, they marveled that it had never been rumoured, nor was there any mark to show, that Patricia's had ever beaten his wife, or that there had been any domestic strife between them, even for a day. And when they asked her confidentially the reason for this, she taught them the rule I have mentioned. Those who observed it confirmed the wisdom of it and rejoiced. Those who did not observe it were bullied and vexed. Even her mother-in-law, who was at first prejudiced against her by the whispers of malicious servants, she conquered by submission, persevering in it with patience and meekness, the result that the mother-in-law told her son of the tales of the meddling servants which had disturbed the domestic peace between herself and her daughter-in-law, and begged him to punish them for it. In conformity with his mother's wish and in the interest of family discipline to ensure the future harmony of its members, he had those servants beaten who were pointed out by her, who had discovered them, and she promised a similar reward to anyone else who, thinking to please her, should say anything evil of her daughter-in-law. After this no one dared to do so, and they lived together with a wonderful sweetness of mutual goodwill. This other great gift thou also didst bestow, oh my God, my mercy, upon that good hand made of thine, in whose womb thou didst create me. It was that, whenever she could, she acted as a peacemaker between any differing and discordant spirits, and when she heard very bitter things on either side of a controversy, the kind of bloated and undigested discord which often belches forth bitter words, when crude melises breathed out by sharp tongues to a present friend against an absent enemy, she would disclose nothing about the one to the other, except what might serve to what their reconciliation. This might seem a small good to me, if I did not know to my sorrow countless persons who, through the horrid and far-spreading infection of sin, not only repeat to enemies mutually enraid things sad in passion against each other, but also add some things that were never sad at all. It ought not to be enough in a truly humane man merely not to incite or increase the amenities of men by evil speaking, he ought likewise to endeavour by kind words to extinguish them. Such a one was she, and thou, her most intimate instructor, didst teach her in the school of her heart. Finally, her own husband, now to at the end of his earthly existence, she won over to thee. Henceforth she had no cause to complain of unfaithfulness in him, which she had endured before he became one of the faithful. She was also the servant of thy servants, all those who knew her greatly praised, honoured, and loved thee in her, because, through the witness of the fruits of a holy life, they recognized thee present in her heart. For she had been the wife of one man, had honoured her parents, had guided her house in piety, was highly reputed for good works, and brought up her children, travelling in labour with them as often as she saw them swerving from thee. Lastly, to all of us, O Lord, since of thy favour thou allows thy servants to speak, to all of us who live together in that association, before her death in thee she devoted such care as she might have if she had been mother of us all, she served us as if she had been the daughter of us all. CHAPTER X As the day now approached on which she was to depart this life, a day which thou newest, but which we did not, it happened, though I believe it was by thy secret ways arranged, that she and I stood alone, leaning in a certain window from which the garden of the house we occupied at Ostia could be seen. Here in this place, removed from the crowd, we were resting ourselves for the voyage after the fatigues of a long journey. We were conversing alone, very pleasantly, and, quote, forgetting those things which are past and reaching forward toward those things which are future, end quote. We were in the present, and in the presence of truth, which thou art, discussing together what is the nature of the eternal life of the saints, which I has not seen nor ear heard, neither has entered into the heart of man. We opened wide the mouth of our heart, thirsting for those supernal streams of thy fountain, the fountain of life, which is with thee, that we might be sprinkled with its waters according to our capacity, and might in some measure wade a truth of so profound a mystery. And when our conversation had brought us to the point where the very highest of physical sense and the most intense illumination of physical light seemed in comparison with the sweetness of that life to come, not worthy of comparison, nor even of mention, we lifted ourselves with a more ardent love toward the self-same, and we gradually passed through all the levels of bodily objects, and even through the heaven itself, where the sun and moon and stars shine on the earth. Indeed, we soared higher yet by an inner musing, speaking and marveling at thy works. And we came at last to our own minds, and went beyond them, that we might climb as high as that region of unfailing plenty where thou feedest Israel forever with the food of truth, where life is that wisdom by whom all things are made, both which have been and which are to be. Wisdom is not made, but is as she has been, and forever shall be, for to have been and to be hereafter do not apply to her, but only to be, because she is eternal, and to have been and to be hereafter are not eternal. And while we were thus speaking and straining after her, we