Book II

For Love of Your Love

I will now call to mind my past corruption, and the sins of my soul — not because I love them, but that I may love You, O my God. For love of Your love I do it; reviewing my most wicked ways in the very bitterness of my remembrance, that You may grow sweet to me (You, sweetness never failing, You, blissful and assured sweetness); and gathering me again out of my scattering, in which I was torn to pieces — while turned from You, the One Good, I lost myself among a multitude of things.

For I even burned in my youth to be filled with things below; and I dared to grow wild again with various and shadowy loves. My beauty wasted away, and I was foul in Your eyes — pleasing myself, and eager to please in the eyes of men.

The Fog of Lust

And what was it that I delighted in, except to love and be loved? But I did not keep to the boundary of love — the bright line of mind to mind, friendship's true border. Out of the muddy desire of the flesh and the restlessness of youth, mists rose up which clouded and darkened my heart, so that I could not distinguish the clear brightness of love from the fog of lust. Both boiled together in me, and hurried my unsteady youth over the cliff of unholy desires, and sank me in a gulf of wickedness.

Your wrath had gathered over me, and I knew it not. I had grown deaf from the clanking of the chain of my mortality — the punishment of my soul's pride. And I strayed further from You, and You let me alone; and I was tossed about, and wasted, and scattered, and I boiled over in my sins — and You held Your peace, O You, my slow-arriving joy! You held Your peace, and I wandered further and further from You, into more and more fruitless fields of sorrow, with a proud dejection and a restless weariness.

No Hand to Guide

Oh, that someone had then put order to my disorder, and turned to good account the fleeting beauties of these lowest things of Your creation! Had put a limit to their pleasures, that the tides of my youth might have cast themselves upon the shore of marriage, if they could not be calmed — as Your law prescribes, O Lord. For Your almighty power is not far from us, even when we are far from You.

But I, poor wretch, foamed like a troubled sea, following the rush of my own tide, forsaking You, and exceeding all Your limits; yet I did not escape Your discipline. For what mortal can? For You were ever with me — mercifully severe, seasoning with most bitter consequences all my unlawful pleasures, that I might seek pleasures without bitterness. But where to find such, I could not discover — except in You, O Lord, who teach by sorrow, and wound us to heal, and kill us lest we die apart from You.

Where was I, and how far was I exiled from the delights of Your house, in that sixteenth year of my life, when the madness of lust took control of me, and I surrendered myself entirely to it? My friends meanwhile took no care by marriage to save my fall; their only care was that I should learn to speak eloquently and be a persuasive orator.

A Father's Ambition, a Mother's Fear

For that year my studies were interrupted: after my return from Madaura (a neighboring city where I had gone to learn grammar and rhetoric), the expenses for a further journey to Carthage were being provided for me — more by the determination than the means of my father, who was but a poor citizen of Thagaste.

To whom do I tell this? Not to You, my God; but before You to my own kind — even to that small portion of mankind who may come upon these writings of mine. And to what purpose? That whoever reads this may consider out of what depths we are to cry to You. For what is nearer to Your ears than a confessing heart, and a life of faith?

Who did not praise my father, for spending beyond his means to furnish his son with all that was needed for studies far from home? For many far wealthier citizens did no such thing for their children. But yet this same father had no concern for how I grew toward You, or how pure I was — so long as I was polished in speech, however barren I was of Your cultivation, O God, who are the only true and good Lord of Your field, my heart.

But while in that sixteenth year I lived with my parents, leaving school for a while (a season of idleness caused by my parents' limited means), the thorns of unclean desires grew thick over my head, and there was no hand to root them out. When my father saw me at the baths, now growing toward manhood and stirring with restless youth, he — as if already anticipating grandchildren — gladly told it to my mother, rejoicing in that tumult of the senses in which the world forgets You its Creator, and falls in love with Your creature instead of Yourself.

But in my mother's heart You had already begun Your temple, and the foundation of Your holy habitation — whereas my father was still only a catechumen, and that only recently. She then was startled with a holy fear and trembling; and though I was not yet baptized, she feared for me those crooked ways in which they walk who turn their back to You, and not their face.

