Belijdenissen - Augustinus (boek X) 

The Confessions of Saint Augustine - Book X 

 

 Let me know Thee, O Lord, who knowest me: let me know Thee, as I am known.

 Power of my soul, enter into it, and fit it for Thee, that Thou mayest have

 and hold it without spot or wrinkle. This is my hope, therefore do I speak;

 and in this hope do I rejoice, when I rejoice healthfully. Other things of

 this life are the less to be sorrowed for, the more they are sorrowed for;

 and the more to be sorrowed for, the less men sorrow for them. For behold,

 Thou lovest the truth, and he that doth it, cometh to the light. This would

 I do in my heart before Thee in confession: and in my writing, before many

 witnesses.

 

 

Chapter II

 

 And from Thee, O Lord, unto whose eyes the abyss of man's conscience is

 naked, what could be hidden in me though I would not confess it? For I

 should hide Thee from me, not me from Thee. But now, for that my groaning is

 witness, that I am displeased with myself, Thou shinest out, and art

 pleasing, and beloved, and longed for; that I may be ashamed of myself, and

 renounce myself, and choose Thee, and neither please Thee nor myself, but in

 Thee. To Thee therefore, O Lord, am I open, whatever I am; and with what

 fruit I confess unto Thee, I have said. Nor do I it with words and sounds of

 the flesh, but with the words of my soul, and the cry of the thought which

 Thy ear knoweth. For when I am evil, then to confess to Thee is nothing else

 than to be displeased with myself; but when holy, nothing else than not to

 ascribe it to myself: because Thou, O Lord, blessest the godly, but first

 Thou justifieth him when ungodly. My confession then, O my God, in Thy

 sight, is made silently, and not silently. For in sound, it is silent; in

 affection, it cries aloud. For neither do I utter any thing right unto men,

 which Thou hast not before heard from me; nor dost Thou hear any such thing

 from me, which Thou hast not first said unto me.

 

 

Chapter III

 

 What then have I to do with men, that they should hear my confessions—as if

 they could heal all my infirmities—a race, curious to know the lives of

 others, slothful to amend their own? Why seek they to hear from me what I

 am; who will not hear from Thee what themselves are? And how know they, when

 from myself they hear of myself, whether I say true; seeing no man knows

 what is in man, but the spirit of man which is in him? But if they hear from

 Thee of themselves, they cannot say, “The Lord lieth.” For what is it to

 hear from Thee of themselves, but to know themselves? and who knoweth and

 saith, “It is false,” unless himself lieth? But because charity believeth

 all things (that is, among those whom knitting unto itself it maketh one), I

 also, O Lord, will in such wise confess unto Thee, that men may hear, to

 whom I cannot demonstrate whether I confess truly; yet they believe me,

 whose ears charity openeth unto me.

 

 But do Thou, my inmost Physician, make plain unto me what fruit I may reap

 by doing it. For the confessions of my past sins, which Thou hast forgiven

 and covered, that Thou mightest bless me in Thee, changing my soul by Faith

 and Thy Sacrament, when read and heard, stir up the heart, that it sleep not

 in despair and say “I cannot,” but awake in the love of Thy mercy and the

 sweetness of Thy grace, whereby whoso is weak, is strong, when by it he

 became conscious of his own weakness. And the good delight to hear of the

 past evils of such as are now freed from them, not because they are evils,

 but because they have been and are not. With what fruit then, O Lord my God,

 to Whom my conscience daily confesseth, trusting more in the hope of Thy

 mercy than in her own innocency, with what fruit, I pray, do I by this book

 confess to men also in Thy presence what I now am, not what I have been? For

 that other fruit I have seen and spoken of. But what I now am, at the very

 time of making these confessions, divers desire to know, who have or have

 not known me, who have heard from me or of me; but their ear is not at my

 heart where I am, whatever I am. They wish then to hear me confess what I am

 within; whither neither their eye, nor ear, nor understanding can reach;

 they wish it, as ready to believe—but will they know? For charity, whereby

 they are good, telleth them that in my confessions I lie not; and she in

 them, believeth me.

 

 

Chapter IV

 

 But for what fruit would they hear this? Do they desire to joy with me, when

 they hear how near, by Thy gift, I approach unto Thee? and to pray for me,

 when they shall hear how much I am held back by my own weight? To such will

 I discover myself For it is no mean fruit, O Lord my God, that by many

 thanks should be given to Thee on our behalf, and Thou be by many entreated

 for us. Let the brotherly mind love in me what Thou teachest is to be loved,

 and lament in me what Thou teachest is to be lamented. Let a brotherly, not

 a stranger, mind, not that of the strange children, whose mouth talketh of

 vanity, and their right hand is a right hand of iniquity, but that brotherly

 mind which when it approveth, rejoiceth for me, and when it disapproveth me,

 is sorry for me; because whether it approveth or disapproveth, it loveth me.

 To such will I discover myself: they will breathe freely at my good deeds,

 sigh for my ill. My good deeds are Thine appointments, and Thy gifts; my

 evil ones are my offences, and Thy judgments. Let them breathe freely at the

 one, sigh at the other; and let hymns and weeping go up into Thy sight, out

 of the hearts of my brethren, Thy censers. And do Thou, O Lord, he pleased

 with the incense of Thy holy temple, have mercy upon me according to Thy

 great mercy for Thine own name's sake; and no ways forsaking what Thou hast

 begun, perfect my imperfections.

 

 This is the fruit of my confessions of what I am, not of what I have been,

 to confess this, not before Thee only, in a secret exultation with

 trembling, and a secret sorrow with hope; but in the ears also of the

 believing sons of men, sharers of my joy, and partners in my mortality, my

 fellow-citizens, and fellow-pilgrims, who are gone before, or are to follow

 on, companions of my way. These are Thy servants, my brethren, whom Thou

 willest to be Thy sons; my masters, whom Thou commandest me to serve, if I

 would live with Thee, of Thee. But this Thy Word were little did it only

 command by speaking, and not go before in performing. This then I do in deed

 and word, this I do under Thy wings; in over great peril, were not my soul

 subdued unto Thee under Thy wings, and my infirmity known unto Thee. I am a

 little one, but my Father ever liveth, and my Guardian is sufficient for me.

 For He is the same who begat me, and defends me: and Thou Thyself art all my

 good; Thou, Almighty, Who are with me, yea, before I am with Thee. To such

 then whom Thou commandest me to serve will I discover, not what I have been,

 but what I now am and what I yet am. But neither do I judge myself. Thus

 therefore I would be heard.

 

 

Chapter V

 

 For Thou, Lord, dost judge me: because, although no man knoweth the things

 of a man, but the spirit of a man which is in him, yet is there something of

 man, which neither the spirit of man that is in him, itself knoweth. But

 Thou, Lord, knowest all of him, Who hast made him. Yet I, though in Thy

 sight I despise myself, and account myself dust and ashes; yet know I

 something of Thee, which I know not of myself. And truly, now we see through

 a glass darkly, not face to face as yet. So long therefore as I be absent

 from Thee, I am more present with myself than with Thee; and yet know I Thee

 that Thou art in no ways passible; but I, what temptations I can resist,

 what I cannot, I know not. And there is hope, because Thou art faithful, Who

 wilt not suffer us to be tempted above that we are able; but wilt with the

 temptation also make a way to escape, that we may be able to bear it. I will

 confess then what I know of myself, I will confess also what I know not of

 myself. And that because what I do know of myself, I know by Thy shining

 upon me; and what I know not of myself, so long know I not it, until my

 darkness be made as the noon-day in Thy countenance.

 

 

Chapter VI

 

 Not with doubting, but with assured consciousness, do I love Thee, Lord.

 Thou hast stricken my heart with Thy word, and I loved Thee. Yea also

 heaven, and earth, and all that therein is, behold, on every side they bid

 me love Thee; nor cease to say so unto all, that they may be without excuse.

 But more deeply wilt Thou have mercy on whom Thou wilt have mercy, and wilt

 have compassion on whom Thou hast had compassion: else in deaf ears do the

 heaven and the earth speak Thy praises. But what do I love, when I love

 Thee? not beauty of bodies, nor the fair harmony of time, nor the brightness

 of the light, so gladsome to our eyes, nor sweet melodies of varied songs,

 nor the fragrant smell of flowers, and ointments, and spices, not manna and

 honey, not limbs acceptable to embracements of flesh. None of these I love,

 when I love my God; and yet I love a kind of light, and melody, and

 fragrance, and meat, and embracement when I love my God, the light, melody,

 fragrance, meat, embracement of my inner man: where there shineth unto my

 soul what space cannot contain, and there soundeth what time beareth not

 away, and there smelleth what breathing disperseth not, and there tasteth

 what eating diminisheth not, and there clingeth what satiety divorceth not.

 This is it which I love when I love my God.

 

 And what is this? I asked the earth, and it answered me, “I am not He”; and

 whatsoever are in it confessed the same. I asked the sea and the deeps, and

 the living creeping things, and they answered, “We are not thy God, seek

 above us.” I asked the moving air; and the whole air with his inhabitants

 answered, “Anaximenes was deceived, I am not God. “ I asked the heavens,

 sun, moon, stars, “Nor (say they) are we the God whom thou seekest.” And I

 replied unto all the things which encompass the door of my flesh: “Ye have

 told me of my God, that ye are not He; tell me something of Him.” And they

 cried out with a loud voice, “He made us. “ My questioning them, was my

 thoughts on them: and their form of beauty gave the answer. And I turned

 myself unto myself, and said to myself, “Who art thou?” And I answered, “A

 man.” And behold, in me there present themselves to me soul, and body, one

 without, the other within. By which of these ought I to seek my God? I had

 sought Him in the body from earth to heaven, so far as I could send

 messengers, the beams of mine eyes. But the better is the inner, for to it

 as presiding and judging, all the bodily messengers reported the answers of

 heaven and earth, and all things therein, who said, “We are not God, but He

 made us.” These things did my inner man know by the ministry of the outer: I

 the inner knew them; I, the mind, through the senses of my body. I asked the

 whole frame of the world about my God; and it answered me, “I am not He, but

 He made me.

