Confessions — Book II

I will now remember my past wickedness and the fleshly corruptions of my soul, not because I love them, but so that I may love You, O my God. I do this for love of Your love, recalling in the very bitterness of my memory my most sinful ways, so that You may become sweet to me—You who are sweetness without deception, sweetness that is happy and secure—and gathering myself back together from that state of being scattered, in which I was torn apart while I turned away from You, the One, and lost myself among many empty things. For in my youth I even longed to be satisfied with worldly things, and I dared to run wild again with various false loves that were mere shadows. My beauty wasted away, and I became corrupt in Your eyes, pleasing myself and eager to please in the eyes of other people.

1. I Will now call to mind my past foulness, and the carnal corruptions of my soul, not because I love them, but that I may love You, O my God. For love of Your love do I it, recalling, in the very bitterness of my remembrance, my most vicious ways, that You may grow sweet to me — Thou sweetness without deception! Thou sweetness happy and assured!– and re-collecting myself out of that my dissipation, in which I was torn to pieces, while, turned away from You the One, I lost myself among many vanities. For I even longed in my youth formerly to be satisfied with worldly things, and I dared to grow wild again with various and shadowy loves; my form consumed away, and I became corrupt in Your eyes, pleasing myself, and eager to please in the eyes of men.

What did I delight in except loving and being loved? But I did not keep it within proper limits, from one mind to another along the bright path of friendship. Instead, from the dark concupiscence of the flesh and the bubbling over of youth, vapors arose that clouded and darkened my heart, so that I could not tell the difference between pure affection and unholy desire. Both churned together confusedly within me and dragged my unstable youth into the rough places of impure desires, plunging me into a pit of disgrace. Your anger had cast its shadow over me, and I did not know it. I had become deaf from the clanking of the chains of my mortality, the punishment for my soul's pride, and I wandered farther from You, and You allowed me to do so. I was tossed about, wasted away, poured out, and boiled over in my sexual sins, and You kept silent, O my slow-coming joy! You kept silent then, and I wandered even farther from You into increasingly barren fields of sorrow, with proud misery and restless weariness.

2. But what was it that I delighted in save to love and to be beloved? But I held it not in moderation, mind to mind, the bright path of friendship, but out of the dark concupiscence of the flesh and the effervescence of youth exhalations came forth which obscured and overcast my heart, so that I was unable to discern pure affection from unholy desire. Both boiled confusedly within me, and dragged away my unstable youth into the rough places of unchaste desires, and plunged me into a gulf of infamy. Your anger had overshadowed me, and I knew it not. I was become deaf by the rattling of the chains of my mortality, the punishment for my soul's pride; and I wandered farther from You, and You suffered Matthew 17:17 me; and I was tossed to and fro, and wasted, and poured out, and boiled over in my fornications, and You held Your peace, O Thou my tardy joy! Thou then held Your peace, and I wandered still farther from You, into more and more barren seed-plots of sorrows, with proud dejection and restless lassitude.

If only someone had brought order to my chaos and turned the fleeting beauties around me to good use, setting limits on their appeal so that the surging passions of my youth could have spent themselves within the boundaries of marriage—if they couldn't be calmed and satisfied within the purpose of family life, as your law ordains, O Lord. For you shape the offspring that come from our mortal nature, and you can with a gentle hand blunt the thorns that were shut out from your paradise. Your almighty power is not far from us even when we are far from you. Otherwise, I truly should have paid closer attention to the voice from the clouds: "Nevertheless, such shall have trouble in the flesh, but I spare you," and "It is good for a man not to touch a woman," and "He that is unmarried cares for the things that belong to the Lord, how he may please the Lord; but he that is married cares for the things that are of the world, how he may please his wife." I should have listened more carefully to these words, and having made myself a eunuch for the kingdom of heaven's sake, I would have awaited your embrace with greater joy.

3. Oh for one to have regulated my disorder, and turned to my profit the fleeting beauties of the things around me, and fixed a bound to their sweetness, so that the tides of my youth might have spent themselves upon the conjugal shore, if so be they could not be tranquillized and satisfied within the object of a family, as Your law appoints, O Lord, — who thus formest the offspring of our death, being able also with a tender hand to blunt the thorns which were excluded from Your paradise! For Your omnipotency is not far from us even when we are far from You, else in truth ought I more vigilantly to have given heed to the voice from the clouds: Nevertheless, such shall have trouble in the flesh, but I spare you; 1 Corinthians 7:28 and, It is good for a man not to touch a woman; 1 Corinthians 7:1 and, He that is unmarried cares for the things that belong to the Lord, how he may please the Lord; but he that is married cares for the things that are of the world, how he may please his wife. 1 Corinthians 7:32-33 I should, therefore, have listened more attentively to these words, and, being severed for the kingdom of heaven's sake, Matthew 19:12 I would with greater happiness have expected Your embraces.