Woe is me! And dare I say that You held Your peace, O my God, while I wandered further from You? Did You then indeed hold Your peace toward me? And whose but Yours were those words which by my mother, Your faithful one, You spoke in my ears? Nothing of them sank into my heart, so as to move me to act. For she wished — and I remember she privately warned me with great urgency — not to commit fornication, and especially never to defile another man's wife. These seemed to me merely a woman's warnings, which I would be ashamed to obey. But they were Yours, and I knew it not. I thought You were silent and that it was she who spoke; but through her You were not silent to me — and in her You were despised by me, her son, the son of Your handmaid, Your servant.

But I did not know it; and I ran headlong with such blindness that among my companions I was ashamed of being less shameless. When I heard them boast of their wickedness — and the more they boasted, the more degraded they were — I took pleasure not only in the deed, but in the praise. What is worthy of blame but vice? But I made myself worse than I was, so that I might not be blamed; and when I had not sinned as the worst had, I would say that I had done what I had not done, that I might not seem contemptible for being innocent, or of less account for being pure.

The Pear Theft

Theft is punished by Your law, O Lord, and the law written in the hearts of men, which even wickedness itself does not erase. For what thief will tolerate a thief? Not even a rich thief will tolerate one who steals out of want. Yet I desired to steal, and did it — compelled by no hunger, nor poverty, but through an excess of well-being and a swelling of iniquity. For I stole what I had enough of, and much better. Nor did I care to enjoy what I stole, but took pleasure in the theft and sin itself.

A pear tree there was near our vineyard, laden with fruit, tempting neither for its color nor its taste. To shake and rob it, some wild young fellows of us went late one night (having, according to our destructive custom, prolonged our games in the streets until then), and took huge loads — not for our eating, but to fling to the very pigs, having only tasted them. And this, merely to do what we liked, only because it was forbidden.

Behold my heart, O God, behold my heart, which You had pity on in the bottom of the bottomless pit. Now, behold, let my heart tell You what it sought there, that I should be gratuitously evil, having no temptation to wrong but the wrong itself. It was foul, and I loved it. I loved to perish. I loved my own fault — not that for which I was at fault, but my fault itself. Foul soul, falling from Your firmament to utter destruction; not seeking anything through the shame, but the shame itself!

Why Sin Has Its Attraction

For there is an attractiveness in beautiful bodies, in gold and silver, and all things; and in bodily touch, sympathy has much influence, and each sense has its proper object suitably matched. Worldly honor has its appeal, and the power of overcoming and mastering; from this also springs the thirst for revenge. But yet, to obtain all these, we may not depart from You, O Lord, nor decline from Your law.

The life we live here also has its own enchantment, through a certain harmony of its own, and a correspondence with all things beautiful here below. Human friendship also is endeared with a sweet bond, by reason of the unity formed of many souls. On occasion of all these, and similar things, sin is committed — when through an excessive inclination toward these goods of the lowest order, the better and higher are forsaken: You, our Lord God, Your truth, and Your law. For these lower things have their delights, but not like my God, who made all things; for in Him the righteous delight, and He is the joy of the upright in heart.

When, then, we ask why a crime was done, we do not believe the account unless it appears that there was some desire to obtain some of those lower goods, or a fear of losing them. For they are beautiful and attractive, although compared with those higher and blessed goods, they are low and base. A man has murdered another; why? He coveted his wife or his property; or would rob to support his own life; or feared to lose something by him; or, wronged, was on fire for revenge. Would anyone commit murder for no reason, delighting simply in murdering? Who would believe it?

What Did I Love in That Theft?

What then did wretched I so love in you, O theft of mine, you deed of darkness, in that sixteenth year of my life? Lovely you were not, because you were theft. But are you anything at all, that I should speak to you?

Fair were the pears we stole, because they were Your creation — You, fairest of all, Creator of all, You, the good God; God, the sovereign good and my true good. Fair were those pears, but not them did my wretched soul desire. For I had plenty of better ones, and those I gathered only that I might steal. For when gathered, I flung them away — my only feast being my own sin, which I was pleased to enjoy. For if any of those pears came to my mouth, what made them sweet was the sin.

And now, O Lord my God, I ask: what in that theft delighted me? And behold, it has no loveliness.

