Then said he, his mind often went fearing and searching
out various and rare things, and most of all about
himself—what [1] he was; whether his mind and his soul
were mortal and perishable, or ever-living and eternal; and
again, about his God, what He was, and of what nature
He was; and what good it were best for him to do, and
what evil best to forsake. Then answered me something,
I know not what, whether myself or another thing; nor
know I whether it was within me or without; but this one
thing I most truly know, that it was my Reason; and it
said to me:
Reason. If thou have any good steward that can well
hold that which thou gettest and committest unto him, show
him to me; but if thou have none so prudent, search till
thou find him; for thou canst not both always keep watch
and ward over that which thou hast gained, and also get
more.
Augustine. To what shall I commit what more I get,
if not to my memory?
R. Is thy memory powerful enough to hold all things
that thou thinkest out and bidst it to hold?
A. Nay, nay; neither mine nor any man's is so strong
that it can hold everything that is committed to it.
R. Then commit it to words and write it down. Howbeit
methinks thou art too feeble to write it all; and though thou
wert entirely sound, thou wouldst need to have a place
retired and void of everything else, and a few wise and
skilful men with thee who would hinder thee in no wise,
but give aid to thy ability.
A. I have none of these, neither the leisure, nor the
help of other men, nor a place retired enough to suit me
for such work; therefore I know not what I shall do.
R. I
know then nothing better than that thou shouldst
pray. Make known thy wish to God, Saviour of mind and
body, that thou mayst through such salvation obtain what
thou wishest. And when thou hast prayed, write the prayer,
lest thou forget it, that thou be the fitter for thy task. And
pray sincerely in few words and with full understanding.
A. I will do even as thou teachest me, saying thus:
O Lord, Thou who art the Creator of all things, grant
me first to know how to pray to Thee aright and acceptably,
and that I may merit to be worthy that Thou for thy mercy
wilt redeem and deliver me. On Thee I call, O Lord, who
madest all that could not else have sprung into being, nor
without Thee could even abide. I call to Thee, O Lord,
who leavest none of thy creatures to become naught. To
Him I call who hath made all creatures beautiful without
any original substance. To Thee I call, who never wroughtest
any evil, but rather every good work. To Him I call
who teacheth to a few wise men that evil is naught.
O Lord, thou hast wrought all things perfect, and nothing
imperfect; to Thee is no creature untoward; though any
thing will, it can not be so, for Thou hast shapen them all
orderly, and peaceable, and so harmonious that none of them
can altogether destroy another, but the ugly ever adorneth
the beautiful. To Thee I call, whom everything loveth
that can love, both those which know what they love, and
those which know not what they love. Thou who hast
shapen all creatures very good, without any evil—Thou who
wilt not altogether show thyself openly to any but to them
that are pure in heart, I call to Thee, O Lord, because Thou
art the Father of truth and wisdom, of the true and highest
life, and of the highest blessedness, and of the highest good,
and of the highest brightness, and of the intelligible light;
Thou who art the Father of the Son who hath awakened
us, and still arouseth us, from the sleep of our sins, and
warneth us to come to Thee.
To Thee I pray, O Lord, who art the highest truth, and
through whom is true all that is true. I pray to Thee, O
Lord,
who art the true life, and through whom all things
live that do live. Thou art the highest blessedness, and
through Thee are blessed all that are blessed. Thou art
the highest good[2] ... is and beautiful. Thou art the
intelligible light through which man knoweth. I pray to
Thee, O Lord, who wieldest all the world; whom we can
not know bodily, neither by eyes, nor by smell, nor by ears,
nor by taste, nor by touch; although such laws as we have,
and such virtues as we have, we take all those that are
good from thy realm, and from thy realm we draw an
example of all the good we perform. For every one falleth
who fleeth from Thee, and every one riseth who turneth
to Thee, and every one standeth who abideth in Thee;
he dieth who wholly forsaketh Thee, he is quickened who
turneth to Thee, and he liveth indeed who abideth in Thee.
No one that is wise forsaketh Thee, no one seeketh Thee
except he be wise, and no one altogether findeth Thee but
the pure in heart. That is, he perisheth who forsaketh
Thee. He who loveth Thee seeketh Thee; he who followeth
after Thee hath Thee. Thy truths which Thou
hast given us awaken us from the sleep of our sins. Our
hope lifteth us to Thee. Our love, which Thou hast given
us, bindeth us to Thee. Through Thee we overcome our
foes, both spiritual and carnal. Thou who forgivest, draw
nigh to me and have mercy upon me, because Thou hast
bestowed upon us great gifts, to wit, that we shall never
entirely perish and thus come to naught.
O Lord, who warnest us to watch, Thou hast given us
reason, wherewith to find out and distinguish good and evil,
and to flee the evil. Thou hast given us patience not to
despair in any toil nor in any misfortune. Nor is this a
wonder, because Thou dost verily rule well, and makest us
to serve Thee well. Thou hast taught us to understand
that worldly wealth, which we looked upon as our own, is
alien to us, and transitory; and Thou hast also taught us
to consider as our own what we looked upon as alien to us,
to
wit, the kingdom of heaven, which we once despised.
Thou who hast taught us to do no unlawful thing, and
hast also taught us not to mourn even though our riches
should wane. Thou who hast taught us to subject our body
to our mind.
Thou who didst overcome death when Thou thyself didst
arise, and also wilt make all men arise. Thou who makest
us all worthy of Thee, and cleansest us from all our sins,
and justifiest us, and hearest our prayers. Thou who
madest us of thy household, and who teachest us all righteousness,
and always teachest us the good, and always dost
us good, and leavest us not to serve an unrighteous lord, as
we did aforetime. Thou callest us back to our way, and
leadest us to the door, and openest to us, and givest us the
bread of eternal life and the drink of life's well. Thou who
threatenest men for their sins, and who teachest them to
judge righteous judgments, and to do righteousness. Thou
strengthenedst us, and yet dost strengthen us, in our belief,
in order that unbelievers may not harm us. Thou hast
given us, and yet givest us, understanding, that we may
overcome the error of those [who teach that][3] men's souls
have, after this world, no reward for their deserts, either
of good or of evil, whichever they do here. Thou who
hast loosed us from the thraldom of other creatures, Thou
always preparest eternal life for us, and always preparest
us for eternal life.