But I, poor fool, churned like the sea and, abandoning You, followed the violent rush of my own current and broke through all Your limits. Yet I did not escape Your discipline. For what mortal can do so? But You were always near me, mercifully angry, and striking all my unlawful pleasures with the bitterest troubles, so that I might seek pleasures free from trouble. But where I could find such pleasures except in You, O Lord, I could not discover—except in You, who teach through sorrow, and wound us to heal us, and kill us so that we may not die away from You. You make trouble itself into a lesson for us, so that trouble becomes instruction to us. You have chosen to discipline and teach Your children this way, so they will not be without fear, lest they love something else and forget You, their true good. Where was I, and how far was I banished from the joys of Your house, in that sixteenth year of my physical life, when the madness of lust—which human shamelessness allows complete freedom, even though Your laws forbid it—ruled over me completely, and I surrendered myself entirely to it? Meanwhile, those around me took no care to save me from ruin through marriage. Their only concern was that I should learn to deliver a powerful speech and become a persuasive public speaker.

4. But I, poor fool, seethed as does the sea, and, forsaking You, followed the violent course of my own stream, and exceeded all Your limitations; nor did I escape Your scourges. Isaiah 10:26 For what mortal can do so? But You were always by me, mercifully angry, and dashing with the bitterest vexations all my illicit pleasures, in order that I might seek pleasures free from vexation. But where I could meet with such except in You, O Lord, I could not find — except in You, who teachest by sorrow, Deuteronomy 32:39 and woundest us to heal us, and killest us that we may not die from You. 'Formest trouble in or as a precept.' Thou makest to us a precept out of trouble, so that trouble itself shall be a precept to us, i.e. hast willed so to discipline and instruct those Thy sons, that they should not be without fear, lest they should love something else, and forget Thee, their true good."–S. ad loc. –E. B. P }}–> Where was I, and how far was I exiled from the delights of Your house, in that sixteenth year of the age of my flesh, when the madness of lust — to the which human shamelessness grants full freedom, although forbidden by Your laws — held complete sway over me, and I resigned myself entirely to it? Those about me meanwhile took no care to save me from ruin by marriage, their sole care being that I should learn to make a powerful speech, and become a persuasive orator.

For that year my studies were interrupted. After I returned from Madaura, a nearby city where I had started going to learn grammar and rhetoric, the money needed for further study at Carthage was arranged for me. This happened more through my father's determination than through his financial means, since he was only a poor freeman of Thagaste. To whom am I telling this story? Not to You, my God, but in Your presence to my own kind—to whatever small portion of the human race might happen to come across these writings of mine. And why? So that I and all who read this may consider from what depths we must cry out to You. For what reaches Your ears more readily than a confessing heart and a life of faith? Everyone praised and commended my father because he went beyond his financial ability to provide his son with everything necessary for a long journey for the sake of education. Many far wealthier citizens did not do the same for their children. Yet this same father did not concern himself with how I was growing toward You, or how chaste I was, as long as I was skilled in speaking—no matter how barren I was for Your cultivation, O God, who are the only true and good Lord of my heart, which is Your field.

5. And for that year my studies were intermitted, while after my return from Madaura (a neighbouring city, whither I had begun to go in order to learn grammar and rhetoric), the expenses for a further residence at Carthage were provided for me; and that was rather by the determination than the means of my father, who was but a poor freeman of Thagaste. To whom do I narrate this? Not unto You, my God; but before You unto my own kind, even to that small part of the human race who may chance to light upon these my writings. And to what end? That I and all who read the same may reflect out of what depths we are to cry unto You. For what comes nearer to Your ears than a confessing heart and a life of faith? For who did not extol and praise my father, in that he went even beyond his means to supply his son with all the necessaries for a far journey for the sake of his studies? For many far richer citizens did not the like for their children. But yet this same father did not trouble himself how I grew towards You, nor how chaste I was, so long as I was skilful in speaking — however barren I was to Your tilling, O God, who art the sole true and good Lord of my heart, which is Your field.