So does pride imitate exaltedness — whereas You alone are God, exalted over all. Ambition, what does it seek but honor and glory? — whereas You alone are to be honored above all, and glorious forevermore. The cruelty of the powerful desires to be feared — but who is to be feared but God alone? The tenderness of the sensual desires to be counted love — yet nothing is more tender than Your love, nor is anything loved more healthfully than Your truth, bright and beautiful above all. Curiosity pretends to be a desire for knowledge — whereas You supremely know all things. Even laziness would pass for rest — but what stable rest is there besides the Lord? Luxury claims to be plenty and abundance — but You are the fullness and never-failing supply of pleasures that do not corrupt. Extravagance presents a shadow of generosity — but You are the most overflowing Giver of all good. Covetousness would possess many things — and You possess all things. Envy contends for excellence — what is more excellent than You? Anger seeks revenge — who avenges more justly than You? Fear recoils at things sudden and unforeseen — but to You what is unforeseen, or who separates from You what You love? Grief wastes away for things lost — because it would have nothing taken from it, as nothing can from You.

So the soul commits unfaithfulness when she turns from You, seeking apart from You what she cannot find pure and untainted until she returns to You.

To Your Grace I Ascribe It

What shall I render to the Lord, that while my memory recalls these things, my soul is not terrified at them? I will love You, O Lord, and thank You, and confess to Your name — because You have forgiven me these so great and terrible deeds of mine. To Your grace I ascribe it, and to Your mercy, that You have melted away my sins as if they were ice. To Your grace I ascribe also whatever evil I have not done; for what might I not have done, who even loved a sin for its own sake?

Yes, all I confess to have been forgiven me — both what evils I committed by my own willfulness, and what by Your guidance I did not commit. What person is there who, weighing his own weakness, dares to ascribe his purity and innocence to his own strength — that he should love You the less, as if he had less need of Your mercy, by which You forgive sins to those who turn to You? For whoever, called by You, followed Your voice and avoided those things which he reads me recalling and confessing of myself — let him not scorn me, who being sick was cured by that Physician through whose aid it was that he was not, or rather was less, sick. And for this let him love You as much — yes, and more — since by whom he sees me to have been recovered from such deep disease of sin, by Him he sees himself to have been preserved from the same.

The Company of Sinners

What fruit did I have then, wretched man, in those things of which I am now ashamed? Especially in that theft which I loved for the theft's sake; and it too was nothing, and therefore all the more miserable was I, who loved it. Yet alone I would not have done it — such was I then, I remember; alone I would never have done it.

I loved then also the company of the accomplices with whom I did it? I did not then love nothing besides the theft — yes rather, I did love nothing else; for that circumstance of the company was also nothing. What is it, in truth? Who can teach me, except He who enlightens my heart and uncovers its dark corners?

For had I then loved the pears I stole, and wished to enjoy them, I might have done it alone, had the bare commission of the theft been enough to satisfy me; nor would I have needed to inflame the itch of my desire by the excitement of accomplices. But since my pleasure was not in those pears, it was in the offense itself, which the company of fellow-sinners occasioned.

What then was this feeling? For truly it was too foul — and woe was me who had it. But yet what was it? Who can understand his errors? It was the sport, which as it were tickled our hearts, that we deceived those who had no idea what we were doing and greatly disliked it. Why then was my delight of such a kind that I would not do it alone? Because no one ordinarily laughs alone? True, no one ordinarily does; yet laughter sometimes overcomes a person alone when something very ridiculous presents itself. Yet I would not have done this alone; alone I would never have done it.

Behold, my God, before You — the vivid remembrance of my soul; alone, I would never have committed that theft in which what I stole did not please me, but that I stole. Nor would I have liked to do it alone, nor would I have done it. O friendship too unfriendly! Incomprehensible seducer of the soul! Greediness to do mischief out of fun and mischief! Thirst for another's loss, without desire for my own gain or revenge — but when someone says, "Let's go, let's do it," we are ashamed not to be shameless.

A Barren Land

Who can disentangle that twisted and intricate knot? It is foul; I hate to think on it, to look on it. But You I long for, O Righteousness and Innocence, beautiful and lovely to all pure eyes, and of a satisfaction that never empties. With You is complete rest, and life undisturbed. Whoever enters into You enters into the joy of his Lord, and shall not fear, and shall do excellently in the All-Excellent.

I sank away from You, and I wandered, O my God, too far astray from You my support, in those days of my youth — and I became to myself a barren land.