Come now to my aid, Thou who art the only eternal and
true Deity—Father, and Son, and Holy Ghost—without any
variableness or turning, without any need or impotence,
and without death. Thou who always dwellest in the highest
brightness and in the highest steadfastness, in the highest
unanimity and the highest sufficiency; for to Thee there
is no want of good, but Thou always dwellest thus full of
every good unto eternity. Thou art Father, and Son, and
Holy Ghost.
Thee
serve all the creatures that Thou didst create; to
Thee is every good soul subject; at thy command the
heavens turn and all stars hold their courses; at thy behest
the sun bringeth the bright day, and the moon light by night;
after the image of these Thou dost govern and wield all
this world, so that all creatures change even as day and night.
Thou rulest and fixest the year by the alternations of the four
seasons—to wit, spring, and summer, autumn, and winter;
each of which alternateth and varieth with the other, so that
each of them is again exactly what and where it formerly
was; and so all stars change and vary in the same manner—likewise
the sea and the rivers; in the same manner all creatures
suffer change. Howbeit, some vary in another manner,
so that the same come not again where they formerly
were, nor become just what they were; but others come in
their stead, as leaves on trees; and apples, grass, plants, and
trees grow old and sere, and others come, wax green, and
grow, and ripen; wherefore they again begin to wither.
And likewise all beasts and fowls, in such manner that it is
now too long to reckon them all. Yea, even men's bodies
wax old, just as other creatures do; but just as they formerly
lived more worthily than trees or other animals, so shall
they arise more worthily on Doomsday, so that never afterward
shall their bodies become naught nor wax old; and
though the body had decayed, yet the soul was ever-living
since first it was created.
And all the creatures, about whom we say that they seem
to us inharmonious and unsteadfast, have yet somewhat of
steadiness, because they are bridled with the bridle of God's
commandments. God gave freedom to men's souls, that
they might do either good or evil, whichever they would;
and promised good for a reward to them that do good, and
evil to them that do evil.
With God is prepared the well-spring of every good, and
thence is prepared and granted to us every good of those
which we have; He shieldeth us against every evil. Nothing
is above Him, but all things are under Him, or with Him, or
in
Him. He created man in His own image, and every man
who knoweth himself knoweth that all this is true. To that
God I cry, and say:
Hear me, hear me, O Lord, for Thou art my God and
my Lord, my Father, and my Creator, and my Governor, and
my hope, and my riches, and my honor, and my house, and
my inheritance, and my salvation, and my life. Hear me,
O Lord, hear me, Thy servant. Few understand Thee.
Thee alone I love truly above all other things; Thee I
seek, Thee I follow, Thee I am ready to serve; under Thy
rule I wish to dwell, for Thou alone reignest. I pray Thee
to command me what Thou wilt; but heal and open mine
eyes that I may see Thy wonders, and drive from me folly
and pride, and give me wisdom that I may understand Thee,
and teach me whither I should look to behold Thee; then
shall I, methinks, do gladly that which Thou commandest
me.
I beseech Thee, Thou merciful, benevolent, and beneficent
Lord, to receive me, Thy fugitive; since once I was
formerly Thine, and then fled from Thee to the devil, and
fulfilled his will, enduring much misery in his service. But
if to Thee it seemeth as it doth to me, long enough have I
felt the pains which I have now suffered, and longer have I
served Thy foes than I should those whom Thou hast [under
Thy feet].[4] Long enough have I been in the reproach and
shame which they brought on me; but do Thou receive me
now, Thine own servant, for I am fleeing from them. Behold,
did they not receive me even before I had fled from
Thee to them? Never again restore me to them, now that
I have sought Thee, but open to me Thy door, and teach
me how to come. I have naught to bring Thee but good
will, for I myself have nothing else, nor know I aught
better than to love the heavenly and the spiritual above the
earthly; and this I do, good Father, since I know naught
better than that. But I know not how I shall now come
to Thee except Thou teach me; teach it, then, to me, and
help
me. If it is by faith that they find Thee who do find
Thee, give me that faith. If by any other power they find
Thee who do find Thee, give me that power. If by wisdom
they find Thee who find Thee, then give me wisdom. Augment
in me the hope of eternal life, and increase Thy love
in me.
O, how wonderful is Thy goodness, for it is unlike all
other good things. I desire to come to Thee; and all that I
have need of on the way I desire from Thee, and chiefly
that without which I can not come to Thee. If Thou forsake
me, I perish; yet I know that Thou wilt not forsake
me unless I forsake Thee; nor will I forsake Thee, for
Thou art the highest good. There is none who rightly seeketh
Thee that doth not find Thee. He alone seeketh Thee
aright whom Thou teachest aright to seek Thee, and how
he should seek Thee. O, good Father, free me entirely from
the error in which I have hitherto wandered, and yet wander;
and teach me the way in which no foe can encounter
me before I come to Thee. If I love naught above Thee,
I beseech Thee that I may find Thee; and if I desire any
thing beyond measure and wrongly, deliver me from it.
Make me worthy to behold Thee.
Thou most ancient and most wise Father, I commit to
Thee my body, that Thou mayest keep it whole. Yet I
know not what I ask—whether I am asking a thing useful
or useless to me or to the friends whom I love and who
love me; nor do I know how long Thou wilt keep it whole.
Therefore I commit and commend it to Thee, for Thou
knowest better than I what I need. Wherefore I pray Thee
alway to teach me, while I am in this body and this world,
and help me alway to utter the counsel which is pleasing
to Thee, and which is best and most righteous for me in
this life. But above all other things I earnestly pray Thee
to convert me wholly to Thee, and let nothing overcome
me on this way, to prevent me from coming to Thee; and
cleanse Thou me while I am in this world, and make me
humble. Give me loftiness of soul. Make me reasonable
and
just and prudent and perfect; and, O God, make me
a lover of Thy wisdom and a perceiver of it, and make me
worthy to dwell in Thy blessed kingdom. Amen!
Now I have done as thou didst teach me; now I have
prayed even as thou badest me. Then answered me my
Reason and said:
R. I see that thou hast prayed; but say now what thou
hast merited, or what thou wouldst have.