just barely touched her with the whole effort of our hearts. Then, with a sigh, leaving the first fruits of the spirit bound to that ecstasy, we returned to the sounds of our own tongue, where the spoken word had both beginning and end. But what is like to thy word, our Lord, who remained in himself without becoming old, and makes all things new? What we said went something like this. If to any man the tumult of the flesh were silenced, and the phantoms of earth and waters, and air were silenced, and the poles were silenced as well. Indeed, if the very soul grew silent to herself, it went beyond herself by not thinking of herself. If fancies and imaginary revelations were silenced, if every tongue, and every sign, and every trenchant thing, for actually, if any man could hear them, all these would say, We did not create ourselves, but were created by him, who abides forever. And if, having uttered this, they too should be silent, having stirred our ears to hear him who created them, and if then he alone spoke, not through them, but by himself, that we might hear his word, not if fleshly tongue or angelic voice, nor sound of thunder, nor the obscurity of a parable, but might hear him, him for whose sake we love these things. If we could hear him without these, as we too now strained ourselves to do, we then with rapid thought might touch on that eternal wisdom which abides over all. And if this could be sustained, and other visions of a far different kind be taken away, and this one should so ravish and absorb, and envelop its beholder in these inward joys, that his life might be eternally like that one moment of knowledge which we now sighed after. Would not this be the reality of the saying, Enter into the joy of thy Lord? But when shall such a thing be? Shall it not be, when we all shall rise again? And shall it not be that all things will be changed? Such a thought I was expressing, and if not in this manner and in these words, still, O Lord, thou knowest that on that day we were talking thus, and that this world with all its joys seemed cheap to us even as we spoke? Then my mother said, Son, for myself I have no longer any pleasure in anything in this life. Now that my hopes in this world are satisfied, I do not know what more I want here, or why I am here. There was indeed one thing for which I wished to tarry little in this life, and that was that I might see you a Catholic Christian before I died. My God hath answered this more than abundantly, so that I see you now made his servant and spurning all earthly happiness. What more am I to do here? I do not well remember what reply I made to her about this. However, it was scarcely five days later, certainly not much more, that she was prostrated by fever. While she was sick, she fainted one day, and was for a short time quite unconscious. We hurried to her, and when she soon regained her senses, she looked at me and my brother as we stood by her, and said in inquiry, Where was I? Then, looking intently at us, dumb in our grief, she said, Here in this place shall you bury your mother? I was silent, and held back my tears, but my brother said something, wishing her the happier lot of dying in her own country, and not abroad. When she heard this, she fixed him with her eye, and an anxious countenance, because he savoured of such earthly concerns, and then, gazing at me, she said, See how he speaks. Soon after, she said to us both, Lay this body anywhere, and do not let the care of it be a trouble to you at all. Only this, I ask, that you will remember me at the Lord's altar, wherever you are. And when she had expressed her wish in such words as she could, she fell silent, in heavy pain with her increasing sickness. But as I thought about thy gifts, o invisible God, which thou plantest in the heart of thy faithful ones, from which such marvellous fruits spring up, I rejoiced, and gave thanks to thee, remembering what I had known of how she had always been much concerned about her burial place, which she had provided, and prepared for herself by the body of her husband. For as they had lived very peacefully together, her desire had always been, so little is the human mind capable of grasping things divine, that this last should be added to all that happiness, and commenced on by others, that after her pilgrimage beyond the sea, it would be granted her that the two of them, so united on earth, should lie in the same grave. When this vanity, through the bounty of thy goodness, had begun to be no longer in her heart, I do not know, but I joyfully marveled at what she had thus disclosed to me, though indeed in our conversation in the window, when she said, What is there here for me to do any more? She appeared not to desire to die in her own country. I heard later on that, during our stay in Ostia, she had been talking in maternal confidence to some of my friends about her contempt of this life, and the blessing of death. When they were amazed at the courage which was given her, the woman, and had asked her, whether she did not dread having her body buried so far from her own city, she replied, Nothing is far from God. I do not fear that, at the end of time, he should not know the place whence he is to resurrect me. And so on a ninth day of her sickness, in the 56th year of her life, and the 33rd of mine, that religious and devout soul was set loose from the body. Chapter 12 I closed her eyes, and there flowed in a great sadness on my heart, and it was passing into tears. When at the strong behest of my mind, my eyes sucked back the