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- confessions
- text
- truth is loved. He is within the very heart, yet hath the heart strayed
from Him. Go back into your heart, ye transgressors, and cleave fast to
Him that made you. Stand with Him, and ye shall stand fast. Rest in Him,
and ye shall be at rest. Whither go ye in rough ways? Whither go ye?
The good that you love is from Him; but it is good and pleasant through
reference to Him, and justly shall it be embittered, because unjustly is
any thing loved which is from Him, if He be forsaken for it. To what end
then would ye still and still walk these difficult and toilsome ways?
There is no rest, where ye seek it. Seek what ye seek; but it is not
there where ye seek. Ye seek a blessed life in the land of death; it is
not there. For how should there be a blessed life where life itself is
not?
"But our true Life came down hither, and bore our death, and slew him,
out of the abundance of His own life: and He thundered, calling aloud to
us to return hence to Him into that secret place, whence He came forth
to us, first into the Virgin's womb, wherein He espoused the human
creation, our mortal flesh, that it might not be for ever mortal, and
thence like a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, rejoicing as a giant
to run his course. For He lingered not, but ran, calling aloud by words,
deeds, death, life, descent, ascension; crying aloud to us to return
unto Him. And He departed from our eyes, that we might return into our
heart, and there find Him. For He departed, and lo, He is here. He would
not be long with us, yet left us not; for He departed thither, whence
He never parted, because the world was made by Him. And in this world
He was, and into this world He came to save sinners, unto whom my soul
confesseth, and He healeth it, for it hath sinned against Him. O ye sons
of men, how long so slow of heart? Even now, after the descent of Life
to you, will ye not ascend and live? But whither ascend ye, when ye are
on high, and set your mouth against the heavens? Descend, that ye may
ascend, and ascend to God. For ye have fallen, by ascending against
Him." Tell them this, that they may weep in the valley of tears, and
so carry them up with thee unto God; because out of His spirit thou
speakest thus unto them, if thou speakest, burning with the fire of
charity.
These things I then knew not, and I loved these lower beauties, and I
was sinking to the very depths, and to my friends I said, "Do we love
any thing but the beautiful? What then is the beautiful? and what is
beauty? What is it that attracts and wins us to the things we love? for
unless there were in them a grace and beauty, they could by no
means draw us unto them." And I marked and perceived that in bodies
themselves, there was a beauty, from their forming a sort of whole, and
again, another from apt and mutual correspondence, as of a part of
the body with its whole, or a shoe with a foot, and the like. And this
consideration sprang up in my mind, out of my inmost heart, and I wrote
"on the fair and fit," I think, two or three books. Thou knowest, O
Lord, for it is gone from me; for I have them not, but they are strayed
from me, I know not how.
But what moved me, O Lord my God, to dedicate these books unto Hierius,
an orator of Rome, whom I knew not by face, but loved for the fame
of his learning which was eminent in him, and some words of his I had
heard, which pleased me? But more did he please me, for that he pleased
others, who highly extolled him, amazed that out of a Syrian, first
instructed in Greek eloquence, should afterwards be formed a wonderful
Latin orator, and one most learned in things pertaining unto philosophy.
One is commended, and, unseen, he is loved: doth this love enter the
heart of the hearer from the mouth of the commender? Not so. But by one
who loveth is another kindled. For hence he is loved who is commended,
when the commender is believed to extol him with an unfeigned heart;
that is, when one that loves him, praises him.
For so did I then love men, upon the judgment of men, not Thine, O my
God, in Whom no man is deceived. But yet why not for qualities, like
those of a famous charioteer, or fighter with beasts in the theatre,
known far and wide by a vulgar popularity, but far otherwise, and
earnestly, and so as I would be myself commended? For I would not be
commended or loved, as actors are (though I myself did commend and love
them), but had rather be unknown, than so known; and even hated, than
so loved. Where now are the impulses to such various and divers kinds of
loves laid up in one soul? Why, since we are equally men, do I love
in another what, if I did not hate, I should not spurn and cast from
myself? For it holds not, that as a good horse is loved by him, who
would not, though he might, be that horse, therefore the same may be
said of an actor, who shares our nature. Do I then love in a man, what I
hate to be, who am a man? Man himself is a great deep, whose very hairs
Thou numberest, O Lord, and they fall not to the ground without Thee.
And yet are the hairs of his head easier to be numbered than his
feelings, and the beatings of his heart.
But that orator was of that sort whom I loved, as wishing to be myself
such; and I erred through a swelling pride, and was tossed about with
every wind, but yet was steered by Thee, though very secretly. And
whence do I know, and whence do I confidently confess unto Thee, that
I had loved him more for the love of his commenders, than for the very
things for which he was commended? Because, had he been unpraised, and
these self-same men had dispraised him, and with dispraise and contempt
told the very same things of him, I had never been so kindled and
excited to love him. And yet the things had not been other, nor he
himself other; but only the feelings of the relators. See where the
impotent soul lies along, that is not yet stayed up by the solidity
of truth! Just as the gales of tongues blow from the breast of the
opinionative, so is it carried this way and that, driven forward and
backward, and the light is overclouded to it, and the truth unseen. And
lo, it is before us. And it was to me a great matter, that my discourse
and labours should be known to that man: which should he approve, I were
the more kindled; but if he disapproved, my empty heart, void of Thy
solidity, had been wounded. And yet the "fair and fit," whereon I wrote
to him, I dwelt on with pleasure, and surveyed it, and admired it,
though none joined therein.
But I saw not yet, whereon this weighty matter turned in Thy wisdom,
O Thou Omnipotent, who only doest wonders; and my mind ranged through
corporeal forms; and "fair," I defined and distinguished what is so
in itself, and "fit," whose beauty is in correspondence to some other
thing: and this I supported by corporeal examples. And I turned to
the nature of the mind, but the false notion which I had of spiritual
things, let me not see the truth. Yet the force of truth did of itself
flash into mine eyes, and I turned away my panting soul from incorporeal
substance to lineaments, and colours, and bulky magnitudes. And not
being able to see these in the mind, I thought I could not see my mind.
And whereas in virtue I loved peace, and in viciousness I abhorred
discord; in the first I observed a unity, but in the other, a sort
of division. And in that unity I conceived the rational soul, and the
nature of truth and of the chief good to consist; but in this division
I miserably imagined there to be some unknown substance of irrational
life, and the nature of the chief evil, which should not only be a
substance, but real life also, and yet not derived from Thee, O my God,
of whom are all things. And yet that first I called a Monad, as it had
been a soul without sex; but the latter a Duad;--anger, in deeds of
violence, and in flagitiousness, lust; not knowing whereof I spake.