 

 Is not this corporeal figure apparent to all whose senses are perfect? why

 then speaks it not the same to all? Animals small and great see it, but they

 cannot ask it: because no reason is set over their senses to judge on what

 they report. But men can ask, so that the invisible things of God are

 clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made; but by love of

 them, they are made subject unto them: and subjects cannot judge. Nor yet do

 the creatures answer such as ask, unless they can judge; nor yet do they

 change their voice (i.e., their appearance), if one man only sees, another

 seeing asks, so as to appear one way to this man, another way to that, but

 appearing the same way to both, it is dumb to this, speaks to that; yea

 rather it speaks to all; but they only understand, who compare its voice

 received from without, with the truth within. For truth saith unto me,

 “Neither heaven, nor earth, nor any other body is thy God.” This, their very

 nature saith to him that seeth them: “They are a mass; a mass is less in a

 part thereof than in the whole.” Now to thee I speak, O my soul, thou art my

 better part: for thou quickenest the mass of my body, giving it life, which

 no body can give to a body: but thy God is even unto thee the Life of thy

 life.

 

 

Chapter VII

 

 What then do I love, when I love my God? who is He above the head of my

 soul? By my very soul will I ascend to Him. I will pass beyond that power

 whereby I am united to my body, and fill its whole frame with life. Nor can

 I by that power find my God; for so horse and mule that have no

 understanding might find Him; seeing it is the same power, whereby even

 their bodies live. But another power there is, not that only whereby I

 animate, but that too whereby I imbue with sense my flesh, which the Lord

 hath framed for me: commanding the eye not to hear, and the ear not to see;

 but the eye, that through it I should see, and the ear, that through it I

 should hear; and to the other senses severally, what is to each their own

 peculiar seats and offices; which, being divers, I the one mind, do through

 them enact. I will pass beyond this power of mine also; for this also have

 the horse, and mule, for they also perceive through the body.

 

 

Chapter VIII

 

 I will pass then beyond this power of my nature also, rising by degrees unto

 Him Who made me. And I come to the fields and spacious palaces of my memory,

 where are the treasures of innumerable images, brought into it from things

 of all sorts perceived by the senses. There is stored up, whatsoever besides

 we think, either by enlarging or diminishing, or any other way varying those

 things which the sense hath come to; and whatever else hath been committed

 and laid up, which forgetfulness hath not yet swallowed up and buried. When

 I enter there, I require what I will to be brought forth, and something

 instantly comes; others must be longer sought after, which are fetched, as

 it were, out of some inner receptacle; others rush out in troops, and while

 one thing is desired and required, they start forth, as who should say, “Is

 it perchance I?” These I drive away with the hand of my heart, from the face

 of my remembrance; until what I wish for be unveiled, and appear in sight,

 out of its secret place. Other things come up readily, in unbroken order, as

 they are called for; those in front making way for the following; and as

 they make way, they are hidden from sight, ready to come when I will. All

 which takes place when I repeat a thing by heart.

 

 There are all things preserved distinctly and under general heads, each

 having entered by its own avenue: as light, and all colours and forms of

 bodies by the eyes; by the ears all sorts of sounds; all smells by the

 avenue of the nostrils; all tastes by the mouth; and by the sensation of the

 whole body, what is hard or soft; hot or cold; or rugged; heavy or light;

 either outwardly or inwardly to the body. All these doth that great harbour

 of the memory receive in her numberless secret and inexpressible windings,

 to be forthcoming, and brought out at need; each entering in by his own

 gate, and there laid up. Nor yet do the things themselves enter in; only the

 images of the things perceived are there in readiness, for thought to

 recall. Which images, how they are formed, who can tell, though it doth

 plainly appear by which sense each hath been brought in and stored up? For

 even while I dwell in darkness and silence, in my memory I can produce

 colours, if I will, and discern betwixt black and white, and what others I

 will: nor yet do sounds break in and disturb the image drawn in by my eyes,

 which I am reviewing, though they also are there, lying dormant, and laid

 up, as it were, apart. For these too I call for, and forthwith they appear.

 And though my tongue be still, and my throat mute, so can I sing as much as

 I will; nor do those images of colours, which notwithstanding be there,

 intrude themselves and interrupt, when another store is called for, which

 flowed in by the ears. So the other things, piled in and up by the other

 senses, I recall at my pleasure. Yea, I discern the breath of lilies from

 violets, though smelling nothing; and I prefer honey to sweet wine, smooth

 before rugged, at the time neither tasting nor handling, but remembering

 only.

 

 These things do I within, in that vast court of my memory. For there are

 present with me, heaven, earth, sea, and whatever I could think on therein,

 besides what I have forgotten. There also meet I with myself, and recall

 myself, and when, where, and what I have done, and under what feelings.

 There be all which I remember, either on my own experience, or other's

 credit. Out of the same store do I myself with the past continually combine

 fresh and fresh likenesses of things which I have experienced, or, from what

 I have experienced, have believed: and thence again infer future actions,

 events and hopes, and all these again I reflect on, as present. “I will do

 this or that,” say I to myself, in that great receptacle of my mind, stored

 with the images of things so many and so great, “and this or that will

 follow.” “O that this or that might be!” “God avert this or that!” So speak

 I to myself: and when I speak, the images of all I speak of are present, out

 of the same treasury of memory; nor would I speak of any thereof, were the

 images wanting.

 

 Great is this force of memory, excessive great, O my God; a large and

 boundless chamber! who ever sounded the bottom thereof? yet is this a power

 of mine, and belongs unto my nature; nor do I myself comprehend all that I

 am. Therefore is the mind too strait to contain itself. And where should

 that be, which it containeth not of itself? Is it without it, and not

 within? how then doth it not comprehend itself? A wonderful admiration

 surprises me, amazement seizes me upon this. And men go abroad to admire the

 heights of mountains, the mighty billows of the sea, the broad tides of

 rivers, the compass of the ocean, and the circuits of the stars, and pass

 themselves by; nor wonder that when I spake of all these things, I did not

 see them with mine eyes, yet could not have spoken of them, unless I then

 actually saw the mountains, billows, rivers, stars which I had seen, and

 that ocean which I believe to be, inwardly in my memory, and that, with the

 same vast spaces between, as if I saw them abroad. Yet did not I by seeing

 draw them into myself, when with mine eyes I beheld them; nor are they

 themselves with me, but their images only. And I know by what sense of the

 body each was impressed upon me.

 

 

Chapter IX

 

 Yet not these alone does the unmeasurable capacity of my memory retain. Here

 also is all, learnt of the liberal sciences and as yet unforgotten; removed

 as it were to some inner place, which is yet no place: nor are they the

 images thereof, but the things themselves. For, what is literature, what the

 art of disputing, how many kinds of questions there be, whatsoever of these

 I know, in such manner exists in my memory, as that I have not taken in the

 image, and left out the thing, or that it should have sounded and passed

 away like a voice fixed on the ear by that impress, whereby it might be

 recalled, as if it sounded, when it no longer sounded; or as a smell while

 it passes and evaporates into air affects the sense of smell, whence it

 conveys into the memory an image of itself, which remembering, we renew, or

 as meat, which verily in the belly hath now no taste, and yet in the memory

 still in a manner tasteth; or as any thing which the body by touch

 perceiveth, and which when removed from us, the memory still conceives. For

 those things are not transmitted into the memory, but their images only are

 with an admirable swiftness caught up, and stored as it were in wondrous

 cabinets, and thence wonderfully by the act of remembering, brought forth.

 

 

Chapter X

 

 But now when I hear that there be three kinds of questions, “Whether the

 thing be? what it is? of what kind it is? I do indeed hold the images of the

 sounds of which those words be composed, and that those sounds, with a noise

 passed through the air, and now are not. But the things themselves which are

 signified by those sounds, I never reached with any sense of my body, nor

 ever discerned them otherwise than in my mind; yet in my memory have I laid

 up not their images, but themselves. Which how they entered into me, let

 them say if they can; for I have gone over all the avenues of my flesh, but

 cannot find by which they entered. For the eyes say, “If those images were

 coloured, we reported of them.” The ears say, “If they sound, we gave

 knowledge of them.” The nostrils say, “If they smell, they passed by us.”

 The taste says, “Unless they have a savour, ask me not.” The touch says, “If

 it have not size, I handled it not; if I handled it not, I gave no notice of

 it.” Whence and how entered these things into my memory? I know not how. For

 when I learned them, I gave not credit to another man's mind, but recognised

 them in mine; and approving them for true, I commended them to it, laying

 them up as it were, whence I might bring them forth when I willed. In my

 heart then they were, even before I learned them, but in my memory they were

 not. Where then? or wherefore, when they were spoken, did I acknowledge

 them, and said, “So is it, it is true,” unless that they were already in the

 memory, but so thrown back and buried as it were in deeper recesses, that

 had not the suggestion of another drawn them forth I had perchance been

 unable to conceive of them?