fountain dry, and so was in me like a convulsion. As soon as she breathed her last, the boy, Adiodatus, burst out wailing, but he was checked by his all and became quiet. Likewise, my own childish feeling which was, through the youthful voice of my heart, seeking escape in tears, was held back and silenced, for we did not consider it fitting to celebrate that death with tearful wails and groanings. This is the way those who die unhappy, or are altogether dead, are usually mourned. But she neither died unhappy, nor did she altogether die. For of this we were assured by the witness of her good life, her faith unfaigned, and other manifest evidence. What was it, then, that hurt me so grievously in my heart, except the newly made wound, caused from having this sweet and dear habit of living together with her, suddenly broken? I was full of joy because of her testimony in her last illness, when she praised my dutiful attention, and called me kind, and recalled with great affection of love, that she had never heard any harsh or approachful sound from my mouth against her. But yet, oh my God, who made us, how can that honour I paid her be compared with her service to me? I was then left destitute of a great comfort in her, and my soul was stricken, and that life was torn apart as it were, which had been made but one out of hers and mine together. When the boy was restrained from weeping, Ivorius took up the solter and began to sing, with a whole household responding, the psalm, I will sing of mercy and judgment unto thee, oh Lord. And when they heard what we were doing, many of the brethren and religious women came together, and while those whose office it was to prepare for the funeral went about their task according to custom, I discourse in another part of the house, with those who thought I should not be left alone, only was appropriate to the occasion. By this balm of truth I softened the anguish known to thee. They were unconscious of it, and listened intently, and thought me free of any sense of sorrow. But in thy ears, where none of them heard, I reproached myself for the mildness of my feelings, and restrained the flow of my grief which bowed a little to my will. The paroxysm returned again, and I knew what I repressed in my heart, even though it did not make me burst forth into tears or even change my countenance, and I was greatly annoyed that these human things had such power over me, which in the due order and destiny of our natural condition must of necessity happen, and so with a new sorrow I sorrowed from my sorrow, and was wasted with the twofold sadness. So when the body was carried forth, we both went and returned without tears, for neither in those prayers which we poured forth to thee, when the sacrifice of our redemption was offered up to thee for her, with the body placed by the side of the grave as the custom is there, before it is lowered down into it, neither in those prayers did I weep, but I was most grievously sad and secret all day, and with a troubled mind entreated to thee as I could, to heal my sorrow, but thou didst not. I now believe that thou wasst fixing in my memory, by this one lesson, the power of the bonds of all habit, even on a mind which now no longer feeds upon deception. It then occurred to me that it would be a good thing to go and bathe, for I had heard that the word for Bath, Balneum, took its name from the Greek Balaneon, because it washes anxiety from the mind. Now see, this also I confess to thy mercy. O Father the Fatherless, I bathed and felt the same as I had done before, for the bitterness of my grief was not sweared through my heart. Then I slept, and when I awoke, I found my grief not a little assuaged, and as I lay there on my bed, those true verses of embrose came to my mind, for thou are truly Deus Creator Omnium Poli Querectar Vestiens Diem Decoro Lumine Noctum Sopora Grazia Achtus Solutus Ut Quies Redat Labores Usui Mentesque Vessas Alavet Luctus Ve Solvat Anxios O God, Creator of us all, guiding the orbs celestial, clothing the day with lovely light, appointing gracious sleep by night, thy grace our raried limbs restore, to strengthen labour as before, and ease the grief of tired minds from that deep torment which it finds. And then, little by little, they came back to me, my former memories of thy handmaid, her devout life toward thee, her holy tenderness and attentiveness toward us, which had suddenly been taken away from me, and it was a solace for me to weep in thy sight, for her and for myself, about her and about myself. Thus I set free the tears which before I repressed, that they might flow at will, spreading them out as a pillow beneath my heart, and it rested on them, for thy ears were near me, not those of a man who would have made a scornful comment about my weeping. But now in writing I confess it to thee, O Lord, read it who will, and comment how he will, and if he finds me to have sinned in weeping for my mother for part of an hour, that mother who was for a while dead to my eyes, who had for many years wept for me that I might live in thy eyes, let him not laugh at me, but if he be a man of generous love, let him weep for my sins against thee, the father of all the brethren of thy Christ. Chapter 13 Now that my heart is healed of that wound, so far as it can be charged against me as a carnal affection, I pour out to thee, O our God, on behalf of thy handmaid, tears of a very different sword, those which flow from a spirit broken by the thoughts of the dangers of every soul that dies in Adam, and while she