When I was sixteen years old, I stayed at home with my parents, taking time off from school because my parents couldn't afford to send me. During this period of idleness, the thorns of lust grew wild over me, and there was no one to root them out. When my father saw me at the public baths and noticed that I was becoming a man, stirred by restless youth, he gladly told my mother about it, as if already anticipating future grandchildren. He rejoiced in that intoxication by which the world so often forgets You, its Creator, and loves Your creation instead of You—drinking the invisible wine of its own perverse will and bowing down to the most shameful things. But in my mother's heart You had already begun building Your temple and starting Your holy dwelling place, while my father was only a recent catechumen. She reacted with godly fear and trembling. Even though I had not yet been baptized, she was afraid of those crooked paths walked by those who turn their backs to You instead of their faces.

6. But while, in that sixteenth year of my age, I resided with my parents, having holiday from school for a time (this idleness being imposed upon me by my parents' necessitous circumstances), the thorns of lust grew rank over my head, and there was no hand to pluck them out. Moreover when my father, seeing me at the baths, perceived that I was becoming a man, and was stirred with a restless youthfulness, he, as if from this anticipating future descendants, joyfully told it to my mother; rejoicing in that intoxication wherein the world so often forgets You, its Creator, and falls in love with Your creature instead of You, from the invisible wine of its own perversity turning and bowing down to the most infamous things. But in my mother's breast You had even now begun Your temple, and the commencement of Your holy habitation, whereas my father was only a catechumen as yet, and that but recently. She then started up with a pious fear and trembling; and, although I had not yet been baptized, she feared those crooked ways in which they walk who turn their back to You, and not their face. Jeremiah 2:27

How wretched I am! Do I dare to say that You remained silent, O my God, while I wandered farther from You? Did You really remain silent toward me? Whose words were those except Yours, which You spoke into my ears through my mother, Your faithful servant? Yet none of them penetrated my heart to make me obey. For she wanted—and I remember how she privately warned me with great concern—not to commit sexual immorality, but especially never to violate another man's wife. These seemed to me nothing but womanly advice that I would be embarrassed to follow. But they were Your words, and I did not know it. I thought You remained silent and that it was only she who was speaking. Yet through her You did not remain silent to me, and when I despised her, I was despising You—I, her son, the son of Your handmaid, Your servant. But I did not know this, and I rushed headlong with such blindness that among my peers I was ashamed to be less shameless. When I heard them boasting about their disgraceful actions and glorying even more as their wickedness increased, I took pleasure in doing the same—not only for the pleasure itself, but for the praise. What deserves blame except vice? Yet I made myself out to be worse than I was so that I would not be criticized. And when I had not actually sinned like the most corrupt ones, I would claim that I had done what I had not done, so that I would not appear contemptible for being more innocent or less respected for being more chaste.

7. Woe is me! And dare I affirm that You held Your peace, O my God, while I strayed farther from You? Did You then hold Your peace to me? And whose words were they but Yours which by my mother, Your faithful handmaid, You poured into my ears, none of which sank into my heart to make me do it? For she desired, and I remember privately warned me, with great solicitude, not to commit fornication; but above all things never to defile another man's wife. These appeared to me but womanish counsels, which I should blush to obey. But they were Yours, and I knew it not, and I thought that You held Your peace, and that it was she who spoke, through whom You held not Your peace to me, and in her person wast despised by me, her son, the son of Your handmaid, Your servant. But this I knew not; and rushed on headlong with such blindness, that among my equals I was ashamed to be less shameless, when I heard them pluming themselves upon their disgraceful acts, yea, and glorying all the more in proportion to the greatness of their baseness; and I took pleasure in doing it, not for the pleasure's sake only, but for the praise. What is worthy of dispraise but vice? But I made myself out worse than I was, in order that I might not be dispraised; and when in anything I had not sinned as the abandoned ones, I would affirm that I had done what I had not, that I might not appear abject for being more innocent, or of less esteem for being more chaste.