A. I would understand all, and know what I just now
said.
R. Sum up, then, from all that thou hast just spoken
about, that which seemeth to thee that thou most needest
and most requirest to know; then clothe it in few words,
and tell it to me.
A. I will tell it to thee at once: I would understand God
and know mine own soul.
R. Wouldst thou know any thing more?
A. Many things I fain would know that I know not.
Howbeit there is nothing I wish more to know than this.
R. Then inquire after and seek what thou askest, and
tell me first what thou knowest with most certainty, and
then say to me: 'Sufficiently known will God and my soul
be to me, if they shall be as well known to me as this
thing.'
A. I can name nothing so well known to me as I would
that God were.
R. What, then, can we do, if thou knowest not the
measure? Thou oughtest to know when it seemed to thee
enough, and if thou ever come to that limit, then thou
shouldst go no further, but shouldst seek something else, lest
thou shouldst desire any thing beyond measure.
A. I know what thou wishest; I should illustrate to
thee by some example; but I can not, for I know naught
like unto God, so that I can say to thee: 'I should like to
know God as well as I know this thing.'
R.
I am astonished at thee, why thou sayest that thou
knowest nothing like unto God, and yet dost not know what
He is.
A. If I knew aught like unto Him, I would love that
thing exceedingly. Since I know naught like unto Him, I
love nothing but Him and mine own soul; howbeit, I know
not what either of them is.
R. Thou sayest that thou lovest naught but God and
thy soul; if that is true, lovest thou then no other friend?
A. Why, if I love a soul, do I not love my friend?
Hath not he a soul?
R. If thou lovest thy friend because he hath a soul,
why, then, lovest thou not every thing that hath a soul?
Why dost thou not love mice and fleas?
A. I love them not, because they are carnal animals,
not men.
R. Have not thy friends likewise bodies, even as beasts
have?
A. Yet it is not on this account I love them, but because
they are men, and have reason in their minds—that quality
I love even in slaves. Those that I hate, I hate because
they turn the good of reason into evil, since I am allowed
both to love the good and to hate the evil. Therefore I
love all my friends, some less, some more; and him whom
I love more than another, I love him so much more than
the other as I perceive that he hath a better will than the
other, and the desire to make his reason more serviceable.
R. Thou understandest it well enough, and rightly
enough. But if any one should now say to thee that he
could teach thee how thou mightest know God as well as
thou knowest Alypius thy servant, would that seem enough
to thee, or how much wouldst thou thank him for it?
A. I should thank him, but nevertheless I would not
answer 'enough.'
R. Why?
A. Alypius is better known to me than God, yet even
him I know not so well as I would.
R.
Look to it now that thy desire be not beyond measure,
now that thou comparest them together. Wouldst thou
know God just as thou dost Alypius?
A. Nay; nor do I make them the more alike, albeit I
name them together. But I say that one often knoweth
more about higher than about lowlier things. I know now
about the moon, how it will move to-morrow and other
nights; but, I know not what I shall eat to-morrow, which
is a baser matter.
R. Then wouldst thou know enough about God, if He
should be as well known to thee as the motion of the moon—in
what constellation it now is, or into which it is going
next?
A. Nay; I wish that He were better known to me than
the moon which I see with mine eyes. Yet I do not know
but that God may, for some secret reasons, which we know
not, change it in another wise; then should I be perplexed
in what I now imagine I know about it. But I would have
such knowledge about God, in my reason and in my understanding,
that nothing could disturb me, nor bring me into
any doubt.
R. Dost thou believe, therefore, that I can make thee
wiser about God than thou now art about the moon?
A. Yea; I believe it, but I should prefer to know it, for
we believe all that we know, and we are ignorant of many
things which we believe.
R. Methinks that thou dost not trust the external
senses—eyes, ears, smell, taste, and touch—as a means of
clearly understanding what thou wouldst, unless thou comprehend
it in the mind by the reason.
A. That is true; I trust them not.
R. Wouldst thou know thy servant, whom we were just
now speaking of, with the outer senses, or with the inner?
A. I know him now as well as I can know him with the
external senses; but I should like to know his mind with
my mind; then I should know what was his loyalty
toward me.
R.
Can one know otherwise than with the mind?
A. It doth not seem to me that I can know it as I would.
R. Dost thou, then, not know thy servant?
A. How can I know him, seeing I am not certain that I
know myself? It is said in the law that one shall love his
neighbor even as himself. How then do I know in what
way I should love him, if I do not know whether I love
myself? Nor do I know how he loveth me; yet I know
that it is the same with him in regard to me.
R. If thou with the inner sense wouldst know God, why
pointest thou me to the outer senses, as if thou wouldst see
Him bodily, just as thou formerly saidst thou sawest the
moon? I know not therefore how thou teachest it to me,
nor can I teach it to any one, by the outer senses. But tell
me whether it seemeth enough for thee to know God as
Plato and Plotinus knew him?
A. I dare not say that it would seem to me enough,
because I know not whether it seemed to them enough in
regard to that which they knew. I know not whether it
seemed to them that they needed to know more of Him, but
even so they formerly seemed to me.[5] When I prayed,
methought I did not so fully understand that which I besought
as I would. But I still could not forbear to speak
about it, just as it seemed to me that I needed, and just as
I supposed it was.
R. Methinks now it seemeth to thee that it is one thing
to know, and quite another only to suppose.
A. Yea, so methinks; therefore I would now that thou
tell me what difference there is between these, or what one
certainly knoweth.
R. Knowest thou that thou didst learn the science which
we call geometry? In that science thou learnedst on a
ball, or an apple, or a painted egg, that thou mightest by the
painting understand the motion of the heavens and the
course of the stars. Knowest thou that thou didst learn in
the same science about a line drawn along the middle of
the
ball? Knowest thou what was there taught thee about
the positions of the twelve stars and the path of the sun?
A. Yea; I know well enough what the line signifieth.
R. Now that thou sayest thou doubtest this no whit,
dost thou not fear the Academicians, those philosophers who
said that there was never anything certain beyond a doubt?
A. Nay; I do not fear them much, for they said that
there never was a wise man. Therefore I am not at all
ashamed not to be wise, for I know that as yet I am not
wise; but if I ever become as wise as they, then I will do
as they teach, until I can say that I know without doubt
what I seem to myself to know.