had been made alive in Christ even before she was freed from the flesh, and had so lived as to praise thy name both by her faith and by her life, yet I would not there say that from the time thou didst regenerate her by baptism, no word came out of her mouth against thy precepts, but it has been declared by thy Son the truth that whosoever shall say to his brother, you fool, shall be in danger of hellfire, and there would be doom even for the life of a praiseworthy man if thou judged it with thy mercy set aside, but since thou dost not so stringently inquire after our sins, we hope with confidence to find some place in thy presence, but whosoever recounts his actual and true merits to thee, what is he doing but recounting to thee thy own gifts? Oh, if only men would know themselves as men, then he that glories would glory in a Lord. Thus now, O my praise and my life, O God of my heart, forgetting for a little her good deeds for which I give joyful thanks to thee, I now beseech thee for the sins of my mother, harken unto me, through that medicine of our wounds, who didst hang upon the tree, and who sittest at thy right hand making intercession for us. I know that she acted in mercy, and from the heart forgave her debtors their debts. I beseech thee also to forgive her debts whatever she contracted during so many years since the water of salvation. Forgive her, O Lord, forgive her I beseech thee, enter not into judgment with her. Let thy mercy be exalted above thy justice, for thy words are true, and thou hast promised mercy to the merciful that the merciful shall obtain mercy. This is thy gift, who hast mercy on whom thou wilt, and who wilt have compassion on whom thou dost have compassion on. Indeed, I believe thou hast already done what I ask of thee, but accept the freewill offerings of my mouth, O Lord. For when the day of her dissolution was so close, she took no thought to have her body sumptuously wrapped or embalmed with spices. Nor did she covet a handsome monument, or even care to be buried in her own country. About these things she gave no commands at all, but only the desire to have her name remembered at thy altar, where she had served without the omission of a single day, and where she knew that the holy sacrifice was dispensed by which that handwriting that was against us is blotted out. And that enemy vanquished who, when he summed up our offenses and searched for something to bring against us, could find nothing in him in whom we conquer. Who will restore to him the innocent blood? Who will repay him the price with which he bought us, so as to take us from him? Thus to the sacrament of our redemption did thy handmaid bind her soul by the bond of faith. Let none separate her from thy protection. Let not the lion and dragon bar her way by force or fraud. For she will not reply that she owes nothing lest she be convicted and duped by that cunning deceiver. Rather she will answer that her sins are forgiven by him to whom no one is able to repay the price which he, who owed us nothing, laid down for us all. Therefore let her rest in peace with her husband, before and after whom she was married to no other man, whom she obeyed with patience, bringing fruit to thee that she might also win him for thee. And inspire, O my Lord, my God, inspire thy servants, my brothers, thy sons, my masters, who with voice and heart and writings I serve, that as many of them as shall read these confessions may also at thy altar remember Monica, thy handmaid, together with Patricia's, once her husband, by whose flesh thou didst bring me into this life in a manner I know not. May they, with pious affection, remember my parents in this transitory life and remember my brothers under thee, our father in our Catholic mother, and remember my fellow citizens in the eternal Jerusalem, for which thy people sigh in their pilgrimage from birth until their return. So be fulfilled what my mother desired of me, more richly in the prayers of so many gained for her through these confessions of mine, than by my prayers alone. Translated by Albert C. Outler Book 10, chapters 1 to 10 Book 10, Chapter 1 Let me know thee, O my Noah, let me know thee even as I am known. O strength of my soul, enter it and prepare it for thyself, that thou mayest have and hold it, without spot or blemish. This is my hope, therefore have I spoken, and in this hope I rejoice whenever I rejoice aright. But as for the other things of this life, they deserve our lamentations less. The more we lament them, and some should be lamented all the more, the less men care for them. For see, thou desirest truth, and he who does the truth comes to the light. This is what I wish to do through confession in my heart before thee, and in my writings before many witnesses. And what is there in me that could be hidden from thee, Lord, to whose eyes the abysses of man's conscience are naked, even if I were unwilling to confess it to thee? In doing so I would only hide thee from myself, not myself from thee. But now that my groaning is witness to the fact that I am dissatisfied with myself, thou shinest forth and satisfied. Thou art beloved and desired, so that I blush for myself and renounce myself, and choose thee, for I can neither please thee nor myself except in thee. To thee, then, O Lord, I am laid bare, whatever I am, and I have already said with what prophet I may confess to thee. I do not do with words and sounds of the flesh, but with the words of the soul, and with the sound of my thoughts, which thy ear knows. For when I am wicked, to