Here I am, walking the streets of Babylon with such companions, wallowing in its filth as though it were cinnamon and precious perfumes. To bind me even more tightly to the very heart of it, my unseen enemy trampled me down and seduced me—and I was easily seduced. My mother, though she herself had already fled from the midst of Babylon, but was still moving slowly through its outskirts, did not take to heart what her husband had told her about me when she advised me to be chaste. She did not keep within the bounds of married love (if she could not cut it away completely) what she knew was harmful in the present and dangerous for the future. She ignored this because she was afraid that a wife would be an obstacle and hindrance to my prospects. Not the hopes of the future world that my mother placed in You, but the hope of education, which both my parents were overly eager for me to gain—my father because he thought little or nothing of You and had only empty ambitions for me, my mother because she believed that the usual course of studies would not hinder but would actually help me in reaching You. This is what I gather, recalling as best I can my parents' attitudes. Meanwhile, I was given free rein beyond proper discipline, so that I could indulge in whatever I wanted, even to the point of excess. And over everything there was a fog that blocked the brightness of Your truth from my sight, O my God, and my sin bulged out as if from sheer fatness.

8. Behold with what companions I walked the streets of Babylon, in whose filth I was rolled, as if in cinnamon and precious ointments. And that I might cleave the more tenaciously to its very centre, my invisible enemy trod me down, and seduced me, I being easily seduced. Nor did the mother of my flesh, although she herself had ere this fled out of the midst of Babylon, Jeremiah 51:6 — progressing, however, but slowly in the skirts of it — in counselling me to chastity, so bear in mind what she had been told about me by her husband as to restrain in the limits of conjugal affection (if it could not be cut away to the quick) what she knew to be destructive in the present and dangerous in the future. But she took no heed of this, for she was afraid lest a wife should prove a hindrance and a clog to my hopes. Not those hopes of the future world, which my mother had in You; but the hope of learning, which both my parents were too anxious that I should acquire — he, because he had little or no thought of You, and but vain thoughts for me — she, because she calculated that those usual courses of learning would not only be no drawback, but rather a furtherance towards my attaining You. For thus I conjecture, recalling as well as I can the dispositions of my parents. The reins, meantime, were slackened towards me beyond the restraint of due severity, that I might play, yea, even to dissoluteness, in whatsoever I fancied. And in all there was a mist, shutting out from my sight the brightness of Your truth, O my God; and my iniquity displayed itself as from very fatness.

Theft is punished by Your law, O Lord, and by the law written in human hearts, which sin itself cannot erase. For what thief will tolerate another thief? Even a wealthy thief will not tolerate one who steals because he is driven by need. Yet I wanted to commit robbery, and I did so, driven neither by hunger nor poverty but by a distaste for doing good and a desire for wrongdoing. For I stole something I already had enough of, and much better. I didn't want to enjoy what I stole, but rather the theft and sin itself. There was a pear tree near our vineyard, heavily loaded with fruit that was appealing neither for its appearance nor its taste. Some of us reckless young men went late one night to shake and rob this tree (having prolonged our games in the streets until then, according to our shameful habit), and we carried away large amounts, not to eat ourselves, but to throw to the pigs, having eaten only a few of them ourselves. Doing this pleased us all the more because it was forbidden. Look at my heart, O my God; look at my heart, which You had pity on when it was in the bottomless pit. Look, now, let my heart tell You what it was seeking there, that I should be needlessly wicked, having no motivation for evil except the evil itself. It was disgusting, and I loved it. I loved to perish. I loved my own error—not the thing for which I erred, but the error itself. Corrupt soul, falling from Your firmament to complete destruction—not seeking anything through the shame except the shame itself!

9. Theft is punished by Your law, O Lord, and by the law written in men's hearts, which iniquity itself cannot blot out. For what thief will suffer a thief? Even a rich thief will not allow him who is driven to it by want. Yet had I a desire to commit robbery, and did so, compelled neither by hunger, nor poverty through a distaste for well-doing, and a lustiness of iniquity. For I pilfered that of which I had already sufficient, and much better. Nor did I desire to enjoy what I pilfered, but the theft and sin itself. There was a pear-tree close to our vineyard, heavily laden with fruit, which was tempting neither for its color nor its flavour. To shake and rob this some of us wanton young fellows went, late one night (having, according to our disgraceful habit, prolonged our games in the streets until then), and carried away great loads, not to eat ourselves, but to fling to the very swine, having only eaten some of them; and to do this pleased us all the more because it was not permitted. Behold my heart, O my God; behold my heart, which You had pity upon when in the bottomless pit. Behold, now, let my heart tell You what it was seeking there, that I should be gratuitously wanton, having no inducement to evil but the evil itself. It was foul, and I loved it. I loved to perish. I loved my own error — not that for which I erred, but the error itself. Base soul, falling from Your firmament to utter destruction — not seeking anything through the shame but the shame itself!