 

 

Chapter XI

 

 Wherefore we find, that to learn these things whereof we imbibe nor the

 images by our senses, but perceive within by themselves, without images, as

 they are, is nothing else, but by conception, to receive, and by marking to

 take heed that those things which the memory did before contain at random

 and unarranged, be laid up at hand as it were in that same memory where

 before they lay unknown, scattered and neglected, and so readily occur to

 the mind familiarised to them. And how many things of this kind does my

 memory bear which have been already found out, and as I said, placed as it

 were at hand, which we are said to have learned and come to know which were

 I for some short space of time to cease to call to mind, they are again so

 buried, and glide back, as it were, into the deeper recesses, that they must

 again, as if new, he thought out thence, for other abode they have none: but

 they must be drawn together again, that they may be known; that is to say,

 they must as it were be collected together from their dispersion: whence the

 word “cogitation” is derived. For cogo (collect) and cogito (re-collect)

 have the same relation to each other as ago and agito, facio and factito.

 But the mind hath appropriated to itself this word (cogitation), so that,

 not what is “collected” any how, but what is “recollected,” i.e., brought

 together, in the mind, is properly said to be cogitated, or thought upon.

 

 

Chapter XII

 

 The memory containeth also reasons and laws innumerable of numbers and

 dimensions, none of which hath any bodily sense impressed; seeing they have

 neither colour, nor sound, nor taste, nor smell, nor touch. I have heard the

 sound of the words whereby when discussed they are denoted: but the sounds

 are other than the things. For the sounds are other in Greek than in Latin;

 but the things are neither Greek, nor Latin, nor any other language. I have

 seen the lines of architects, the very finest, like a spider's thread; but

 those are still different, they are not the images of those lines which the

 eye of flesh showed me: he knoweth them, whosoever without any conception

 whatsoever of a body, recognises them within himself. I have perceived also

 the numbers of the things with which we number all the senses of my body;

 but those numbers wherewith we number are different, nor are they the images

 of these, and therefore they indeed are. Let him who seeth them not, deride

 me for saying these things, and I will pity him, while he derides me.

 

 

Chapter XIII

 

 All these things I remember, and how I learnt them I remember. Many things

 also most falsely objected against them have I heard, and remember; which

 though they be false, yet is it not false that I remember them; and I

 remember also that I have discerned betwixt those truths and these

 falsehoods objected to them. And I perceive that the present discerning of

 these things is different from remembering that I oftentimes discerned them,

 when I often thought upon them. I both remember then to have often

 understood these things; and what I now discern and understand, I lay up in

 my memory, that hereafter I may remember that I understand it now. So then I

 remember also to have remembered; as if hereafter I shall call to

 remembrance, that I have now been able to remember these things, by the

 force of memory shall I call it to remembrance.

 

 

Chapter XIV

 

 The same memory contains also the affections of my mind, not in the same

 manner that my mind itself contains them, when it feels them; but far

 otherwise, according to a power of its own. For without rejoicing I remember

 myself to have joyed; and without sorrow do I recollect my past sorrow. And

 that I once feared, I review without fear; and without desire call to mind a

 past desire. Sometimes, on the contrary, with joy do I remember my fore-past

 sorrow, and with sorrow, joy. Which is not wonderful, as to the body; for

 mind is one thing, body another. If I therefore with joy remember some past

 pain of body, it is not so wonderful. But now seeing this very memory itself

 is mind (for when we give a thing in charge, to be kept in memory, we say,

 “See that you keep it in mind”; and when we forget, we say, “It did not come

 to my mind,” and, “It slipped out of my mind,” calling the memory itself the

 mind); this being so, how is it that when with joy I remember my past

 sorrow, the mind hath joy, the memory hath sorrow; the mind upon the

 joyfulness which is in it, is joyful, yet the memory upon the sadness which

 is in it, is not sad? Does the memory perchance not belong to the mind? Who

 will say so? The memory then is, as it were, the belly of the mind, and joy

 and sadness, like sweet and bitter food; which, when committed to the

 memory, are as it were passed into the belly, where they may be stowed, but

 cannot taste. Ridiculous it is to imagine these to be alike; and yet are

 they not utterly unlike.

 

 But, behold, out of my memory I bring it, when I say there be four

 perturbations of the mind, desire, joy, fear, sorrow; and whatsoever I can

 dispute thereon, by dividing each into its subordinate species, and by

 defining it, in my memory find I what to say, and thence do I bring it: yet

 am I not disturbed by any of these perturbations, when by calling them to

 mind, I remember them; yea, and before I recalled and brought them back,

 they were there; and therefore could they, by recollection, thence be

 brought. Perchance, then, as meat is by chewing the cud brought up out of

 the belly, so by recollection these out of the memory. Why then does not the

 disputer, thus recollecting, taste in the mouth of his musing the sweetness

 of joy, or the bitterness of sorrow? Is the comparison unlike in this,

 because not in all respects like? For who would willingly speak thereof, if

 so oft as we name grief or fear, we should be compelled to be sad or

 fearful? And yet could we not speak of them, did we not find in our memory,

 not only the sounds of the names according to the images impressed by the

 senses of the body, but notions of the very things themselves which we never

 received by any avenue of the body, but which the mind itself perceiving by

 the experience of its own passions, committed to the memory, or the memory

 of itself retained, without being committed unto it.

 

 

Chapter XV

 

 But whether by images or no, who can readily say? Thus, I name a stone, I

 name the sun, the things themselves not being present to my senses, but

 their images to my memory. I name a bodily pain, yet it is not present with

 me, when nothing aches: yet unless its image were present to my memory, I

 should not know what to say thereof, nor in discoursing discern pain from

 pleasure. I name bodily health; being sound in body, the thing itself is

 present with me; yet, unless its image also were present in my memory, I

 could by no means recall what the sound of this name should signify. Nor

 would the sick, when health were named, recognise what were spoken, unless

 the same image were by the force of memory retained, although the thing

 itself were absent from the body. I name numbers whereby we number; and not

 their images, but themselves are present in my memory. I name the image of

 the sun, and that image is present in my memory. For I recall not the image

 of its image, but the image itself is present to me, calling it to mind. I

 name memory, and I recognise what I name. And where do I recognise it, but

 in the memory itself? Is it also present to itself by its image, and not by

 itself?

 

 

Chapter XVI

 

 What, when I name forgetfulness, and withal recognise what I name? whence

 should I recognise it, did I not remember it? I speak not of the sound of

 the name, but of the thing which it signifies: which if I had forgotten, I

 could not recognise what that sound signifies. When then I remember memory,

 memory itself is, through itself, present with itself: but when I remember

 forgetfulness, there are present both memory and forgetfulness; memory

 whereby I remember, forgetfulness which I remember. But what is

 forgetfulness, but the privation of memory? How then is it present that I

 remember it, since when present I cannot remember? But if what we remember

 we hold it in memory, yet, unless we did remember forgetfulness, we could

 never at the hearing of the name recognise the thing thereby signified, then

 forgetfulness is retained by memory. Present then it is, that we forget not,

 and being so, we forget. It is to be understood from this that forgetfulness

 when we remember it, is not present to the memory by itself but by its

 image: because if it were present by itself, it would not cause us to

 remember, but to forget. Who now shall search out this? who shall comprehend

 how it is?

 

 Lord, I, truly, toil therein, yea and toil in myself; I am become a heavy

 soil requiring over much sweat of the brow. For we are not now searching out

 the regions of heaven, or measuring the distances of the stars, or enquiring

 the balancings of the earth. It is I myself who remember, I the mind. It is

 not so wonderful, if what I myself am not, be far from me. But what is

 nearer to me than myself? And to, the force of mine own memory is not

 understood by me; though I cannot so much as name myself without it. For

 what shall I say, when it is clear to me that I remember forgetfulness?

 Shall I say that that is not in my memory, which I remember? or shall I say

 that forgetfulness is for this purpose in my memory, that I might not

 forget? Both were most absurd. What third way is there? How can I say that

 the image of forgetfulness is retained by my memory, not forgetfulness

 itself, when I remember it? How could I say this either, seeing that when

 the image of any thing is impressed on the memory, the thing itself must

 needs be first present, whence that image may be impressed? For thus do I

 remember Carthage, thus all places where I have been, thus men's faces whom

 I have seen, and things reported by the other senses; thus the health or

 sickness of the body. For when these things were present, my memory received

 from them images, which being present with me, I might look on and bring

 back in my mind, when I remembered them in their absence. If then this

 forgetfulness is retained in the memory through its image, not through

 itself, then plainly itself was once present, that its image might be taken.

 But when it was present, how did it write its image in the memory, seeing

 that forgetfulness by its presence effaces even what it finds already noted?

 And yet, in whatever way, although that way be past conceiving and

 explaining, yet certain am I that I remember forgetfulness itself also,

 whereby what we remember is effaced.

 

 

Chapter XVII

 

 Great is the power of memory, a fearful thing, O my God, a deep and

 boundless manifoldness; and this thing is the mind, and this am I myself.

 What am I then, O my God? What nature am I? A life various and manifold, and

 exceeding immense. Behold in the plains, and caves, and caverns of my

 memory, innumerable and innumerably full of innumerable kinds of things,

 either through images, as all bodies; or by actual presence, as the arts; or

 by certain notions or impressions, as the affections of the mind, which,

 even when the mind doth not feel, the memory retaineth, while yet whatsoever

 is in the memory is also in the mind—over all these do I run, I fly; I dive

 on this side and on that, as far as I can, and there is no end. So great is

 the force of memory, so great the force of life, even in the mortal life of

 man. What shall I do then, O Thou my true life, my God? I will pass even

 beyond this power of mine which is called memory: yea, I will pass beyond

 it, that I may approach unto Thee, O sweet Light. What sayest Thou to me?