confess to thee means nothing less than to be dissatisfied with myself. But when I am truly devout, it means nothing less than not to attribute my virtue to myself, because thou, O Lord, blessest the righteous, but first thou justifies him while he is yet ungodly. My confession, therefore, O my God, is made unto thee silently, in thy sight, and yet not silently. As far as sound is concerned it is silent, but in strong affection it cries aloud, for neither I give voice to something that sounds right to men, which thou hast not heard from me before, nor dost thou hear anything of the kind from me which thou didst not first say to me. Chapter 3 What is it to me that men should hear my confessions, as if it were they who were going to cure all my infirmities? People are curious to know the lives of others, but slow to correct their own. Why are they anxious to hear from me what I am, when they are unwilling to hear from thee what they are? And how can they tell when they hear what I say about myself, whether I speak the truth, since no man knows what is in a man, save the spirit of the man which is in him? But if they were to hear from thee something concerning themselves, they would not be able to say, the Lord is lying. For what does it mean to hear from thee about themselves, but to know themselves? And who is he that knows himself and says, this is false, unless he himself is lying? But because love believes all things, at least among those who are bound together in love by its bonds, I confess to thee, O Lord, so that men may also hear, for I cannot prove to them that I confess the truth, yet those whose ears love opens to me will believe me. But wilt thou, O my inner physician, make clear to me what profit I am to gain in doing this? For the confessions of my past sins, which thou hast forgiven and covered, that thou mightest make me blessed in thee, transforming my soul by faith and thy sacrament, when they are read and heard, may stir up the heart, so that it will stop dozing along in despair, saying I cannot, but will instead awake in the love of thy mercy, and the sweetness of thy grace, by which he that is weak is strong, provided he is made conscious of his own weakness. And will it please those who are good to hear about the past errors of those who are now freed from them? And they will take delight, not because they are errors, but because they were, and are so no longer. What profit then, O Lord my God, to whom my conscience makes her daily confession, far more confident in the hope of thy mercy than in her own innocence? What profit is there, I ask thee, in confessing to men in thy presence through this book, both what I am now as well as what I have been? For I have seen and spoken of my harvest of things past, but what am I now, at this very moment of making my confessions? Many different people desire to know, both those who know me and those who do not know me. Some have heard about me, or from me, but their ear is not close to my heart, where I am whatever it is that I am. They have the desire to hear me confess what I am within, where they can neither extend I nor ear nor mind. They desire as those willing to believe, but will they understand? For the love by which they are good tells them that I am not lying in my confessions, and the love in them believes me. Chapter 4 But for what profits do they desire this? Will they wish me happiness when they learn how near I have approached thee by thy gifts? And will they pray for me when they learn how much I am still kept back by my own weight? To such as these I will declare myself. For it is no small profit, O Lord my God, that many people should give thanks to thee on my account, and that many should entreat thee for my sake. Let the brotherly soul love in me what thou teaches him should be loved, and let him lament in me what thou teaches him should be lamented. Let it be the soul of a brother that does this, and not a stranger, not one of those strange children whose mouths speak vanity, and whose right hand is the right hand of falsehood. But let my brother do it, who, when he approves of me, rejoices for me, but when he disapproves of me, is sorry for me, because whether he approves or disapproves, he loves me. To such I will declare myself. Let them be refreshed by my good deeds and sigh over my evil ones. My good deeds are thy acts and thy gifts. My evil ones are my own faults and thy judgment. Let them breathe expansively at the one and sigh over the other, and let hymns and tears ascend in thy sight out of their brotherly hearts, which are thy senses. And, O Lord, who take us delight in the incense of thy holy temple, have mercy upon me according to thy great mercy for thy namesake, and do not, on any account whatever, abandon what thou hast begun in me. Go on, rather, to complete what is yet imperfect in me. This, then, is the fruit of my confessions, not of what I was, but of what I am, that I may not confess this before thee alone in a secret exultation with trembling and a secret sorrow with hope, but also in the years of the believing sons of men, who are the companions of my joy and sharers of my mortality, my fellow citizens and fellow pilgrims, those who have gone before, and those who are to follow after, as well as the comrades of my present way. These are thy servants, my brothers, whom thou desirest to be thy sons. They are my masters, whom thou hast commanded me to serve, if I desire to live with and in thee. But this, thy word, would mean little to me, if it commanded in words alone, without