There is desirability in all beautiful bodies, and in gold and silver and all things, and in bodily contact sympathy is powerful, and each sense has its proper correspondence with physical objects. Worldly honor also has its glory, and the power of command and of overcoming, from which comes also the desire for revenge. And yet to acquire all these things, we must not depart from You, O Lord, nor turn away from Your law. The life we live here also has its particular attractiveness, through a certain measure of beauty of its own and harmony with all earthly things. The friendships of men are also made dear by a sweet bond, in the unity of many souls. Because of all these things, and others like them, sin is committed, while through an excessive preference for these lower goods, the better and higher ones are neglected—even You, our Lord God, Your truth, and Your law. For these lesser things have their pleasures, but not like my God, who has created all things; for in Him the righteous delight, and He is the sweetness of the upright in heart.

10. There is a desirableness in all beautiful bodies, and in gold, and silver, and all things; and in bodily contact sympathy is powerful, and each other sense has his proper adaptation of body. Worldly honour has also its glory, and the power of command, and of overcoming; whence proceeds also the desire for revenge. And yet to acquire all these, we must not depart from You, O Lord, nor deviate from Your law. The life which we live here has also its peculiar attractiveness, through a certain measure of comeliness of its own, and harmony with all things here below. The friendships of men also are endeared by a sweet bond, in the oneness of many souls. On account of all these, and such as these, is sin committed; while through an inordinate preference for these goods of a lower kind, the better and higher are neglected — even You, our Lord God, Your truth, and Your law. For these meaner things have their delights, but not like my God, who has created all things; for in Him does the righteous delight, and He is the sweetness of the upright in heart.

When we investigate why a crime was committed, we only believe it happened if it appears there was a desire to obtain some of those things we called lesser goods, or a fear of losing them. For truly these things are beautiful and attractive, although compared to those higher and heavenly goods they are lowly and worthless. A man has murdered another; what was his motive? He wanted his wife or his property, or he would steal to support himself, or he was afraid of losing something of that kind to him, or having been wronged, he was burning to take revenge. Would he commit murder without a motive, simply delighting in the act of murder itself? Who would believe it? For even regarding that savage and brutal man who is said to have been gratuitously wicked and cruel, a motive is still given. Lest through idleness, he says, his hand or heart should grow inactive. And for what purpose? Why, so that by practicing that wickedness, he might eventually take possession of the city and attain honors, power, and wealth, and be free from the fear of the laws, and his difficult circumstances from the needs of his family, and the consciousness of his own wickedness. So it seems that even Catiline himself did not love his own crimes, but something else, which gave him the motive for committing them.

11. When, therefore, we inquire why a crime was committed, we do not believe it, unless it appear that there might have been the wish to obtain some of those which we designated meaner things, or else a fear of losing them. For truly they are beautiful and comely, although in comparison with those higher and celestial goods they be abject and contemptible. A man has murdered another; what was his motive? He desired his wife or his estate; or would steal to support himself; or he was afraid of losing something of the kind by him; or, being injured, he was burning to be revenged. Would he commit murder without a motive, taking delight simply in the act of murder? Who would credit it? For as for that savage and brutal man, of whom it is declared that he was gratuitously wicked and cruel, there is yet a motive assigned. Lest through idleness, he says, hand or heart should grow inactive. And to what purpose? Why, even that, having once got possession of the city through that practice of wickedness, he might attain unto honours, empire, and wealth, and be exempt from the fear of the laws, and his difficult circumstances from the needs of his family, and the consciousness of his own wickedness. So it seems that even Catiline himself loved not his own villanies, but something else, which gave him the motive for committing them.

What was it, then, that I—miserable as I was—loved so much about you, my theft, my deed done in darkness, in that sixteenth year of my life? You were not beautiful, since you were theft. But are you even anything at all, so that I can discuss this matter with you? Those pears we stole were beautiful to look at because they were Your creation, You who are the most beautiful of all, Creator of all, You good God—God, the highest good, and my true good. Those pears truly were pleasant to see, but it was not for them that my miserable soul longed, since I had plenty of better ones. I picked those pears simply so that I might steal. After I picked them, I threw them away—my only satisfaction in them was my own sin, which I enjoyed. If any of those pears went into my mouth, what sweetened it was my sin in eating it. And now, O Lord my God, I ask what it was in that theft of mine that gave me such pleasure. Look, it has no beauty in it—not the kind that exists in justice and wisdom, nor the kind that is in the mind, memory, senses, and bodily life of man, nor even the kind that is the glory and beauty of the stars in their paths, or the earth, or the sea, full of newly forming life that replaces what dies as it is born, nor indeed that false and shadowy beauty that belongs to deceptive vices.