R. I do not object at all to thy doing so. But thou
sayest thou knowest about the line which was painted on
the ball on which thou learnedst the revolution of this
heaven; I would know whether thou also knowest about
the ball on which the line is drawn.
A. Yea; I know both. No man can mistake that.
R. Didst thou learn with the eyes or with the mind?
A. With both: first with the eyes, then with the mind.
The eyes brought me to the understanding; but after I had
perceived it, I left off looking with the eyes, and reflected,
for it seemed to me that I could contemplate much more of
it than I could see, after the eyes had fixed it in my mind.
Just so a ship bringeth one over the sea; when he cometh
ashore, he letteth the ship stand, for it seemeth to him that
he can travel more easily without it than with it. However,
it seemeth easier to me to travel by skiff on dry land
than to learn any science with the eyes, but without the
reason—though the eyes must at times give aid.
R. Therefore thou must needs look rightly with the
eyes of the mind to God, just as the ship's anchor-cable is
stretched direct from the ship to the anchor, and fasten the
eyes of thy mind on God, just as the anchor is fastened in
the earth. Though the ship be out among the sea-billows,
it will remain sound and unbroken if the cable holdeth, since
one end of it is fast to the earth and the other to the ship.
A.
What is that which thou callest the mind's eyes?
R. Reason, in addition to other virtues.
A. What are the other virtues?
R. Wisdom, and humility, and honor, and moderation,
and righteousness, and mercy, and prudence, and constancy,
and benevolence, and chastity, and abstinence. With these
anchors thou art able to fasten to God the cable that shall
hold the ship of thy mind.
A. May the Lord God make me entirely as thou teachest
me [to be]. I would if I could, but I can not understand
how I shall be able to obtain these anchors, or how
I shall fasten them, except thou teach it to me more clearly.
R. I could teach thee, but I ought first to ask thee how
many of this world's lusts thou hast renounced for God.
After thou hast told me that, then I can say to thee without
any doubt that thou hast obtained so many of the
anchors as thou hast renounced the lusts of the world.
A. How can I forsake that which I know and am
familiar with, and have been used to from childhood, and
love that which is unknown to me except by hearsay?
Howbeit, I feel sure that if I knew what thou sayest about
me as certainly as what I here see for myself, I would love
that, and despise this.
R. I wonder why thou speakest so. Suppose now if
a letter with seal from thy lord should come to thee, canst
thou say thou art not able to understand him by that, nor
to recognise his will therein? If thou sayest that thou
canst know his will therein, say then whether it seemeth to
thee better to follow his will, or to follow after the wealth
which he gave thee over and above his friendship.
A. Whether I will or not, I must speak truly, unless I
am prepared to lie. If I lie, God knoweth it. Therefore I
dare speak only the truth, so far as I can know it. Methinks
it is better to forsake the gift, and follow the giver,
who is to me the steward both of the riches and of his
friendship, unless I can have both. I should like, however,
to
have both, if I could follow both the wealth and also his
will.
R. Full rightly hast thou answered me, but I would
ask thee whether thou supposest that thou canst have all
that thou now hast without thy lord's friendship.
A. I do not suppose that any man is so foolish as to
think that.
R. Thou understandest it rightly enough, but I would
know whether thou thinkest that what thou hast is temporal
or eternal.
A. I never supposed it to be eternal.
R. What thinkest thou about God and the anchors which
we spake of—are they like these, or are they eternal?
A. Who is so mad as to dare say that God is not eternal?
R. If He is eternal, why lovest thou not the eternal
Lord more than the temporal? Lo, thou knowest that the
Eternal will not leave thee, except thou go from Him; and
thou must needs depart from the other whether thou will
or no; thou must either leave him, or he thee. Howbeit I
perceive that thou lovest him very much, and also fearest
and dost well; very rightly and very becomingly thou dost.
But I wonder why thou dost not love the Other much more,
Him who giveth thee both the friendship of the worldly
lord and His own, and, after this world, life eternal. The
Lord is the ruler of you both—thine and thy lord's whom
thou so immeasurably lovest.
A. I confess to thee that I would love Him above all
other things, if I could understand and know Him as I
would. But I can understand very little of Him, or nothing
at all, and yet at times, when I think carefully of Him, and
any inspiration cometh to me about the eternal life, then
I by no means prefer this present life to that, nor even love
it so much.
R. Wishest thou now to see Him and clearly understand
Him?
A. I have no wish above that.
R. Keep, then, His commandments.
A.
What commandments?
R. I named them to thee before.
A. Methinks they are very burdensome and very manifold.
R. What one loveth, methinks, is not burdensome.
A. Nor doth any work seem burdensome to me if I can
see and have what I work for. But doubt begetteth heaviness.
R. Thou graspest it well enough in speech, and well
enough thou understandest it. But I can say to thee that
I am the faculty of Reason, which argueth with thee—the
discursive faculty whose province it is to explain to thee in
such wise that thou mayest see God with thy mind's eyes
as clearly as thou now seest the sun with the eyes of the
body.
A. Almighty God reward thee! I am truly grateful for
thy promise to teach it to me so clearly. Although I was
ignorant, yet I emerge from this condition to a clearer vision
of Him, if I come to see Him as I now see the sun. Howbeit
I do not see the sun so clearly as I would like to. I know
very little better what the sun is, though I look on it every
day. Still it seemed good to me that I might thus clearly
see God.
R. Now consider very earnestly what I formerly said to
thee.
A. I will, so much as possible.
R. First know of a truth that the mind is the eye of
the soul; secondly, thou must know that it is needful for
one to see what one looketh at; the fourth is what one
would see. For every one having eyes first looketh at that
which he would see till he hath beheld it. When he hath
beheld it then he truly seeth it. But thou must know that
I who now speak with thee am Reason, and I am to every
human mind what looking is to the eyes. Three things it
behooveth the eyes of every human body to have; the fourth
is what it seeketh and would draw to them. One is that
thou
hast and usest and lovest that which thou formerly
didst hope for.
A. Alas! Shall I ever come to that which I hope for,
or shall that ever come to me which I desire?