thy prevenient action. I do this, then, both in act and word. I do this under thy wings, in a danger too great to risk, if it were not that under thy wings my soul is subject to thee, and my weakness known to thee. I am insufficient, but my Father liveth forever, and my defendant is sufficient for me. For he is the self-same who didst beget me, and who watcheth over me. Thou art the self-same who art all my good. Thou art the omnipotent who art with me, even before I am with thee. To those, therefore, whom thou commandest me to serve, I will declare. Not what I was, but what I now am, and what I will continue to be. But I do not judge myself. Thus, therefore, let me be heard. For it is thou, O Lord, who judges me. For although no man knows the things of a man, save the spirit of the man which is in him, yet there is something of man which, the spirit of the man which is in him, does not know itself. But thou, O Lord, who madeest him, knowest him completely. And even I, though in thy sight I despise myself, and count myself but dust and ashes, even I know something about thee which I do not know about myself. And it is certain that, now we see through a glass, darkly, not yet face to face, therefore, as long as I journey away from thee, I am more present with myself than with thee. I know that thou canst not suffer violence, but I myself do not know what temptations I can resist, and what I cannot. But there is hope, because thou art faithful, and thou wilt not allow us to be tempted beyond our ability to resist, but wilt with the temptation also make a way of escape, that we may be able to bear it. I would therefore confess what I know about myself. I will also confess what I do not know about myself, what I do know of myself, I know from thy enlightening of me, and what I do not know of myself. I will continue not to know until the time when my darkness is as the noonday in thy sight. Chapter 6 It is not with a doubtful consciousness, but one fully certain that I love thee, O Lord, thou hast smitten my heart with thy word, and I have loved thee. And see also the heaven and the earth, and all that is in them, on every side they tell me to love thee, and they do not cease to tell this to all men, so that they are without excuse. Wherefore, still more deeply, wilt thou have mercy on whom thou wilt have mercy, and compassion on whom thou wilt have compassion? For otherwise, both heaven and earth would tell abroad thy praises to deaf ears. But what is it that I love in loving thee? Not physical beauty, nor the splendour of time, nor the radiance of the light so pleasant to our eyes, nor the sweet melodies of the various kinds of songs, nor the fragrant smell of the flowers and ointments and spices, not manner and honey, not the limbs embraced in physical love. It is not these I love when I love my God. Yet it is true that I love a certain kind of light and sound and fragrance and food and embrace in loving my God, who is the light and sound and fragrance and food and embracement of my inner man, where that light shines into my soul which no place can contain, where time does not snatch away the lovely sound, where no breeze disperses the sweet fragrance, where no eating diminishes the food there provided, and where there is an embrace that no satiety comes to Sunder. This is what I love when I love my God. And what is this God? I ask the earth, and it answered, I am not he, and everything in the earth made the same confession. I ask the sea, and the deeps, and the creeping things, and they replied, We are not your God, seek above us. I ask the fleeting winds, and the whole air with its inhabitants answered, and Aximinis was deceived. I am not God. I ask the heavens. The sun, moon, and stars, and they answered, Neither are we the God whom you seek. And I replied to all these things, which stand around the door of my flesh. You have told me about my God, that you are not he. Tell me something about him. And with a loud voice they all cried out, He made us. My question had come from my observation of them, and their reply came from their beauty of order. And I turned my thoughts into myself, and said, Who are you? And I answered, A man. For see, there is in me both a body and a soul, the one without, the other within. In which of these should I have sought my God, whom I had already sought with my body from earth to heaven, as far as I was able to send those messages, the beams of my eyes. But the inner part is the better part, for to it, as both ruler and judge, all these messages of the senses report the answers of heaven and earth, and all the things therein. Who said, We are not God, but He made us. My inner man knew these things through the ministry of the outer man, and I, the inner man, knew all this. I, the soul, through the senses of my body, I asked the whole frame of earth about my God, and it answered, I am not He, but He made me. Is not this beauty of form visible to all whose senses are unimpaired? Why then does it not say the same things to all? Animals, both small and great, see it, but they are unable to interrogate its meaning, because their senses are not endowed with the reason that would enable them to judge the evidence which the senses report. But man can interrogate it, so that the invisible things of him are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made. But men love these created things too much, they are brought into subjection to them, and as subjects are not able to judge. None of these created things reply to their questioners, unless they can