 See, I am mounting up through my mind towards Thee who abidest above me.

 Yea, I now will pass beyond this power of mine which is called memory,

 desirous to arrive at Thee, whence Thou mayest be arrived at; and to cleave

 unto Thee, whence one may cleave unto Thee. For even beasts and birds have

 memory; else could they not return to their dens and nests, nor many other

 things they are used unto: nor indeed could they be used to any thing, but

 by memory. I will pass then beyond memory also, that I may arrive at Him who

 hath separated me from the four-footed beasts and made me wiser than the

 fowls of the air, I will pass beyond memory also, and where shall I find

 Thee, Thou truly good and certain sweetness? And where shall I find Thee? If

 I find Thee without my memory, then do I not retain Thee in my memory. And

 how shall I find Thee, if I remember Thee not?

 

 

Chapter XVIII

 

 For the woman that had lost her groat, and sought it with a light; unless

 she had remembered it, she had never found it. For when it was found, whence

 should she know whether it were the same, unless she remembered it? I

 remember to have sought and found many a thing; and this I thereby know,

 that when I was seeking any of them, and was asked, “Is this it?” “Is that

 it?” so long said I “No,” until that were offered me which I sought. Which

 had I not remembered (whatever it were) though it were offered me, yet

 should I not find it, because I could not recognise it. And so it ever is,

 when we seek and find any lost thing. Notwithstanding, when any thing is by

 chance lost from the sight, not from the memory (as any visible body), yet

 its image is still retained within, and it is sought until it be restored to

 sight; and when it is found, it is recognised by the image which is within:

 nor do we say that we have found what was lost, unless we recognise it; nor

 can we recognise it, unless we remember it. But this was lost to the eyes,

 but retained in the memory.

 

 

Chapter XIX

 

 But what when the memory itself loses any thing, as falls out when we forget

 and seek that we may recollect? Where in the end do we search, but in the

 memory itself? and there, if one thing be perchance offered instead of

 another, we reject it, until what we seek meets us; and when it doth, we

 say, “This is it”; which we should not unless we recognised it, nor

 recognise it unless we remembered it. Certainly then we had forgotten it.

 Or, had not the whole escaped us, but by the part whereof we had hold, was

 the lost part sought for; in that the memory felt that it did not carry on

 together all which it was wont, and maimed, as it were, by the curtailment

 of its ancient habit, demanded the restoration of what it missed? For

 instance, if we see or think of some one known to us, and having forgotten

 his name, try to recover it; whatever else occurs, connects itself not

 therewith; because it was not wont to be thought upon together with him, and

 therefore is rejected, until that present itself, whereon the knowledge

 reposes equably as its wonted object. And whence does that present itself,

 but out of the memory itself? for even when we recognise it, on being

 reminded by another, it is thence it comes. For we do not believe it as

 something new, but, upon recollection, allow what was named to be right. But

 were it utterly blotted out of the mind, we should not remember it, even

 when reminded. For we have not as yet utterly forgotten that, which we

 remember ourselves to have forgotten. What then we have utterly forgotten,

 though lost, we cannot even seek after.

 

 

Chapter XX

 

 How then do I seek Thee, O Lord? For when I seek Thee, my God, I seek a

 happy life. I will seek Thee, that my soul may live. For my body liveth by

 my soul; and my soul by Thee. How then do I seek a happy life, seeing I have

 it not, until I can say, where I ought to say it, “It is enough”? How seek I

 it? By remembrance, as though I had forgotten it, remembering that I had

 forgotten it? Or, desiring to learn it as a thing unknown, either never

 having known, or so forgotten it, as not even to remember that I had

 forgotten it? is not a happy life what all will, and no one altogether wills

 it not? where have they known it, that they so will it? where seen it, that

 they so love it? Truly we have it, how, I know not. Yea, there is another

 way, wherein when one hath it, then is he happy; and there are, who are

 blessed, in hope. These have it in a lower kind, than they who have it in

 very deed; yet are they better off than such as are happy neither in deed

 nor in hope. Yet even these, had they it not in some sort, would not so will

 to be happy, which that they do will, is most certain. They have known it

 then, I know not how, and so have it by some sort of knowledge, what, I know

 not, and am perplexed whether it be in the memory, which if it be, then we

 have been happy once; whether all severally, or in that man who first

 sinned, in whom also we all died, and from whom we are all born with misery,

 I now enquire not; but only, whether the happy life be in the memory? For

 neither should we love it, did we not know it. We hear the name, and we all

 confess that we desire the thing; for we are not delighted with the mere

 sound. For when a Greek hears it in Latin, he is not delighted, not knowing

 what is spoken; but we Latins are delighted, as would he too, if he heard it

 in Greek; because the thing itself is neither Greek nor Latin, which Greeks

 and Latins, and men of all other tongues, long for so earnestly. Known

 therefore it is to all, for they with one voice be asked, “would they be

 happy?” they would answer without doubt, “they would.” And this could not

 be, unless the thing itself whereof it is the name were retained in their

 memory.

 

 

Chapter XXi

 

 But is it so, as one remembers Carthage who hath seen it? No. For a happy

 life is not seen with the eye, because it is not a body. As we remember

 numbers then? No. For these, he that hath in his knowledge, seeks not

 further to attain unto; but a happy life we have in our knowledge, and

 therefore love it, and yet still desire to attain it, that we may be happy.

 As we remember eloquence then? No. For although upon hearing this name also,

 some call to mind the thing, who still are not yet eloquent, and many who

 desire to be so, whence it appears that it is in their knowledge; yet these

 have by their bodily senses observed others to be eloquent, and been

 delighted, and desire to be the like (though indeed they would not be

 delighted but for some inward knowledge thereof, nor wish to be the like,

 unless they were thus delighted); whereas a happy life, we do by no bodily

 sense experience in others. As then we remember joy? Perchance; for my joy I

 remember, even when sad, as a happy life, when unhappy; nor did I ever with

 bodily sense see, hear, smell, taste, or touch my joy; but I experienced it

 in my mind, when I rejoiced; and the knowledge of it clave to my memory, so

 that I can recall it with disgust sometimes, at others with longing,

 according to the nature of the things, wherein I remember myself to have

 joyed. For even from foul things have I been immersed in a sort of joy;

 which now recalling, I detest and execrate; otherwhiles in good and honest

 things, which I recall with longing, although perchance no longer present;

 and therefore with sadness I recall former joy.

 

 Where then and when did I experience my happy life, that I should remember,

 and love, and long for it? Nor is it I alone, or some few besides, but we

 all would fain be happy; which, unless by some certain knowledge we knew, we

 should not with so certain a will desire. But how is this, that if two men

 be asked whether they would go to the wars, one, perchance, would answer

 that he would, the other, that he would not; but if they were asked whether

 they would be happy, both would instantly without any doubting say they

 would; and for no other reason would the one go to the wars, and the other

 not, but to be happy. Is it perchance that as one looks for his joy in this

 thing, another in that, all agree in their desire of being happy, as they

 would (if they were asked) that they wished to have joy, and this joy they

 call a happy life? Although then one obtains this joy by one means, another

 by another, all have one end, which they strive to attain, namely, joy.

 Which being a thing which all must say they have experienced, it is

 therefore found in the memory, and recognised whenever the name of a happy

 life is mentioned.

 

 

Chapter XXII

 

 Far be it, Lord, far be it from the heart of Thy servant who here confesseth

 unto Thee, far be it, that, be the joy what it may, I should therefore think

 myself happy. For there is a joy which is not given to the ungodly, but to

 those who love Thee for Thine own sake, whose joy Thou Thyself art. And this

 is the happy life, to rejoice to Thee, of Thee, for Thee; this is it, and

 there is no other. For they who think there is another, pursue some other

 and not the true joy. Yet is not their will turned away from some semblance

 of joy.

 

 

Chapter XXIII

 

 It is not certain then that all wish to be happy, inasmuch as they who wish

 not to joy in Thee, which is the only happy life, do not truly desire the

 happy life. Or do all men desire this, but because the flesh lusteth against

 the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh, that they cannot do what they

 would, they fall upon that which they can, and are content therewith;

 because, what they are not able to do, they do not will so strongly as would

 suffice to make them able? For I ask any one, had he rather joy in truth, or

 in falsehood? They will as little hesitate to say “in the truth,” as to say

 “that they desire to be happy,” for a happy life is joy in the truth: for

 this is a joying in Thee, Who art the Truth, O God my light, health of my

 countenance, my God. This is the happy life which all desire; this life

 which alone is happy, all desire; to joy in the truth all desire. I have met

 with many that would deceive; who would be deceived, no one. Where then did

 they know this happy life, save where they know the truth also? For they

 love it also, since they would not be deceived. And when they love a happy

 life, which is no other than joying in the truth, then also do they love the

 truth; which yet they would not love, were there not some notice of it in

 their memory. Why then joy they not in it? why are they not happy? because

 they are more strongly taken up with other things which have more power to

 make them miserable, than that which they so faintly remember to make them

 happy. For there is yet a little light in men; let them walk, let them walk,

 that the darkness overtake them not.