12. What was it, then, that I, miserable one, so doted on in you, you theft of mine, you deed of darkness, in that sixteenth year of my age? Beautiful you were not, since you were theft. But are you anything, that so I may argue the case with you? Those pears that we stole were fair to the sight, because they were Your creation, You fairest of all, Creator of all, You good God — God, the highest good, and my true good. Those pears truly were pleasant to the sight; but it was not for them that my miserable soul lusted, for I had abundance of better, but those I plucked simply that I might steal. For, having plucked them, I threw them away, my sole gratification in them being my own sin, which I was pleased to enjoy. For if any of these pears entered my mouth, the sweetener of it was my sin in eating it. And now, O Lord my God, I ask what it was in that theft of mine that caused me such delight; and behold it has no beauty in it — not such, I mean, as exists in justice and wisdom; nor such as is in the mind, memory, senses, and animal life of man; nor yet such as is the glory and beauty of the stars in their courses; or the earth, or the sea, teeming with incipient life, to replace, as it is born, that which decays; nor, indeed, that false and shadowy beauty which pertains to deceptive vices.

Pride imitates greatness, but You alone are God, high above all. Ambition seeks honors and fame, but You alone are to be honored above all and renowned forever. The cruelty of the powerful wants to be feared, but who should be feared except God alone? What can be forced away or taken from His power—when, where, how, or by whom? The allurements of lust pretend to be love, yet nothing is more alluring than Your love, nor is anything loved more beneficially than Your truth, bright and beautiful above all. Curiosity pretends to desire knowledge, but You supremely know all things. Yes, even ignorance and foolishness hide themselves under the names of simplicity and innocence, because nothing can be found more simple than You, and what is more innocent, since it is a sinner's own works that harm him? Laziness seems to long for rest, but what certain rest is there except in the Lord? Self-indulgence wants to be called plenty and abundance, but You are the fullness and never-failing abundance of pleasures that never fade. Wastefulness presents a shadow of generosity, but You are the most generous giver of all good things. Greed wants to possess much, but You are the possessor of all things. Envy competes for excellence, but what is so excellent as You? Anger seeks revenge, but who takes revenge more justly than You? Fear reacts to unusual and sudden events that threaten beloved things, and is cautious for their safety, but what can happen that is unusual or sudden to You? Or who can take from You what You love? Or where is there unshakable security except with You? Grief pines for things lost in which desire had found pleasure, wanting nothing taken from it, just as nothing can be taken from You.

13. For thus does pride imitate high estate, whereas You alone art God, high above all. And what does ambition seek but honours and renown, whereas You alone are to be honoured above all, and renowned for evermore? The cruelty of the powerful wishes to be feared; but who is to be feared but God only, out of whose power what can be forced away or withdrawn — when, or where, or whither, or by whom? The enticements of the wanton would fain be deemed love; and yet is naught more enticing than Your charity, nor is anything loved more healthfully than that, Your truth, bright and beautiful above all. Curiosity affects a desire for knowledge, whereas it is You who supremely knows all things. Yea, ignorance and foolishness themselves are concealed under the names of ingenuousness and harmlessness, because nothing can be found more ingenuous than You; and what is more harmless, since it is a sinner's own works by which he is harmed? And sloth seems to long for rest; but what sure rest is there besides the Lord? Luxury would fain be called plenty and abundance; but You are the fullness and unfailing plenteousness of unfading joys. Prodigality presents a shadow of liberality; but You are the most lavish giver of all good. Covetousness desires to possess much; and You are the Possessor of all things. Envy contends for excellence; but what so excellent as You? Anger seeks revenge; who avenges more justly than You? Fear starts at unwonted and sudden chances which threaten things beloved, and is wary for their security; but what can happen that is unwonted or sudden to You? Or who can deprive You of what You love? Or where is there unshaken security save with You? Grief languishes for things lost in which desire had delighted itself, even because it would have nothing taken from it, as nothing can be from You.