make rational judgments. The creatures will not alter their voice, that is, their beauty of form, if one man simply sees what another both sees in questions, so that the world appears one way to this man, and another to that. It appears the same way to both, but it is mute to this one, and it speaks to that one. Indeed, it actually speaks to all, but only they understand it, who compare the voice received from without with the truth within. For the truth says to me, neither heaven nor earth nor anybody is your God. Their very nature tells this to the one who beholds them. They are a mass less in part than the whole. Now, O my soul, you are my better part, and to you I speak, since you animate the whole mass of your body, giving it life whereas no body furnishes life to a body. But your God is the life of your life. Chapter 7 What is it then that I love when I love my God? Who is he that is beyond the topmost point of my soul? Yet by this very soul will I mount up to him. I will soar beyond that power of mine, by which I am united to the body, and by which the whole structure of it is filled with life. Yet it is not by that vital power that I find my God, for then the horse and the mule that have no understanding also might find him, since they have the same vital power by which their bodies also live. But there is besides the power by which I animate my body, another by which I endow my flesh with sense, a power that the Lord hath provided for me, commanding that the eye is not to hear, and the ear is not to see, but that I am to see by the eye, and to hear by the ear, and giving to each of the other senses its own proper place and function through the diversity of which I, the single mind, act. I will soar also beyond this power of mine, for the horse and mule have this too, for they also perceive through their bodily senses. Chapter 8 I will soar then beyond the power of my nature also, still rising by degrees toward him who made me, and I enter the fields and spacious halls of memory, where I stored as treasures the countless images that have been brought into them from all manner of things by the senses. There in the memory is likewise stored what we cogitate, either by enlarging or reducing our perceptions, or by altering one way or another those things which the senses have made contact with, and everything else that has been entrusted to it, and stored up in it, which oblivion has not yet swallowed up and buried. When I go into this storehouse, I ask that what I want should be brought forth. Some things appear immediately, but others require to be searched for longer, and then dragged out, as it were from some hidden recess. Other things hurry forth in crowds. On the other hand, and while something else is sought and inquired for, they leap into view as if to say, is it not we, perhaps? These I brush away with the hand of my heart from the face of my memory, until finally the thing I want makes its appearance out of its secret cell. Some things suggest themselves without effort, and in continuous order, just as they are called for, the things that come first give place to those that follow, and in so doing are treasured up again to be forthcoming when I want them. All of this happens when I repeat a thing from memory. All these things, each one of which came into memory in its own particular way, are stored up separately and under the general categories of understanding. For example, light and all colours and forms of bodies came in through the eyes, sounds of all kinds by the ears, all smells by the passages of the nostrils, all flavours by the gait of the mouth, by the sensation of the whole body, there is brought in what is hard or soft, hot or cold. Smooth or rough, heavy or light, whether external or internal to the body. The vast cave of memory, with its numerous and mysterious recesses, receives all these things and stores them up to be recalled and brought forth when required. Each experience enters by its own door and is stored up in the memory, and yet the things themselves do not enter it, but only the images of the things perceived are there for thought to remember, and who can tell how these images are formed, even if it is evident which of the senses brought with perception in and stored it up. For even when I am in darkness and silence I can bring out colours in my memory if I wish, and discern between black and white and the other shades as I wish, and at the same time sounds do not break in and disturb what is drawn in by my eyes, and which I am considering, because the sounds which are also there are stored up as it were apart. And these too I can summon if I please, and they are immediately present in memory, and though my tongue is at rest and my throat silent, yet I can sing as I will, and those images of colour which are as truly present as before do not interpose themselves or interrupt while another treasure which had flowed in through the ears is being thought about. Similarly, all the other things that were brought in and heaped up, by all the other senses I can recall at my pleasure, and I distinguish the scent of lilies from that of violets while actually smelling nothing, and I prefer honey to mead, a smooth thing to a rough even though I am neither tasting nor handling them, but only remembering them. All this I do within myself in that huge hall of my memory, for in it heaven, earth and sea are present to me, and whatever I can cogitate about them, except what I have forgotten. There also I meet myself and recall myself. What, when, or where