 

 But why doth “truth generate hatred,” and the man of Thine, preaching the

 truth, become an enemy to them? whereas a happy life is loved, which is

 nothing else but joying in the truth; unless that truth is in that kind

 loved, that they who love anything else would gladly have that which they

 love to be the truth: and because they would not be deceived, would not be

 convinced that they are so? Therefore do they hate the truth for that

 thing's sake which they loved instead of the truth. They love truth when she

 enlightens, they hate her when she reproves. For since they would not be

 deceived, and would deceive, they love her when she discovers herself unto

 them, and hate her when she discovers them. Whence she shall so repay them,

 that they who would not be made manifest by her, she both against their will

 makes manifest, and herself becometh not manifest unto them. Thus, thus, yea

 thus doth the mind of man, thus blind and sick, foul and ill-favoured, wish

 to be hidden, but that aught should be hidden from it, it wills not. But the

 contrary is requited it, that itself should not be hidden from the Truth;

 but the Truth is hid from it. Yet even thus miserable, it had rather joy in

 truths than in falsehoods. Happy then will it be, when, no distraction

 interposing, it shall joy in that only Truth, by Whom all things are true.

 

 

Chapter XXIV

 

 See what a space I have gone over in my memory seeking Thee, O Lord; and I

 have not found Thee, without it. Nor have I found any thing concerning Thee,

 but what I have kept in memory, ever since I learnt Thee. For since I learnt

 Thee, I have not forgotten Thee. For where I found Truth, there found I my

 God, the Truth itself; which since I learnt, I have not forgotten. Since

 then I learnt Thee, Thou residest in my memory; and there do I find Thee,

 when I call Thee to remembrance, and delight in Thee. These be my holy

 delights, which Thou hast given me in Thy mercy, having regard to my

 poverty.

 

 

Chapter XXV

 

 But where in my memory residest Thou, O Lord, where residest Thou there?

 what manner of lodging hast Thou framed for Thee? what manner of sanctuary

 hast Thou builded for Thee? Thou hast given this honour to my memory, to

 reside in it; but in what quarter of it Thou residest, that am I

 considering. For in thinking on Thee, I passed beyond such parts of it as

 the beasts also have, for I found Thee not there among the images of

 corporeal things: and I came to those parts to which I committed the

 affections of my mind, nor found Thee there. And I entered into the very

 seat of my mind (which it hath in my memory, inasmuch as the mind remembers

 itself also), neither wert Thou there: for as Thou art not a corporeal

 image, nor the affection of a living being (as when we rejoice, condole,

 desire, fear, remember, forget, or the like); so neither art Thou the mind

 itself; because Thou art the Lord God of the mind; and all these are

 changed, but Thou remainest unchangeable over all, and yet hast vouchsafed

 to dwell in my memory, since I learnt Thee. And why seek I now in what place

 thereof Thou dwellest, as if there were places therein? Sure I am, that in

 it Thou dwellest, since I have remembered Thee ever since I learnt Thee, and

 there I find Thee, when I call Thee to remembrance.

 

 

Chapter XXVI

 

 Where then did I find Thee, that I might learn Thee? For in my memory Thou

 wert not, before I learned Thee. Where then did I find Thee, that I might

 learn Thee, but in Thee above me? Place there is none; we go backward and

 forward, and there is no place. Every where, O Truth, dost Thou give

 audience to all who ask counsel of Thee, and at once answerest all, though

 on manifold matters they ask Thy counsel. Clearly dost Thou answer, though

 all do not clearly hear. All consult Thee on what they will, though they

 hear not always what they will. He is Thy best servant who looks not so much

 to hear that from Thee which himself willeth, as rather to will that, which

 from Thee he heareth.

 

 

Chapter XXVII

 

 Too late loved I Thee, O Thou Beauty of ancient days, yet ever new! too late

 I loved Thee! And behold, Thou wert within, and I abroad, and there I

 searched for Thee; deformed I, plunging amid those fair forms which Thou

 hadst made. Thou wert with me, but I was not with Thee. Things held me far

 from Thee, which, unless they were in Thee, were not at all. Thou calledst,

 and shoutedst, and burstest my deafness. Thou flashedst, shonest, and

 scatteredst my blindness. Thou breathedst odours, and I drew in breath and

 panted for Thee. I tasted, and hunger and thirst. Thou touchedst me, and I

 burned for Thy peace.

 

 

Chapter XXVIII

 

 When I shall with my whole self cleave to Thee, I shall no where have sorrow

 or labour; and my life shall wholly live, as wholly full of Thee. But now

 since whom Thou fillest, Thou liftest up, because I am not full of Thee I am

 a burden to myself. Lamentable joys strive with joyous sorrows: and on which

 side is the victory, I know not. Woe is me! Lord, have pity on me. My evil

 sorrows strive with my good joys; and on which side is the victory, I know

 not. Woe is me! Lord, have pity on me. Woe is me! lo! I hide not my wounds;

 Thou art the Physician, I the sick; Thou merciful, I miserable. Is not the

 life of man upon earth all trial? Who wishes for troubles and difficulties?

 Thou commandest them to be endured, not to be loved. No man loves what he

 endures, though he love to endure. For though he rejoices that he endures,

 he had rather there were nothing for him to endure. In adversity I long for

 prosperity, in prosperity I fear adversity. What middle place is there

 betwixt these two, where the life of man is not all trial? Woe to the

 prosperities of the world, once and again, through fear of adversity, and

 corruption of joy! Woe to the adversities of the world, once and again, and

 the third time, from the longing for prosperity, and because adversity

 itself is a hard thing, and lest it shatter endurance. Is not the life of

 man upon earth all trial: without any interval?

 

 

Chapter XXIX

 

 And all my hope is no where but in Thy exceeding great mercy. Give what Thou

 enjoinest, and enjoin what Thou wilt. Thou enjoinest us continency; and when

 I knew, saith one, that no man can be continent, unless God give it, this

 also was a part of wisdom to know whose gift she is. By continency verily

 are we bound up and brought back into One, whence we were dissipated into

 many. For too little doth he love Thee, who loves any thing with Thee, which

 he loveth not for Thee. O love, who ever burnest and never consumest! O

 charity, my God, kindle me. Thou enjoinest continency: give me what Thou

 enjoinest, and enjoin what Thou wilt.

 

 

Chapter XXX

 

 Verily Thou enjoinest me continency from the lust of the flesh, the lust of

 the eyes, and the ambition of the world. Thou enjoinest continency from

 concubinage; and for wedlock itself, Thou hast counselled something better

 than what Thou hast permitted. And since Thou gavest it, it was done, even

 before I became a dispenser of Thy Sacrament. But there yet live in my

 memory (whereof I have much spoken) the images of such things as my ill

 custom there fixed; which haunt me, strengthless when I am awake: but in

 sleep, not only so as to give pleasure, but even to obtain assent, and what

 is very like reality. Yea, so far prevails the illusion of the image, in my

 soul and in my flesh, that, when asleep, false visions persuade to that

 which when waking, the true cannot. Am I not then myself, O Lord my God? And

 yet there is so much difference betwixt myself and myself, within that

 moment wherein I pass from waking to sleeping, or return from sleeping to

 waking! Where is reason then, which, awake, resisteth such suggestions? And

 should the things themselves be urged on it, it remaineth unshaken. Is it

 clasped up with the eyes? is it lulled asleep with the senses of the body?

 And whence is it that often even in sleep we resist, and mindful of our

 purpose, and abiding most chastely in it, yield no assent to such

 enticements? And yet so much difference there is, that when it happeneth

 otherwise, upon waking we return to peace of conscience: and by this very

 difference discover that we did not, what yet we be sorry that in some way

 it was done in us.

 

 Art Thou not mighty, God Almighty, so as to heal all the diseases of my

 soul, and by Thy more abundant grace to quench even the impure motions of my

 sleep! Thou wilt increase, Lord, Thy gifts more and more in me, that my soul

 may follow me to Thee, disentangled from the birdlime of concupiscence; that

 it rebel not against itself, and even in dreams not only not, through images

 of sense, commit those debasing corruptions, even to pollution of the flesh,

 but not even to consent unto them. For that nothing of this sort should

 have, over the pure affections even of a sleeper, the very least influence,

 not even such as a thought would restrain,—to work this, not only during

 life, but even at my present age, is not hard for the Almighty, Who art able

 to do above all that we ask or think. But what I yet am in this kind of my

 evil, have I confessed unto my good Lord; rejoicing with trembling, in that

 which Thou hast given me, and bemoaning that wherein I am still imperfect;

 hoping that Thou wilt perfect Thy mercies in me, even to perfect peace,

 which my outward and inward man shall have with Thee, when death shall be

 swallowed up in victory.

 

 

Chapter XXXI

 

 There is another evil of the day, which I would were sufficient for it. For

 by eating and drinking we repair the daily decays of our body, until Thou

 destroy both belly and meat, when Thou shalt slay my emptiness with a

 wonderful fulness, and clothe this incorruptible with an eternal

 incorruption. But now the necessity is sweet unto me, against which

 sweetness I fight, that I be not taken captive; and carry on a daily war by

 fastings; often bringing my body into subjection; and my pains are removed

 by pleasure. For hunger and thirst are in a manner pains; they burn and kill

 like a fever, unless the medicine of nourishments come to our aid. Which

 since it is at hand through the consolations of Thy gifts, with which land,

 and water, and air serve our weakness, our calamity is termed gratification.

 

 This hast Thou taught me, that I should set myself to take food as physic.