The soul commits adultery when it turns away from You and looks for outside of You what it cannot find pure and untainted until it returns to You. This is how all who distance themselves far from You and rebel against You perversely imitate You. But even by imitating You in this way, they acknowledge that You are the Creator of all nature, and therefore there is no place where they can completely withdraw from You. What, then, did I love in that theft? And in what way did I, even in a corrupt and perverted manner, imitate my Lord? Did I want, even if only through deceit, to act against Your law, because I could not do so by power, so that as a prisoner I might imitate an incomplete freedom by doing with impunity things I was not permitted to do, in a darkened likeness of Your omnipotence? Look at this servant of Yours, fleeing from his Lord and chasing a shadow! O corruption! O monstrosity of life and depth of death! Could I have liked what was unlawful only because it was unlawful?

14. Thus does the soul commit fornication when she turns away from You, and seeks without You what she cannot find pure and untainted until she returns to You. Thus all pervertedly imitate You who separate themselves far from You and raise themselves up against You. But even by thus imitating You they acknowledge You to be the Creator of all nature, and so that there is no place whither they can altogether retire from You. What, then, was it that I loved in that theft? And wherein did I, even corruptedly and pervertedly, imitate my Lord? Did I wish, if only by artifice, to act contrary to Your law, because by power I could not, so that, being a captive, I might imitate an imperfect liberty by doing with impunity things which I was not allowed to do, in obscured likeness of Your omnipotency? Behold this servant of Yours, fleeing from his Lord, and following a shadow! O rottenness! O monstrosity of life and profundity of death! Could I like that which was unlawful only because it was unlawful?

What shall I give back to the Lord, for while my memory brings these things to mind, my soul is not horrified by them? I will love You, O Lord, and thank You, and confess to Your name, because You have removed from me these wicked and evil deeds of mine. I credit it to Your grace and to Your mercy that You have melted away my sin like ice. I also credit to Your grace whatever evil I did not commit, for what might I not have done, since I loved sin for sin's own sake? Yes, I confess that all has been forgiven me, both the sins I committed through my own perversity and those which I did not commit because of Your guidance. Who is the person who, thinking about his own weakness, dares to attribute his purity and innocence to his own strength, so that he would love You less, as if he had less need of Your mercy, by which You forgive the sins of those who turn to You? For whoever, being called by You, obeyed Your voice and avoided those things which he reads me recalling and confessing about myself, let him not look down on me, who, being sick, was healed by that same Physician by whose help he himself was not sick, or rather was less sick. And for this reason let him love You as much, indeed all the more, since the one by whom he sees me restored from such great weakness of sin is the same one by whom he sees himself preserved from a similar weakness.

15. What shall I render unto the Lord, that while my memory recalls these things my soul is not appalled at them? I will love You, O Lord, and thank You, and confess unto Your name, Revelation 3:5 because You have put away from me these so wicked and nefarious acts of mine. To Your grace I attribute it, and to Your mercy, that You have melted away my sin as it were ice. To Your grace also I attribute whatsoever of evil I have not committed; for what might I not have committed, loving as I did the sin for the sin's sake? Yea, all I confess to have been pardoned me, both those which I committed by my own perverseness, and those which, by Your guidance, I committed not. Where is he who, reflecting upon his own infirmity, dares to ascribe his chastity and innocency to his own strength, so that he should love You the less, as if he had been in less need of Your mercy, whereby You forgive the transgressions of those that turn to You? For whosoever, called by You, obeyed Your voice, and shunned those things which he reads me recalling and confessing of myself, let him not despise me, who, being sick, was healed by that same Physician Luke 4:23 by whose aid it was that he was not sick, or rather was less sick. And for this let him love You as much, yea, all the more, since by whom he sees me to have been restored from so great a feebleness of sin, by Him he sees himself from a like feebleness to have been preserved.

What benefit did I gain then, Romans 6:21, miserable as I was, from those things that now make me ashamed when I remember them—especially that theft, which I loved only for the sake of the theft itself? And since the theft itself was nothing, I was even more miserable for loving it. Yet I would not have done it by myself alone—I remember what was in my heart—I could not have done it alone. So I loved the companionship of my accomplices with whom I did it. Therefore, I did not love the theft alone—no, rather, it was only that which I loved, for the companionship meant nothing. What is the truth here? Who can teach me except the One who illuminates my heart and searches out its dark corners? What has prompted me to inquire about this, discuss it, and think it over? If I had loved the pears I stole at that time and wanted to enjoy them, I could have done it alone, if the mere act of theft had been enough to give me pleasure; I would not have needed to stir up that itching in my passions through the encouragement of accomplices. But since my enjoyment was not in those pears, it was in the crime itself, which the company of my fellow-sinners produced.