R. Add now love as a third besides faith and hope; for
the eyes of no soul are entirely sound—especially to see God
with—if lacking these three. Seeing, then, is knowing.
A. If then there be sound eyes, that is, perfect understanding,
what is then wanting to it, or what is more needful?
R. The soul's vision is Reason and Contemplation. But
many souls look with these, and yet see not what they desire,
because they have not entirely sound eyes. But he who
wisheth to see God must have the eyes of his mind whole;
that is, he must have an abiding faith and a just hope and
a full love. When he hath all these, then hath he life
blessed and eternal. The vision which we shall catch of
God is knowledge. That knowledge is between two
things—between that which understandeth and that which
is understood—and is fastened on both even as love is
between the lover and the one loved. On both it is fastened,
as we said before concerning the anchor-cable that the one
end was fast to the ship, and the other to the land.
A. Then if it ever again happeneth that I can see God
as thou now teachest me that I should behold Him, would
I need all three of the things that thou formerly spakest
about, namely: faith and hope and love?
R. What need then is there of faith, when one seeth
that which he formerly exercised faith toward, and again
knoweth that which he formerly hoped for? But love never
waneth—it abideth greatly increased when the understanding
is fixed on God; nor hath love ever any end. Omni
consummatione uidi finem; latum mandatum tuum nimis:[6]
that is, of everything in the world I shall see the end, but the
end of thy commandments I shall never see. That is the
love about which he prophesied. But, although the soul be
perfect and pure while it is in the body, it can not see God
as
it desireth, because of the sorrow and tribulation of the
body, except with much labor through faith and hope and
love. These are the three anchors which sustain the ship
of the mind in the midst of the dashing of the waves.
Yet the mind hath much comfort because it believeth and
clearly knoweth that the misfortunes and unhappiness of
this world are not eternal. So the ship's master,[7] when the
ship rideth most unsteadily at anchor and the sea is roughest,
then knoweth of a truth that calm weather is coming. Three
things are needful to the eyes of each soul: One is that they
be whole; the second, that they should look at what they
would see; the third, that they may see what they look at.
For the three is God's help necessary, for one can neither do
good nor any thing without His aid. Therefore He is
always to be entreated that He be ever helpful; therefore
also He inspireth us and inciteth us first to be well-wishing,
and afterwards worketh with us that which He willeth till
such time as we perfect it with Him; and especially He
worketh with us as with some powerful tool, just as it is
written[8] that with each well-working person God is a co-worker.
We know that no man can perform any good
unless God work with him; howbeit no man must be so idle
as not to begin something through the strength that God
giveth him.
A. Thou teachest me the right way. Now I know what
I ought to do; but I do not know whether I can or can not.
R. Thou oughtest not to despair because thou canst not
come at once to that which thou desirest for thyself. Can
he who would learn a science ever do so in a short time,
a little more or a little less? Thine is the science of all
sciences, to wit, that one should seek after God and look
toward Him and see Him.
A. Well thou advisest me; but I recall what thou didst
formerly promise me, and very joyfully I abide that promise;
thou
didst promise to teach me how to see God with the
eyes of my mind as clearly as I now see the sun with the
eyes of my body.
R. Well thou remindest me; I will do for thee what I
promised. Call to mind now that thou canst see with thy
body's eyes three things in regard to the sun: One is that
it existeth; another, that it shineth; the third, that it
lighteth up many things with its shining. All the things
which are bright, when the sun shineth on them, shine
against it, each after its own kind. But those things which
are not bright shine not against the sun, although it shineth
on them. But the sun shineth, nevertheless, on them, and
yet he who looketh toward it can not see it wholly just as it
is. All this and more thou canst observe concerning God.
He is the high Sun. He always abideth, lighting up with
His own light both the sun which we see with bodily eyes
and all creatures both spiritual and terrestrial. Therefore he
seemeth to me a very foolish man who wisheth to understand
Him just as He is, while we are yet in this world. Behold!
I suppose that no one is so foolish that he becometh sorrowful
because he can not see and understand, just as it is, the
sun which we look at with corporeal eyes; but every one
rejoiceth that at least he can understand according to the
measure of his understanding. He doth well who desireth
to understand the Eternal and Almighty Sun; but he doth
very foolishly, if he wisheth to know Him perfectly while
he is in this world.
A. Very wonderfully and very truly thou teachest, and
very much thou hast comforted me and brought me into
good hope. But I pray still for what thou aforetime didst
promise me.
R. Two things I promised that I would accomplish and
teach thee, to wit, to understand God and thyself. But I
would know how thou desirest to understand that—whether
thou wouldst believe without experience, or know by
experience.
A. I would know it by experience, for I know nothing
of it surely.
R. That is no wonder. I did not explain it to thee in
such wise that thou couldst know it by experience; for
there is yet something which thou must first know, to wit,
whether we both are whole.
A. Thou must know whether thou findest any health,
either in me, or in thyself, or in us both. It becometh
thee to teach and me to listen; and it becometh me to answer
what I understand according to the measure of my understanding,
if so be I understand it at all; if I do not understand
it at all, then must I admit it and leave it to thy
judgment.
R. Wishest thou to know more than about God and
thyself?
A. I answer thee that I do not wish anything more
earnestly; but I dare not promise thee that I shall not desire
any thing else than that; for it is verily hidden from me,
albeit something cometh into my mind which, methinks,
nothing can hinder me from furthering and performing.
When another thing cometh which seemeth to me more right
and reasonable, then I leave off that which I formerly held
enough; and therefore at times it happeneth that something
is so fixed in my mind, that I think I shall never let it go
so long as I live. Howbeit there cometh to me then some
trouble which occupieth me so that I can never leave it, nor
can I perform it although I can not think of any better
[thing to be done].[9] But three things have troubled me
most: One is, I fear that I must part with my friends whom
I love most, or they with me—either for life or for death;
the second is, I fear sickness, both the known and the
unknown; the third is, I fear death.
R. I hear now what thou lovest most next to thine own
reason and God: They are, the life of thy friends, and thine
own health, and thine own life. Of these five things thou
art afraid that thou shalt lose some, because thou lovest
them
all very much. If thou didst not love them, then thou
hadst not dreaded that thou wouldst lose them.