 But while I am passing from the discomfort of emptiness to the content of

 replenishing, in the very passage the snare of concupiscence besets me. For

 that passing, is pleasure, nor is there any other way to pass thither,

 whither we needs must pass. And health being the cause of eating and

 drinking, there joineth itself as an attendant a dangerous pleasure, which

 mostly endeavours to go before it, so that I may for her sake do what I say

 I do, or wish to do, for health's sake. Nor have each the same measure; for

 what is enough for health, is too little for pleasure. And oft it is

 uncertain, whether it be the necessary care of the body which is yet asking

 for sustenance, or whether a voluptuous deceivableness of greediness is

 proffering its services. In this uncertainty the unhappy soul rejoiceth, and

 therein prepares an excuse to shield itself, glad that it appeareth not what

 sufficeth for the moderation of health, that under the cloak of health, it

 may disguise the matter of gratification. These temptations I daily

 endeavour to resist, and I call on Thy right hand, and to Thee do I refer my

 perplexities; because I have as yet no settled counsel herein.

 

 I hear the voice of my God commanding, Let not your hearts be overcharged

 with surfeiting and drunkenness. Drunkenness is far from me; Thou wilt have

 mercy, that it come not near me. But full feeding sometimes creepeth upon

 Thy servant; Thou wilt have mercy, that it may be far from me. For no one

 can be continent unless Thou give it. Many things Thou givest us, praying

 for them; and what good soever we have received before we prayed, from Thee

 we received it; yea to the end we might afterwards know this, did we before

 receive it. Drunkard was I never, but drunkards have I known made sober by

 Thee. From Thee then it was, that they who never were such, should not so

 be, as from Thee it was, that they who have been, should not ever so be; and

 from Thee it was, that both might know from Whom it was. I heard another

 voice of Thine, Go not after thy lusts, and from thy pleasure turn away. Yea

 by Thy favour have I heard that which I have much loved; neither if we eat,

 shall we abound; neither if we eat not, shall we lack; which is to say,

 neither shall the one make me plenteous, nor the other miserable. I heard

 also another, for I have learned in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be

 content; I know how to abound, and how to suffer need. I can do all things

 through Christ that strengtheneth me. Behold a soldier of the heavenly camp,

 not the dust which we are. But remember, Lord, that we are dust, and that of

 dust Thou hast made man; and he was lost and is found. Nor could he of

 himself do this, because he whom I so loved, saying this through the

 in-breathing of Thy inspiration, was of the same dust. I can do all things

 (saith he) through Him that strengtheneth me. Strengthen me, that I can.

 Give what Thou enjoinest, and enjoin what Thou wilt. He confesses to have

 received, and when he glorieth, in the Lord he glorieth. Another have I

 heard begging that he might receive. Take from me (saith he) the desires of

 the belly; whence it appeareth, O my holy God, that Thou givest, when that

 is done which Thou commandest to be done.

 

 Thou hast taught me, good Father, that to the pure, all things are pure; but

 that it is evil unto the man that eateth with offence; and, that every

 creature of Thine is good, and nothing to be refused, which is received with

 thanksgiving; and that meat commendeth us not to God; and, that no man

 should judge us in meat or drink; and, that he which eateth, let him not

 despise him that eateth not; and let not him that eateth not, judge him that

 eateth. These things have I learned, thanks be to Thee, praise to Thee, my

 God, my Master, knocking at my ears, enlightening my heart; deliver me out

 of all temptation. I fear not uncleanness of meat, but the uncleanness of

 lusting. I know; that Noah was permitted to eat all kind of flesh that was

 good for food; that Elijah was fed with flesh; that endued with an admirable

 abstinence, was not polluted by feeding on living creatures, locusts. I know

 also that Esau was deceived by lusting for lentiles; and that David blamed

 himself for desiring a draught of water; and that our King was tempted, not

 concerning flesh, but bread. And therefore the people in the wilderness also

 deserved to be reproved, not for desiring flesh, but because, in the desire

 of food, they murmured against the Lord.

 

 Placed then amid these temptations, I strive daily against concupiscence in

 eating and drinking. For it is not of such nature that I can settle on

 cutting it off once for all, and never touching it afterward, as I could of

 concubinage. The bridle of the throat then is to be held attempered between

 slackness and stiffness. And who is he, O Lord, who is not some whit

 transported beyond the limits of necessity? whoever he is, he is a great

 one; let him make Thy Name great. But I am not such, for I am a sinful man.

 Yet do I too magnify Thy name; and He maketh intercession to Thee for my

 sins who hath overcome the world; numbering me among the weak members of His

 body; because Thine eyes have seen that of Him which is imperfect, and in

 Thy book shall all be written.

 

 

Chapter XXXII

 

 With the allurements of smells, I am not much concerned. When absent, I do

 not miss them; when present, I do not refuse them; yet ever ready to be

 without them. So I seem to myself; perchance I am deceived. For that also is

 a mournful darkness whereby my abilities within me are hidden from me; so

 that my mind making enquiry into herself of her own powers, ventures not

 readily to believe herself; because even what is in it is mostly hidden,

 unless experience reveal it. And no one ought to be secure in that life, the

 whole whereof is called a trial, that he who hath been capable of worse to

 be made better, may not likewise of better be made worse. Our only hope,

 only confidence, only assured promise is Thy mercy.

 

 

Chapter XXXIII

 

 The delights of the ear had more firmly entangled and subdued me; but Thou

 didst loosen and free me. Now, in those melodies which Thy words breathe

 soul into, when sung with a sweet and attuned voice, I do a little repose;

 yet not so as to be held thereby, but that I can disengage myself when I

 will. But with the words which are their life and whereby they find

 admission into me, themselves seek in my affections a place of some

 estimation, and I can scarcely assign them one suitable. For at one time I

 seem to myself to give them more honour than is seemly, feeling our minds to

 be more holily and fervently raised unto a flame of devotion, by the holy

 words themselves when thus sung, than when not; and that the several

 affections of our spirit, by a sweet variety, have their own proper measures

 in the voice and singing, by some hidden correspondence wherewith they are

 stirred up. But this contentment of the flesh, to which the soul must not be

 given over to be enervated, doth oft beguile me, the sense not so waiting

 upon reason as patiently to follow her; but having been admitted merely for

 her sake, it strives even to run before her, and lead her. Thus in these

 things I unawares sin, but afterwards am aware of it.

 

 At other times, shunning over-anxiously this very deception, I err in too

 great strictness; and sometimes to that degree, as to wish the whole melody

 of sweet music which is used to David's Psalter, banished from my ears, and

 the Church's too; and that mode seems to me safer, which I remember to have

 been often told me of Athanasius, Bishop of Alexandria, who made the reader

 of the psalm utter it with so slight inflection of voice, that it was nearer

 speaking than singing. Yet again, when I remember the tears I shed at the

 Psalmody of Thy Church, in the beginning of my recovered faith; and how at

 this time I am moved, not with the singing, but with the things sung, when

 they are sung with a clear voice and modulation most suitable, I acknowledge

 the great use of this institution. Thus I fluctuate between peril of

 pleasure and approved wholesomeness; inclined the rather (though not as

 pronouncing an irrevocable opinion) to approve of the usage of singing in

 the church; that so by the delight of the ears the weaker minds may rise to

 the feeling of devotion. Yet when it befalls me to be more moved with the

 voice than the words sung, I confess to have sinned penally, and then had

 rather not hear music. See now my state; weep with me, and weep for me, ye,

 whoso regulate your feelings within, as that good action ensues. For you who

 do not act, these things touch not you. But Thou, O Lord my God, hearken;

 behold, and see, and have mercy and heal me, Thou, in whose presence I have

 become a problem to myself; and that is my infirmity.

 

 

Chapter XXXIV

 

 There remains the pleasure of these eyes of my flesh, on which to make my

 confessions in the hearing of the ears of Thy temple, those brotherly and

 devout ears; and so to conclude the temptations of the lust of the flesh,

 which yet assail me, groaning earnestly, and desiring to be clothed upon

 with my house from heaven. The eyes love fair and varied forms, and bright

 and soft colours. Let not these occupy my soul; let God rather occupy it,

 who made these things, very good indeed, yet is He my good, not they. And

 these affect me, waking, the whole day, nor is any rest given me from them,

 as there is from musical, sometimes in silence, from all voices. For this

 queen of colours, the light, bathing all which we behold, wherever I am

 through the day, gliding by me in varied forms, soothes me when engaged on

 other things, and not observing it. And so strongly doth it entwine itself,

 that if it be suddenly withdrawn, it is with longing sought for, and if

 absent long, saddeneth the mind.

 

 O Thou Light, which Tobias saw, when, these eyes closed, he taught his son

 the way of life; and himself went before with the feet of charity, never

 swerving. Or which Isaac saw, when his fleshly eyes being heavy and closed

 by old age, it was vouchsafed him, not knowingly, to bless his sons, but by

 blessing to know them. Or which Jacob saw, when he also, blind through great

 age, with illumined heart, in the persons of his sons shed light on the

 different races of the future people, in them foresignified; and laid his

 hands, mystically crossed, upon his grandchildren by Joseph, not as their

 father by his outward eye corrected them, but as himself inwardly discerned.

 This is the light, it is one, and all are one, who see and love it. But that

 corporeal light whereof I spake, it seasoneth the life of this world for her

 blind lovers, with an enticing and dangerous sweetness. But they who know

 how to praise Thee for it, “O all-creating Lord,” take it up in Thy hymns,

 and are not taken up with it in their sleep. Such would I be. These

 seductions of the eyes I resist, lest my feet wherewith I walk upon Thy way

 be ensnared; and I lift up mine invisible eyes to Thee, that Thou wouldest

 pluck my feet out of the snare. Thou dost ever and anon pluck them out, for

 they are ensnared. Thou ceasest not to pluck them out, while I often

 entangle myself in the snares on all sides laid; because Thou that keepest

 Israel shalt neither slumber nor sleep.