did a thing, and how I felt when I did it? There are all the things that I remember, either having experienced them myself, or being told about them by others. Out of the same storehouse with these past impressions, I can construct now this, now that image of things that I either have experienced, or have believed on the basis of experience, and from these I can further construct future actions, events and hopes that I can meditate on all these things as if they were present. I will do this or that, I say to myself in that vast recess of my mind, with its full share of so many and such great images, and this or that will follow upon it. Oh, that this or that could happen. God prevent this or that. I speak to myself in this way, and when I speak, the images of what I am speaking about are present out of the same store of memory, and if the images were absent, I could say nothing at all about them. Great is this power of memory, exceedingly great, oh my God, a large and boundless in a hall, who has plumbed the depths of it. Yet it is a power of my mind, and it belongs to my nature, but I do not myself grasp all that I am. Thus the mind is far too narrow to contain itself. But where can that part of it be which it does not contain? Is it outside and not in itself? How can it be then that the mind cannot grasp itself? A great marvel rises in me, astonishment seizes me, men go forth to marvel at the heights of mountains and the huge waves of the sea, the broad flow of the rivers, the vastness of the ocean, the orbits of the stars, and yet they neglect to marvel at themselves. Nor do they wonder how it is that when I spoke of all these things, I was not looking at them with my eyes, and yet I could not have spoken about them, had it not been that I was actually seeing within, in my memory those mountains and waves and rivers and stars which I have seen, and that ocean which I believe in, and with the same vast spaces between them as when I saw them outside me. But when I saw them outside me I did not take them into me by seeing them, and the things themselves are not inside me, but only their images, and yet I knew through which physical sense each experience had made an impression on me. Chapter 9 And yet this is not all that the unlimited capacity of my memory stores up. In memory there are also all that one has learned of the liberal sciences and has not forgotten, removed still further so to say into an inner place which is not a place. Of these things it is not the images that are retained, but the things themselves. For what literature and logic are, and what I know about how many different kinds of questions there are, all these are stored in my memory as they are, so that I have not taken in the image and left the thing outside. It is not as though a sound had sounded and passed away, like a voice heard by the ear which leaves a trace, by which it can be called into memory again, as if it were still sounding in mind, while it did so no longer outside, nor is it the same as an odor which even after it has passed and vanished into the wind affects the sense of smell, which then conveys into the memory the image of the smell which is what we recall and recreate, or like food which once in the belly surely now has no taste and yet does have a kind of taste in the memory, or like anything that is felt by the body through the sense of touch which still remains as an image in the memory after the external object is removed. For these things themselves are not put into the memory, only the images of them are gathered with a marvellous quickness and stored as it were in the most wonderful filing system and are then produced in a marvellous way by the active remembering. But now when I hear that there are three kinds of questions, whether a thing is, what it is, of what kind it is, I do indeed retain the images of the sounds of which these words are composed, and I know that those sounds pass through the air with a noise and now no longer exist. But the things themselves which are signified by those sounds I never could reach by any sense of the body, nor see them at all except by my mind, and what I have stored in my memory was not their signs, but the things signified. How they got into me, let them tell who can, for I examine all the gates of my flesh, but I cannot find the door by which any of them entered. For the eyes say, if they were coloured, we reported that. The ears say, if they gave any sound, we gave notice of that. The nostrils say, if they smell, they passed in by us. The sense of taste says, if they have no flavour, don't ask me about them. The sense of touch says, if it had no bodily mass, I did not touch it, and if I never touched it, I gave no report about it. Whence and how did these things enter into my memory? I do not know. For when I first learned them, it was not that I believed them on the credit of another man's mind, but I recognised them in my own, and I saw them as true, took them into my mind, and laid them up, so to say, where I could get at them again whenever I willed. There they were, then even before I learned them. But they were not in my memory. Where were they, then? How does it come about that when they were spoken of, I could acknowledge them and say, so it is, it is true, unless they were already in the memory, though far back and hidden, as it were, in the more secret caves, so that unless they had been drawn out by the teaching of another person, I should perhaps never have been able to think of them at all. End of book 10, chapters 1 to 10.