A. I admit what thou sayest to me.
R. Therefore methinks that I see thee very sad and
greatly cast down in thy mind, because thou hast not such
health as thou hadst; nor hast thou all thy friends with
thee so agreeable and harmonious as thou wouldst. Nor
doth it seem to me any wonder that thou art sad for that
reason.
A. Thou understandest it rightly; I can not gainsay
that.
R. If then it ever happen that thou shalt find thyself
full whole and full strong, and hast all thy friends with thee,
both in mind and in body, and in that same work and in
that same will which pleaseth thee best to do, wilt thou then
be happy at all?
A. Yea, verily; if it should now suddenly happen, I do
not know how on earth I would begin.
R. Hast thou not then still some trouble, such as immoderate
sorrow, either of mind or of body—seeing now thou
hast those two things? Wert thou, therefore, foolish in
heart, when thou didst wish that thou shouldst see with such
eyes the high and everlasting Sun?
A. Now thou hast overcome me withal, so that I by no
means know how much of health I have, nor how much of
sickness.
R. That is no wonder. No man hath such sound eyes
that he can look any length of time toward the sun which
we here see, much less if he have weak eyes. But those
that have weak eyes can be more at ease in the darkness
than in the light. Methinks, though, that it seemeth to thee
that thou hast sound eyes. Thou thinkest of the health of
thy soul's eyes, but thou dost not think of the great light
which thou wishest to see. Be not wroth with me, albeit I
question thee and examine thee, for I needs must do that.
Methinks thou dost not understand thyself.
A.
I am in no wise wroth with thee, but rejoice in what
thou sayest, because I know that thou seekest my good.
R. Wishest thou any wealth?
A. Long ago I resolved that I should despise it. I am
now three and thirty years old, and I was one less than
twenty when I first resolved that I would not love wealth
overmuch. Though enough should come to me, I would
not rejoice very much, nor enjoy it too immoderately, nor
would I gain more to keep than I could fitly make use of,
and keep and support the men on, whom I must help; and
the residue I think as orderly to divide as I best am able
so to do.
R. Wishest thou any honor?
A. I confess to thee that I did wish that till recently
desire failed.
R. Desirest thou not a beautiful wife, and withal modest
and well instructed and of good manners and subject to thy
will, and one who hath much substance and would not
engross thee in any thing, nor hinder thee from enjoying
leisure at thy will?
A. Dost thou not praise her overmuch that I may wish
her all the more? For methinks there is nothing worse for
him that willeth to serve God than to take a wife—though
some one hath said that it is better to take one for the
rearing of children. Howbeit I say that it is better for
priests not to have a wife. Therefore I decided that I would
take none, because I wished to be the freer to serve God.
R. I hear now that thou dost not think to take a wife;
but I would know whether thou still hast any love or lust
after any uncleanness.
A. Why askest thou more about that? I do not now
desire that; but if lust ever cometh to me, I dread it as an
adder. Ever the less is my desire for it, and ever the more
I wish to see the light, even as I lust the less after this
manner.
R. How about food? How much dost thou desire that?
A.
I desire none of those meats which I have renounced;
I desire those which I have thought right to eat, when I see
them. What shall I say more either about meat, or drink,
or baths, or riches, or honor, or any worldly lusts? Nor do
I wish any more of these than I shall need to have for my
bodily comfort and to keep my strength. Howbeit I need
much more for the wants of those men which I must take
care of, and moreover this I needs must have.
R. Thou art right. But I would know whether thy old
covetousness and greediness be entirely extirpated and
uprooted from thy mind, so that it can not still grow.
A. Why askest thou that?
R. I speak of the things which thou before saidst to
me that thou hadst decided to leave off and for nothing
would turn back to again, namely: overmuch wealth, and
immoderate honor, and inordinately rich and luxurious living;
and therefore I now ask whether, either for the love of
them or for the love of any thing, thou wilt return to them
again. I heard formerly that thou saidst that thou lovedst
thy friends, next to God and thine own reason, above other
things. Now I would know whether thou, for their love,
wouldst lay hold of these things again.
A. I will lay hold of all again for their love, if I can not
else have their companionship—yet it doth not please me
so to do.
R. Very reasonably thou dost answer me and very
rightly. Howbeit I understand that the lusts of the world
are not entirely uprooted from thy mind, although the trench
be prepared; for the roots can sprout thence again. Yet I
impute that not to thee as a fault, for thou layest hold of
it not for the love of those things but for the love of this
thing which it is more right to love than that. I never ask
about any man, what he doth; but yet I ask thee now why
thou lovest thy friends so much, or what thou lovest in them,
or whether thou lovest them for their own sake or for some
other thing.
A.
I love them for friendship and for companionship,
and above all others I love those who most help me to
understand and to know reason and wisdom, most of all
about God and about our souls; for I know that I can more
easily seek after Him with their help than I can without.
R. How then if they do not wish to inquire after the One
whom thou seekest?
A. I shall teach them so that they will.
R. But how then if thou canst not, and if they be so
foolish as to love other things more than that which thou
lovest, and say that they can not or will not?
A. I, nevertheless, will have them: they will be helpful
to me in some things and I likewise to them.
R. But how then if they disturb thee, and if the infirmities
of the body hinder thee?
A. That is true; howbeit I would not fear at all the
infirmities, if it were not for three things: One of these is
heavy sorrow; another is death; the third is that I can not
seek nor truly find what I desire just as thou madest me
know. Toothache hindered me from all learning, but yet
it did not altogether snatch from me the remembrance of that
which I formerly learned. Howbeit I suppose, if I should
understand certainly that which I yearn to understand, sorrow
would seem to me very little, or else naught, compared
with faith. Yet I know many a pain is much sharper than
toothache, albeit I never suffered any sharper. I learned
that Cornelius Celsus taught in his books that in every man
wisdom is the highest good and sickness the greatest evil.
The saying appeareth to me very true. Concerning the
same thing the same Cornelius saith: 'Of two things we
are what we are, to wit, of soul and of body. The soul is
spiritual, and the body earthy. The best faculty of the soul
is wisdom, and the worst affliction of the body is sickness.'
Methinks moreover that this is not false.