 

 What innumerable toys, made by divers arts and manufactures, in our apparel,

 shoes, utensils and all sorts of works, in pictures also and divers images,

 and these far exceeding all necessary and moderate use and all pious

 meaning, have men added to tempt their own eyes withal; outwardly following

 what themselves make, inwardly forsaking Him by whom themselves were made,

 and destroying that which themselves have been made! But I, my God and my

 Glory, do hence also sing a hymn to Thee, and do consecrate praise to Him

 who consecrateth me, because those beautiful patterns which through men's

 souls are conveyed into their cunning hands, come from that Beauty, which is

 above our souls, which my soul day and night sigheth after. But the framers

 and followers of the outward beauties derive thence the rule of judging of

 them, but not of using them. And He is there, though they perceive Him not,

 that so they might not wander, but keep their strength for Thee, and not

 scatter it abroad upon pleasurable weariness. And I, though I speak and see

 this, entangle my steps with these outward beauties; but Thou pluckest me

 out, O Lord, Thou pluckest me out; because Thy loving-kindness is before my

 eyes. For I am taken miserably, and Thou pluckest me out mercifully;

 sometimes not perceiving it, when I had but lightly lighted upon them;

 otherwhiles with pain, because I had stuck fast in them.

 

 

Chapter XXXV

 

 To this is added another form of temptation more manifoldly dangerous. For

 besides that concupiscence of the flesh which consisteth in the delight of

 all senses and pleasures, wherein its slaves, who go far from Thee, waste

 and perish, the soul hath, through the same senses of the body, a certain

 vain and curious desire, veiled under the title of knowledge and learning,

 not of delighting in the flesh, but of making experiments through the flesh.

 The seat whereof being in the appetite of knowledge, and sight being the

 sense chiefly used for attaining knowledge, it is in Divine language called

 The lust of the eyes. For, to see, belongeth properly to the eyes; yet we

 use this word of the other senses also, when we employ them in seeking

 knowledge. For we do not say, hark how it flashes, or smell how it glows, or

 taste how it shines, or feel how it gleams; for all these are said to be

 seen. And yet we say not only, see how it shineth, which the eyes alone can

 perceive; but also, see how it soundeth, see how it smelleth, see how it

 tasteth, see how hard it is. And so the general experience of the senses, as

 was said, is called The lust of the eyes, because the office of seeing,

 wherein the eyes hold the prerogative, the other senses by way of similitude

 take to themselves, when they make search after any knowledge.

 

 But by this may more evidently be discerned, wherein pleasure and wherein

 curiosity is the object of the senses; for pleasure seeketh objects

 beautiful, melodious, fragrant, savoury, soft; but curiosity, for trial's

 sake, the contrary as well, not for the sake of suffering annoyance, but out

 of the lust of making trial and knowing them. For what pleasure hath it, to

 see in a mangled carcase what will make you shudder? and yet if it be lying

 near, they flock thither, to be made sad, and to turn pale. Even in sleep

 they are afraid to see it. As if when awake, any one forced them to see it,

 or any report of its beauty drew them thither! Thus also in the other

 senses, which it were long to go through. From this disease of curiosity are

 all those strange sights exhibited in the theatre. Hence men go on to search

 out the hidden powers of nature (which is besides our end), which to know

 profits not, and wherein men desire nothing but to know. Hence also, if with

 that same end of perverted knowledge magical arts be enquired by. Hence also

 in religion itself, is God tempted, when signs and wonders are demanded of

 Him, not desired for any good end, but merely to make trial of.

 

 In this so vast wilderness, full of snares and dangers, behold many of them

 I have cut off, and thrust out of my heart, as Thou hast given me, O God of

 my salvation. And yet when dare I say, since so many things of this kind

 buzz on all sides about our daily life—when dare I say that nothing of this

 sort engages my attention, or causes in me an idle interest? True, the

 theatres do not now carry me away, nor care I to know the courses of the

 stars, nor did my soul ever consult ghosts departed; all sacrilegious

 mysteries I detest. From Thee, O Lord my God, to whom I owe humble and

 single-hearted service, by what artifices and suggestions doth the enemy

 deal with me to desire some sign! But I beseech Thee by our King, and by our

 pure and holy country, Jerusalem, that as any consenting thereto is far from

 me, so may it ever be further and further. But when I pray Thee for the

 salvation of any, my end and intention is far different. Thou givest and

 wilt give me to follow Thee willingly, doing what Thou wilt.

 

 Notwithstanding, in how many most petty and contemptible things is our

 curiosity daily tempted, and how often we give way, who can recount? How

 often do we begin as if we were tolerating people telling vain stories, lest

 we offend the weak; then by degrees we take interest therein! I go not now

 to the circus to see a dog coursing a hare; but in the field, if passing,

 that coursing peradventure will distract me even from some weighty thought,

 and draw me after it: not that I turn aside the body of my beast, yet still

 incline my mind thither. And unless Thou, having made me see my infirmity

 didst speedily admonish me either through the sight itself by some

 contemplation to rise towards Thee, or altogether to despise and pass it by,

 I dully stand fixed therein. What, when sitting at home, a lizard catching

 flies, or a spider entangling them rushing into her nets, oft-times takes my

 attention? Is the thing different, because they are but small creatures? I

 go on from them to praise Thee the wonderful Creator and Orderer of all, but

 this does not first draw my attention. It is one thing to rise quickly,

 another not to fall. And of such things is my life full; and my one hope is

 Thy wonderful great mercy. For when our heart becomes the receptacle of such

 things, and is overcharged with throngs of this abundant vanity, then are

 our prayers also thereby often interrupted and distracted, and whilst in Thy

 presence we direct the voice of our heart to Thine ears, this so great

 concern is broken off by the rushing in of I know not what idle thoughts.

 Shall we then account this also among things of slight concernment, or shall

 aught bring us back to hope, save Thy complete mercy, since Thou hast begun

 to change us?

 

 

Chapter XXXVI

 

 And Thou knowest how far Thou hast already changed me, who first healedst me

 of the lust of vindicating myself, that so Thou mightest forgive all the

 rest of my iniquities, and heal all my infirmities, and redeem life from

 corruption, and crown me with mercy and pity, and satisfy my desire with

 good things: who didst curb my pride with Thy fear, and tame my neck to Thy

 yoke. And now I bear it and it is light unto me, because so hast Thou

 promised, and hast made it; and verily so it was, and I knew it not, when I

 feared to take it.

 

 But, O Lord, Thou alone Lord without pride, because Thou art the only true

 Lord, who hast no lord; hath this third kind of temptation also ceased from

 me, or can it cease through this whole life? To wish, namely, to be feared

 and loved of men, for no other end, but that we may have a joy therein which

 is no joy? A miserable life this and a foul boastfulness! Hence especially

 it comes that men do neither purely love nor fear Thee. And therefore dost

 Thou resist the proud, and givest grace to the humble: yea, Thou thunderest

 down upon the ambitions of the world, and the foundations of the mountains

 tremble. Because now certain offices of human society make it necessary to

 be loved and feared of men, the adversary of our true blessedness layeth

 hard at us, every where spreading his snares of “well-done, well-done”; that

 greedily catching at them, we may be taken unawares, and sever our joy from

 Thy truth, and set it in the deceivingness of men; and be pleased at being

 loved and feared, not for Thy sake, but in Thy stead: and thus having been

 made like him, he may have them for his own, not in the bands of charity,

 but in the bonds of punishment: who purposed to set his throne in the north,

 that dark and chilled they might serve him, pervertedly and crookedly

 imitating Thee. But we, O Lord, behold we are Thy little flock; possess us

 as Thine, stretch Thy wings over us, and let us fly under them. Be Thou our

 glory; let us be loved for Thee, and Thy word feared in us. Who would be

 praised of men when Thou blamest, will not be defended of men when Thou

 judgest; nor delivered when Thou condemnest. But when—not the sinner is

 praised in the desires of his soul, nor he blessed who doth ungodlily,

 but—a man is praised for some gift which Thou hast given him, and he

 rejoices more at the praise for himself than that he hath the gift for which

 he is praised, he also is praised, while Thou dispraisest; better is he who

 praised than he who is praised. For the one took pleasure in the gift of God

 in man; the other was better pleased with the gift of man, than of God.

 

 

Chapter XXXVII

 

 By these temptations we are assailed daily, O Lord; without ceasing are we

 assailed. Our daily furnace is the tongue of men. And in this way also Thou

 commandest us continence. Give what Thou enjoinest, and enjoin what Thou

 wilt. Thou knowest on this matter the groans of my heart, and the floods of

 mine eyes. For I cannot learn how far I am more cleansed from this plague,

 and I much fear my secret sins, which Thine eyes know, mine do not. For in

 other kinds of temptations I have some sort of means of examining myself; in

 this, scarce any. For, in refraining my mind from the pleasures of the flesh

 and idle curiosity, I see how much I have attained to, when I do without

 them; foregoing, or not having them. For then I ask myself how much more or

 less troublesome it is to me not to have them? Then, riches, which are

 desired, that they may serve to some one or two or all of the three

 concupiscences, if the soul cannot discern whether, when it hath them, it

 despiseth them, they may be cast aside, that so it may prove itself. But to

 be without praise, and therein essay our powers, must we live ill, yea so

 abandonedly and atrociously, that no one should know without detesting us?

 What greater madness can be said or thought of? But if praise useth and

 ought to accompany a good life and good works, we ought as little to forego

 its company, as good life itself. Yet I know not whether I can well or ill

 be without anything, unless it be absent.