16. What fruit had I then, Romans 6:21 wretched one, in those things which, when I remember them, cause me shame — above all in that theft, which I loved only for the theft's sake? And as the theft itself was nothing, all the more wretched was I who loved it. Yet by myself alone I would not have done it — I recall what my heart was — alone I could not have done it. I loved, then, in it the companionship of my accomplices with whom I did it. I did not, therefore, love the theft alone — yea, rather, it was that alone that I loved, for the companionship was nothing. What is the fact? Who is it that can teach me, but He who illuminates mine heart and searches out the dark corners thereof? What is it that has come into my mind to inquire about, to discuss, and to reflect upon? For had I at that time loved the pears I stole, and wished to enjoy them, I might have done so alone, if I could have been satisfied with the mere commission of the theft by which my pleasure was secured; nor needed I have provoked that itching of my own passions, by the encouragement of accomplices. But as my enjoyment was not in those pears, it was in the crime itself, which the company of my fellow-sinners produced.

What feelings drove me then? It was truly too shameful, and woe to me for having it. But still, what was it? Who can understand his errors? We laughed because our hearts were tickled at the thought of deceiving those who had no idea what we were doing and would have strongly disapproved. Yet why did I take such joy in this, especially since I didn't do it alone? Is it that no one easily laughs alone? No one does so easily. Yet sometimes when people are by themselves with no one around, a fit of laughter overcomes them when something very funny presents itself to their senses or mind. But I would not have done it alone—I could not have done it at all by myself. Look, my God, the vivid memory of my soul is laid bare before You—I would not have committed that theft alone, in which what I stole did not please me, but rather the act of stealing itself. I would not have liked doing it alone nearly as much, nor would I have done it. O friendship that is so unfriendly! You mysterious seducer of the soul, you greed to do harm out of amusement and playfulness, you desire for others' loss without any desire for my own gain or revenge. But when they say, "Let us go, let us do it," we are ashamed not to be shameless.

17. By what feelings, then, was I animated? For it was in truth too shameful; and woe was me who had it. But still what was it? Who can understand his errors? We laughed, because our hearts were tickled at the thought of deceiving those who little imagined what we were doing, and would have vehemently disapproved of it. Yet, again, why did I so rejoice in this, that I did it not alone? Is it that no one readily laughs alone? No one does so readily; but yet sometimes, when men are alone by themselves, nobody being by, a fit of laughter overcomes them when anything very droll presents itself to their senses or mind. Yet alone I would not have done it — alone I could not at all have done it. Behold, my God, the lively recollection of my soul is laid bare before You — alone I had not committed that theft, wherein what I stole pleased me not, but rather the act of stealing; nor to have done it alone would I have liked so well, neither would I have done it. O Friendship too unfriendly! You mysterious seducer of the soul, you greediness to do mischief out of mirth and wantonness, you craving for others' loss, without desire for my own profit or revenge; but when they say, Let us go, let us do it, we are ashamed not to be shameless.

Who can untangle that twisted and knotted mess? It is disgusting. I hate to think about it. I hate to look at it. But I long for you, O righteousness and innocence, beautiful and attractive to all virtuous eyes, and offering a satisfaction that never grows stale! With you is perfect rest, and life unchanging. Whoever enters into you enters into the joy of his Lord, and will have no fear, and will do excellently in the most Excellent. I fell away from you, O my God, and I wandered too far from you, my support, in my youth, and became to myself a barren land.

18. Who can unravel that twisted and tangled knottiness? It is foul. I hate to reflect on it. I hate to look on it. But you do I long for, O righteousness and innocency, fair and comely to all virtuous eyes, and of a satisfaction that never palls! With you is perfect rest, and life unchanging. He who enters into you enters into the joy of his Lord, Matthew 25:21 and shall have no fear, and shall do excellently in the most Excellent. I sank away from You, O my God, and I wandered too far from You, my stay, in my youth, and became to myself an unfruitful land.