R. Have we not now shown clearly enough that wisdom
is the highest good? Is it not also beyond a doubt that it
is to every man the best of all the virtues? And is it not
his
best work to search after wisdom, and love it whenever he
findeth it? But I would that we two might now search out
who the lovers of this wisdom should be. Dost thou not
know that every man who loveth another very much liketh
better to caress and kiss the other on the bare body than
where the clothes come between? Now I understand that
thou lovest wisdom very much, and wishest so much to know
and feel it naked that thou wouldst not that any cloth
were between; but it will seldom so openly reveal itself to
any man. At those times when it will show any limb thus
bare, it doth so to very few men; but I know not how thou
canst receive it with gloved hands. Thou must also place
the bare body against it, if thou wilt feel it. But tell me
now, if thou lovedst a certain beautiful woman very immoderately
and above all other things, and if she fled from
thee and would reciprocate thy love on no other condition
than that thou wouldst renounce every other love for hers
alone, wouldst thou then do as she wished?
A. Alas! what a hard thing thou dost enjoin upon me!
Didst thou not formerly admit that I loved nothing above
wisdom, and moreover I too admitted it, albeit thou saidst
then that whoever loveth one thing for the sake of another,
he doth not of a truth love that former thing for which
he professeth love, but really that for which he loved the
former thing and thought to obtain it. Therefore I assert
that I love wisdom for no other thing than for its own sake.
I love all the world—each thing as I consider it profitable,
and especially that thing most which helpeth me to wisdom;
and moreover those things which I fear most to lose. Howbeit
I do not love any thing else in such wise as I love wisdom.
Every thing which I love most I grant, while I love it
most, to no man but to myself, except wisdom alone. It I
love above all other things, and yet of my free will I would
grant it to every man, so that all who are on this earth
might love it and search after it, yea, find it, and then
use it; for I know that each of us would love the other by
so much more as our will and our love were more in unison.
R.
Said I not formerly that he who would feel the bare
body must feel it with bare hands? And I say also, if thou
wilt behold wisdom itself thus bare, that thou must not allow
any cloth between thine eyes and it, nor even any mist; albeit
to that thou canst not come in this present life, though I
enjoin it upon thee, and though thou wish it. Wherefore
no man ought to despair, though he have not so sound eyes
as he who can look the sharpest; even he who can look the
sharpest of all can not himself see the sun just as it is while
he is in this present life. Yet no man hath such weak eyes
that he can not live by the sun and use it, if he can see at
all, unless he be purblind. Moreover, I can teach unto thee
other parables about wisdom. Consider now whether any
man seeketh there the king's home where he is in town, or
his court, or his army, or whether it seemeth to thee that
they all must come thither by the same road; on the contrary,
I suppose they would come by very many roads: some
would come from afar, and would have a road very long and
very bad and very difficult; some would have a very long
and very direct and very good road; some would have a
very short and yet hard and strait and foul one; some would
have a short and smooth and good one; and yet they all
would come to one and the same lord, some more easily,
some with more difficulty; neither do they come thither with
like ease, nor are they there alike at ease. Some are in more
honor and in more ease than others; some in less, some
almost without, except the one that he loveth. So is it
likewise with wisdom. Each one who wisheth it and who
anxiously prayeth for it, he can come to it and abide in its
household and live near it; yet some are nearer it, others
farther from it; just so is every king's court: some dwell
in cottages, some in halls, some on the threshing-floor, some
in prison; and yet they all live by the favor of one lord,
just as all men live under one sun, and by its light see what
they see. Some look very carefully and very clearly; some
see with great difficulty; others are stark blind, yet use
the sun. But just as the visible sun lighteth the eyes of our
body,
so wisdom lighteth the eyes of our mind, which is our
understanding. And just as the eyes of the body are more
sound, thus to use more of the sun's light, so is it also with
the mind's eyes, that is, the understanding: just by so much
as that is sounder, by so much more may it see the eternal
sun, which is wisdom. Every man that hath sound eyes
needeth no other guide nor teacher to see the sun, except
health. If he hath sound eyes, he may himself look at the
sun. On the contrary, if he hath unsound eyes, then he
needeth that one teach him to look first on the wall, then
on gold, and on silver; when he can more easily look on
that, [then let him look][10] on fire, before he looketh at the sun.
Then after he hath learned that his eyes do not at all avoid
the fire, let him look on the stars and on the moon, then on
sunshine, before he looketh on the sun itself. And just so
with the other sun that we formerly spake of, that is, wisdom.
He who wisheth to see it with his mind's eyes must
begin very gradually, and then little by little mount nearer
and nearer by steps, just as if he were climbing on a ladder
and wished to ascend some sea-cliff. If he then ever
cometh up on the cliff, he may look both over the shore and
over the sea, which then lieth beneath him, and also over
the land that formerly was above him. But if it seemeth
good to us, let us stop here for this day, and to-morrow seek
further after the same thing which we before sought after.
A. Nay, not at all; but I humbly pray thee that thou
weary not, nor leave off the conversation here; but say
somewhat more clearly about it so that I may more clearly
feel and understand something concerning this wisdom,
and bid me what thou wilt. I will understand it, if it lies in
my power.
R. I know not anything to command thee of which thou
hast more need for the science which thou wishest to know,
than that thou despise, so much as thou art able, worldly
honors, and especially intemperate and unlawful ones, because
I fear that they may bind thy mind to themselves and
take
it with their snare, just as one catcheth wild beasts or
fowls, so that thou canst not accomplish what thou wishest;
for I know that the freer thou art from the things of this
world, the more clearly thou shalt understand about the wisdom
which thou desirest; and if it ever happen that thou
canst so entirely forsake them that thou desirest naught
of them, then shall I be able to say to thee forsooth (believe
me if thou wilt), that in that very hour thou shalt know all
that thou wishest now to know, and shalt have all that thou
wishest to have.
A. When shall that be? I do not believe that it will
ever be that I shall not yearn at all after this world's honors,
unless one thing happen, namely: that I see those honors
which thou promisest me. Howbeit I know not that it
would please me so well to yearn no more after this world's
honors.