 

 What then do I confess unto Thee in this kind of temptation, O Lord? What,

 but that I am delighted with praise, but with truth itself, more than with

 praise? For were it proposed to me, whether I would, being frenzied in error

 on all things, be praised by all men, or being consistent and most settled

 in the truth be blamed by all, I see which I should choose. Yet fain would I

 that the approbation of another should not even increase my joy for any good

 in me. Yet I own, it doth increase it, and not so only, but dispraise doth

 diminish it. And when I am troubled at this my misery, an excuse occurs to

 me, which of what value it is, Thou God knowest, for it leaves me uncertain.

 For since Thou hast commanded us not continency alone, that is, from what

 things to refrain our love, but righteousness also, that is, whereon to

 bestow it, and hast willed us to love not Thee only, but our neighbour also;

 often, when pleased with intelligent praise, I seem to myself to be pleased

 with the proficiency or towardliness of my neighbour, or to be grieved for

 evil in him, when I hear him dispraise either what he understands not, or is

 good. For sometimes I am grieved at my own praise, either when those things

 be praised in me, in which I mislike myself, or even lesser and slight goods

 are more esteemed than they ought. But again how know I whether I am

 therefore thus affected, because I would not have him who praiseth me differ

 from me about myself; not as being influenced by concern for him, but

 because those same good things which please me in myself, please me more

 when they please another also? For some how I am not praised when my

 judgment of myself is not praised; forasmuch as either those things are

 praised, which displease me; or those more, which please me less. Am I then

 doubtful of myself in this matter?

 

 Behold, in Thee, O Truth, I see that I ought not to be moved at my own

 praises, for my own sake, but for the good of my neighbour. And whether it

 be so with me, I know not. For herein I know less of myself than of Thee. I

 beseech now, O my God, discover to me myself also, that I may confess unto

 my brethren, who are to pray for me, wherein I find myself maimed. Let me

 examine myself again more diligently. If in my praise I am moved with the

 good of my neighbour, why am I less moved if another be unjustly dispraised

 than if it be myself? Why am I more stung by reproach cast upon myself, than

 at that cast upon another, with the same injustice, before me? Know I not

 this also? or is it at last that I deceive myself, and do not the truth

 before Thee in my heart and tongue? This madness put far from me, O Lord,

 lest mine own mouth be to me the sinner's oil to make fat my head. I am poor

 and needy; yet best, while in hidden groanings I displease myself, and seek

 Thy mercy, until what is lacking in my defective state be renewed and

 perfected, on to that peace which the eye of the proud knoweth not.

 

 

Chapter XXXVIII

 

 Yet the word which cometh out of the mouth, and deeds known to men, bring

 with them a most dangerous temptation through the love of praise: which, to

 establish a certain excellency of our own, solicits and collects men's

 suffrages. It tempts, even when it is reproved by myself in myself, on the

 very ground that it is reproved; and often glories more vainly of the very

 contempt of vain-glory; and so it is no longer contempt of vain-glory,

 whereof it glories; for it doth not contemn when it glorieth.

 

 

Chapter XXXIX

 

 Within also, within is another evil, arising out of a like temptation;

 whereby men become vain, pleasing themselves in themselves, though they

 please not, or displease or care not to please others. But pleasing

 themselves, they much displease Thee, not only taking pleasure in things not

 good, as if good, but in Thy good things, as though their own; or even if as

 Thine, yet as though for their own merits; or even if as though from Thy

 grace, yet not with brotherly rejoicing, but envying that grace to others.

 In all these and the like perils and travails, Thou seest the trembling of

 my heart; and I rather feel my wounds to be cured by Thee, than not

 inflicted by me.

 

 

Chapter XL

 

 Where hast Thou not walked with me, O Truth, teaching me what to beware, and

 what to desire; when I referred to Thee what I could discover here below,

 and consulted Thee? With my outward senses, as I might, I surveyed the

 world, and observed the life, which my body hath from me, and these my

 senses. Thence entered I the recesses of my memory, those manifold and

 spacious chambers, wonderfully furnished with innumerable stores; and I

 considered, and stood aghast; being able to discern nothing of these things

 without Thee, and finding none of them to be Thee. Nor was I myself, who

 found out these things, who went over them all, and laboured to distinguish

 and to value every thing according to its dignity, taking some things upon

 the report of my senses, questioning about others which I felt to be mingled

 with myself, numbering and distinguishing the reporters themselves, and in

 the large treasure-house of my memory revolving some things, storing up

 others, drawing out others. Nor yet was I myself when I did this, i.e., that

 my power whereby I did it, neither was it Thou, for Thou art the abiding

 light, which I consulted concerning all these, whether they were, what they

 were, and how to be valued; and I heard Thee directing and commanding me;

 and this I often do, this delights me, and as far as I may be freed from

 necessary duties, unto this pleasure have I recourse. Nor in all these which

 I run over consulting Thee can I find any safe place for my soul, but in

 Thee; whither my scattered members may be gathered, and nothing of me depart

 from Thee. And sometimes Thou admittest me to an affection, very unusual, in

 my inmost soul; rising to a strange sweetness, which if it were perfected in

 me, I know not what in it would not belong to the life to come. But through

 my miserable encumbrances I sink down again into these lower things, and am

 swept back by former custom, and am held, and greatly weep, but am greatly

 held. So much doth the burden of a bad custom weigh us down. Here I can

 stay, but would not; there I would, but cannot; both ways, miserable.

 

 

Chapter XLI

 

 Thus then have I considered the sicknesses of my sins in that threefold

 concupiscence, and have called Thy right hand to my help. For with a wounded

 heart have I beheld Thy brightness, and stricken back I said, “Who can

 attain thither? I am cast away from the sight of Thine eyes.” Thou art the

 Truth who presidest over all, but I through my covetousness would not indeed

 forego Thee, but would with Thee possess a lie; as no man would in such wise

 speak falsely, as himself to be ignorant of the truth. So then I lost Thee,

 because Thou vouchsafest not to be possessed with a lie.

 

 

Chapter XLII

 

 Whom could I find to reconcile me to Thee? was I to have recourse to Angels?

 by what prayers? by what sacraments? Many endeavouring to return unto Thee,

 and of themselves unable, have, as I hear, tried this, and fallen into the

 desire of curious visions, and been accounted worthy to be deluded. For

 they, being high minded, sought Thee by the pride of learning, swelling out

 rather than smiting upon their breasts, and so by the agreement of their

 heart, drew unto themselves the princes of the air, the fellow-conspirators

 of their pride, by whom, through magical influences, they were deceived,

 seeking a mediator, by whom they might be purged, and there was none. For

 the devil it was, transforming himself into an Angel of light. And it much

 enticed proud flesh, that he had no body of flesh. For they were mortal, and

 sinners; but thou, Lord, to whom they proudly sought to be reconciled, art

 immortal, and without sin. But a mediator between God and man must have

 something like to God, something like to men; lest being in both like to

 man, he should he far from God: or if in both like God, too unlike man: and

 so not be a mediator. That deceitful mediator then, by whom in Thy secret

 judgments pride deserved to be deluded, hath one thing in common with man,

 that is sin; another he would seem to have in common with God; and not being

 clothed with the mortality of flesh, would vaunt himself to be immortal. But

 since the wages of sin is death, this hath he in common with men, that with

 them he should be condemned to death.

 

 

Chapter XLIII

 

 But the true Mediator, Whom in Thy secret mercy Thou hast showed to the

 humble, and sentest, that by His example also they might learn that same

 humility, that Mediator between God and man, the Man Christ Jesus, appeared

 betwixt mortal sinners and the immortal just One; mortal with men, just with

 God: that because the wages of righteousness is life and peace, He might by

 a righteousness conjoined with God make void that death of sinners, now made

 righteous, which He willed to have in common with them. Hence He was showed

 forth to holy men of old; that so they, through faith in His Passion to

 come, as we through faith of it passed, might be saved. For as Man, He was a

 Mediator; but as the Word, not in the middle between God and man, because

 equal to God, and God with God, and together one God.

 

 How hast Thou loved us, good Father, who sparedst not Thine only Son, but

 deliveredst Him up for us ungodly! How hast Thou loved us, for whom He that

 thought it no robbery to be equal with Thee, was made subject even to the

 death of the cross, He alone, free among the dead, having power to lay down

 His life, and power to take it again: for us to Thee both Victor and Victim,

 and therefore Victor, because the Victim; for us to Thee Priest and

 Sacrifice, and therefore Priest because the Sacrifice; making us to Thee, of

 servants, sons by being born of Thee, and serving us. Well then is my hope

 strong in Him, that Thou wilt heal all my infirmities, by Him Who sitteth at

 Thy right hand and maketh intercession for us; else should I despair. For

 many and great are my infirmities, many they are, and great; but Thy

 medicine is mightier. We might imagine that Thy Word was far from any union

 with man, and despair of ourselves, unless He had been made flesh and dwelt

 among us.

 

 Affrighted with my sins and the burden of my misery, I had cast in my heart,

 and had purposed to flee to the wilderness: but Thou forbadest me, and

 strengthenedst me, saying, Therefore Christ died for all, that they which

 live may now no longer live unto themselves, but unto Him that died for

 them. See, Lord, I cast my care upon Thee, that I may live, and consider

 wondrous things out of Thy law. Thou knowest my unskilfulness, and my

 infirmities; teach me, and heal me. He, Thine only Son, in Whom are hid all

 the treasures of wisdom and knowledge, hath redeemed me with His blood. Let

 not the proud speak evil of me; because I meditate on my ransom, and eat and

 drink, and communicate it; and poor, desired to be satisfied from Him,

 amongst those that eat and are satisfied, and they shall praise the Lord who

 seek Him.

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