Confessions. Augustine of Hippo

I published them long before the Pelagian heresy had even begun to be, it is plain that in them I said to my God, again and again, “Give what you command and command what you will.” When these words of mine were repeated in Pelagius’ presence in Rome by a certain brother of mine (an episcopal colleague), Pelagius could not bear them and contradicted my brother so excitedly that the two nearly came to a quarrel. Now what, indeed, does God command, first and foremost, except that we believe in him? This faith, therefore, he himself gives; so that it is well said to him, “Give what you command.” Moreover, in those same books, concerning my account of my conversion when God turned me to that faith (which I was laying waste with a very wretched and wild verbal assault),¹ do you not remember how the narration shows that I was given as a gift to the faithful and daily tears of my mother, who had been promised that I should not perish? I certainly declared there that God by his grace turns men’s wills to the true faith when they are not only averse to it, but actually adverse. As for the other ways in which I sought God’s aid in my growth in perseverance, you either know or can review them as you wish (PL, 45, c. 1025).

       III. Letter to Darius (A.D. 429)

      Thus, my son, take the books of my Confessions and use them as a good man should — not superficially, but as a Christian in Christian charity. Here see me as I am and do not praise me for more than I am. Here believe nothing else about me than my own testimony. Here observe what I have been in myself and through myself. And if something in me pleases you, here praise him with me — him whom I desire to be praised on my account and not myself. “It is he that made us, and we are his” (Ps 100:3). Indeed, we were ourselves quite lost; but he who made us, remade us [sed qui fecit, refecit]. As, then, you find me in these pages, pray for me that I shall not fail but that I may go on to be perfected. Pray for me, my son, pray for me! (Epist. CCXXXI, PL, 33, c. 1025).

      Book One

      In God’s searching presence, Augustine undertakes to plumb the depths of his memory to trace the mysterious pilgrimage of grace that his life has been — and to praise God for his constant and omnipotent grace. In a mood of sustained prayer, Augustine recalls what he can of his infancy, his learning to speak, and his childhood experiences in school. He concludes with a paean of grateful praise to God.

      Chapter I

      1. “Great is the LORD, and greatly to be praised…. Great is our LORD, and abundant in power; his understanding is beyond measure” (Ps 145:3 and Ps 147:5). And man desires to praise you, for he is a part of your creation; he bears his mortality about with him and carries the evidence of his sin and the proof that you resist the proud. Still he desires to praise you, this man who is only a small part of your creation. You have prompted him, that he should delight to praise you, for you have made us for yourself and our hearts are restless until they rest in you. Grant me, O Lord, to know and understand whether first to invoke you or to praise you; whether first to know you or to call upon you. But who can invoke you without knowing you? For he who does not know you may invoke you as one other than you are. It may be that we should invoke you in order that we may come to know you. But “how are men to call upon him in whom they have not believed? … And how are they to hear without a preacher?” (Rom 10:14). Now, “those who seek him shall praise the LORD” (Ps 22:26), for those who seek him shall find him (cf. Mt 7:7), and, finding him, shall praise him. I will seek you, O Lord, and call upon you. I call upon you, O Lord, in my faith that you have given me, which you have inspired in me through the humanity of your Son, and through the ministry of your preacher.¹

      Chapter II

      2. And how shall I call upon my God — my God and my Lord? For when I call on him, I ask him to come into me. And what place is there in me into which my God can come? How could God, the God who made both heaven and earth, come into me? Is there anything in me, O Lord my God, that can contain you? Do even the heaven and the earth, which you have made, and in which you made me, contain you? Is it possible that, since without you nothing that exists would be, you made it so that whatever exists has some capacity to receive you? Why, then, do I ask you to come into me, since I also am and could not be if you were not in me? For I am not, after all, in hell — and yet you are there too, for “if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!” (Ps 139:8).

      Therefore I would not exist — I would simply not be at all — unless I exist in you, from whom and by whom and in whom all things are. Even so, Lord; even so. Where do I call you to, when I am already in you? Or from whence would you come into me? Where, beyond heaven and earth, could I go that there my God might come to me — he who has said, “Do I not fill heaven and earth?” (Jer 23:24).

      Chapter III

      3. Since, then, you fill the heaven and earth, do they contain you? Or, do you fill and overflow them because they cannot contain you? And where do you pour out what remains of you after heaven and earth are full? Or, indeed, is there no need that you, who contains all things, should be contained by any, since those things that you fill, you fill by containing them? For the vessels that you fill do not confine you, since even if they were broken, you would not be poured out. And, when you are poured out on us, you are not thereby brought down; rather, we are uplifted. You are not scattered; rather, you gather us together. But when you fill all things, do you fill them with your whole being? Or, since not even all things together could contain you altogether, does any one thing contain a single part, and do all things contain that same part at the same time? Do singulars contain you singly? Do greater things contain more of you, and smaller things less? Or, is it not rather that you are wholly present everywhere, yet in such a way that nothing contains you wholly?

      Chapter IV

      4. What, therefore, is my God? What, I ask, but the Lord God? “For who is Lord but the Lord himself, or who is God besides our God?” Most high, most excellent, most potent, most omnipotent; most merciful and most just; most secret and most truly present; most beautiful and most strong; stable, yet not supported; unchangeable, yet changing all things; never new, never old; making all things new, yet bringing old age upon the proud, and they know it not; always working, ever at rest; gathering, yet needing nothing; sustaining, pervading, and protecting; creating, nourishing, and developing; seeking, and yet possessing all things. You love, but without passion; are jealous, yet free from care; repent without remorse; are angry, yet remain serene.

      You change your ways, leaving your plans unchanged; you recover what you have never really lost. You are never in need but still you rejoice at your gains; are never greedy, yet demand dividends. Men pay more than is required so that you become a debtor; yet who can possess anything at all that is not already yours? You owe men nothing, yet pay out to them as if in debt to your creature, and when you cancel debts you lose nothing thereby. Yet, O my God, my life, my holy joy, what is this that I have said? What can any man say when he speaks of you? But woe to them that keep silence — since even those who say most are dumb.

      Chapter V

      5. Who shall bring me to rest in you? Who will send you into my heart so to overwhelm it that my sins shall be blotted out and I may embrace you, my only good? What are you to me? Have mercy that I may speak. What am I to you that you should command me to love you, and if I do it not, are angry and threaten vast misery? Is it, then, a trifling sorrow not to love you? It is not so to me. Tell me, by your mercy, O Lord, my God, what you are to me. “Say to my soul, ‘I am your deliverance!’” (Ps 35:3). So speak that I may hear. Behold, the ears of my heart are before you, O Lord; open them and “say to my soul, ‘I am your salvation.’” I will hasten after that voice, and I will lay hold upon you. Hide not your face from me. Even if I die, let me see your face lest I die.

      6. The house of my soul is too narrow for you to come in to me; let it be enlarged by you. It is in ruins; please restore it. There is much about it that must offend your eyes; I confess and know that. But who will cleanse it? Or, to whom shall I cry but to you? “Cleanse me from my secret faults,” O Lord, “and keep back your servant from strange sins” (cf. Ps 19:12, 13). “I kept my faith, even when I said, ‘I am greatly afflicted’” (Ps 116:10).