R. Now methinks thou dost not answer me with reason.
Methinks that thou speakest very much as if thine eyes
should say to thy mind: 'We will never avoid the darkness
of the night until we can see the sun itself.' Thus, methinks,
the eyes do, if they avoid that part of the sun's light which
they can see. It can not happen even to the soundest of all
eyes that they can look from this world and see the sun as
it is. By this thou mayest conclude that thou oughtest not
to sigh though thou canst not see wisdom naked with the
eyes of thy mind just as it is; for thou canst never do that
while thou art in the darkness of thy sins. But enjoy the
wisdom which thou hast, and have joy in the part which
thou canst understand, and seek more with thy whole heart.
Wisdom itself knoweth what thou art worthy of, and how
much it may show itself to thee. There is naught worse in
a man than to suppose that he is worthy of what he is not.
The physician knoweth better than the sick whether he can
be healed or not, or whether he can be healed by mild or by
severe treatment. Therefore thou must not excuse thyself
too much, nor sigh too much after aught. The eyes of thy
mind are not so wholly sound as thou dost suppose.
A.
Cease, O cease! Do not vex me, nor increase my
sorrow. Enough have I, though thou increase it not.
Thou seekest it at times so high, at times so deep, that
I understand now that I am not such as I supposed, but I
am ashamed that I supposed that which was not. Truly
enough thou hast said. The Physician whom I wish to heal
me knoweth how sound my eyes are. He knoweth what He
wisheth to show me. To Him I commit myself, and to His
goodness I entrust myself. May He do unto me according
to His will! On Him I call, that He may make fast my soul
to Him. I will never again say that I have sound eyes until
I see wisdom itself.
R. I know no better advice for thee than thou formerly
saidst. But leave off woe and sorrow, and be measurably
happy. Thou wert formerly too immoderately sorrowful,
for sorrow injureth both mind and body.
A. Thou wouldst restrain my weeping and my sorrow,
and still I perceive no limit to my misery and misfortunes.
Thou bidst me leave off sorrow lest I, either in mind
or in body, be weaker; yet I find no strength, either in
mind or body, but am full nigh in despair. But I beseech
thee, if thou in any wise canst, to lead me by some shorter
way, somewhat nearer the light of the understanding which
I long ago desired and yet could not come by in my ignorance;
notwithstanding that I may afterwards be ashamed to
look again toward the darkness which I formerly desired to
forsake, if ever I draw nigh to the light.
R. Let us now end this book here properly, and name a
shorter way in another book, if we can.
A. Nay, nay; let us not leave this book yet until I am
able to understand that which we are after.
R. Methinks I ought to do as thou bidst me. Something
draweth me on, I know not what, but I surmise it is
the God thou seekest after.
A. Thanks be to Him that adviseth thee, and to thee
also, if thou praise Him. Lead whither thou wilt: I will
follow after thee if I can.
R.
Methinks thou desirest still to know that same thing
about God and thy soul which thou didst formerly desire.
A. Yea, that alone I desire.
R. Wishest thou aught more? Wishest thou not to
know truth?
A. How can I, without truth, know aught of truth, or
what wilt thou say, without truth, that God is? For we
hear it read in the Gospel that Christ said that He is the
way, the truth, and the life.
R. Rightly thou sayest; but I would know whether it
seemeth to thee that the true and truth are one [and the
same thing].
A. Two things, methinks, they are, just as wisdom is
one thing, and that which is wise is another; and likewise
chastity is one thing, and that which is chaste is another.
R. Which, then, doth seem to thee better, the true or
truth?
A. Truth; for all that is true is so because of truth;
and every thing that is chaste is so because of chastity; and
he who is wise is so because of wisdom.
R. Thanks be to God that thou understandest it so well.
Howbeit I would know whether thou suppose, if a wise man
were dead, wisdom would be dead. Or again, if a chaste
man were dead, chastity would be dead. Or if a truthful
man were dead, would truth then be dead.
A. Nay, nay, verily; that can not come to pass.
R. Well dost thou understand it. But I would know
whether thou suppose that wisdom is gone, or chastity, or
truth, when the man passeth away; or whence they formerly
came, or where they are, if they exist? Or whether they be
corporeal, or spiritual? For no man doubteth that every
thing that is existeth somewhere.
A. Very searching is thy question, and pleasant for him
to know who can know it. What is wanting to him who
knoweth that?
R.
Canst thou recognize the righteous and the unrighteous?
A.
Yea, to some extent; not, however, as I would. But
I would like to know what thou formerly didst ask.
R. I wonder why thou hast so completely forgotten what
thou only a little before didst admit that thou knewest.
Didst thou not say before that thou knewest truth to be
eternal, although the true man passed away? And now
thou sayest, 'If it existeth.'
A. That same thing I say still. I know that it abideth,
although the true man passeth away.
R. All that is true abideth while it doth exist; but that
which thou callest truth is God. He ever was, and ever will
be, immortal and eternal. God hath all knowledge in Himself
sound and perfect. He hath made two eternal things,
to wit, angels and men's souls, to which He gave some
portion of eternal gifts, such as wisdom and righteousness,
and many others which it seemeth to us too numerous to
count. To angels He giveth according to their capacity,
and to the souls of men He giveth gifts according to
the capacity of each. These same they need never lose, for
they are everlasting, and to men He giveth many and divers
good gifts in this world, although they be not eternal.
Howbeit they are serviceable while we are in this world.
Dost thou yet understand that souls are immortal? If thou
hast understood it, do not conceal it from me, but confess
it. If it is otherwise, tell me then.
A. Thanks be to God for the part I know. I will now
consider this and hold it as I best can, and if I have doubts
about any thing, I will promptly tell them to thee.
R. Believe firmly in God, and commit thyself wholly to
God, and seek not too much the fulfilling of thine own will
above His; but be His servant, not thine own; and confess
that thou art His servant. Then He will raise thee ever
nearer and nearer to himself, and will not let any adversity
befall thee. Howbeit if He permit any adversity to befall
thee, it will be for thy good, although thou canst not understand
it.
A.
That I both hear and believe, and this instruction I
will follow as I best can, and will pray God that I may
fulfil it as thou long ago didst instruct me; do thou now
teach me, if thou wilt.
R. Do this for me first, and tell me again, after thou hast
studied this, what thou likest of this; and if thou doubtest
aught about any of these things, then tell it to me.
Here endeth the anthology of the first book.
