Book Summary
Confessions by Augustine of Hippo, written around 397–400 AD, is one of the most influential works in Western literature and Christian theology. Often regarded as the first autobiography, this profound text chronicles Augustine’s spiritual journey from a life of sin and intellectual curiosity to his eventual conversion to Christianity. Through introspective narrative, philosophical reflection, and heartfelt prayer, Augustine explores themes of human restlessness, divine grace, the nature of time, and the pursuit of truth. The work is both a personal confession to God and a universal meditation on the human condition, making it a timeless masterpiece that resonates with readers across centuries.
Structure and Overview
Confessions is divided into 13 books, with the first nine focusing on Augustine’s life from childhood to his conversion and the final four delving into philosophical and theological reflections. Written in a conversational style addressed directly to God, the text blends autobiography, theology, and philosophy, offering an intimate look at Augustine’s inner struggles and spiritual growth.
Books 1–9: Augustine’s Life and Conversion
Augustine begins with his infancy in Thagaste (modern-day Algeria), born in 354 AD to a Christian mother, Monica, and a pagan father, Patricius. He reflects on the innate sinfulness of humanity, even in childhood, recounting his early mischievousness, such as stealing pears for the thrill of it—an act he later analyzes as a symbol of human pride and disobedience.
As a young man, Augustine pursues a life of intellectual ambition and worldly pleasure. He studies rhetoric in Carthage, where he falls into what he describes as a “whirlpool of debauchery,” including a long-term relationship with a woman who bears him a son, Adeodatus. During this period, he becomes enamored with Manichaeism, a dualistic religion that promises rational answers to questions of good and evil. However, Augustine grows disillusioned with its simplistic teachings and turns to skepticism, questioning the possibility of absolute truth.
His intellectual journey leads him to Milan, where he encounters the influential Bishop Ambrose. Ambrose’s eloquent preaching and allegorical interpretations of scripture challenge Augustine’s preconceptions about Christianity, which he had previously dismissed as intellectually inferior. Meanwhile, Monica’s persistent prayers and Augustine’s own restlessness drive him toward a deeper search for meaning. In a pivotal moment in a Milanese garden, Augustine, tormented by his inner conflict, hears a child’s voice chanting, “Take up and read.” Interpreting this as divine guidance, he opens the Bible to Romans 13:13–14, which calls for abandoning sinful desires. This experience triggers his conversion to Christianity in 386 AD, followed by his baptism in 387 AD.
Books 10–13: Theological and Philosophical Reflections
The latter books shift from autobiography to contemplation, exploring the nature of memory, time, and creation. In Book 10, Augustine examines the human mind, marveling at its capacity to store memories and seek God. He grapples with ongoing temptations, emphasizing that conversion is not a singular event but a lifelong process of aligning one’s will with God’s.
Book 11 tackles the concept of time, famously asking, “What then is time? If no one asks me, I know; if I wish to explain it, I know not.” Augustine argues that time is a subjective experience rooted in the human consciousness, distinct from God’s eternal present. This discussion lays the groundwork for later philosophical inquiries into temporality.
Books 12 and 13 offer an allegorical interpretation of Genesis, exploring the creation narrative as a metaphor for spiritual renewal and the church. Augustine emphasizes God’s transcendence and the role of divine grace in human salvation, themes central to his theology.
Key Themes
- Human Restlessness and the Search for God: Augustine’s famous declaration, “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in you,” encapsulates the work’s core message. His journey reflects the universal human longing for purpose and fulfillment, which he ultimately finds in God.
- Sin and Grace: Augustine’s reflections on his sinful past—ranging from petty theft to lust and intellectual pride—highlight the pervasiveness of human weakness. He attributes his redemption not to personal effort but to God’s unmerited grace, a cornerstone of his theological legacy.
- The Role of Memory: Memory is a recurring motif, serving as both a tool for self-examination and a bridge to God. Augustine’s introspective method anticipates modern psychology, as he probes his motivations and experiences to understand his relationship with the divine.
- Time and Eternity: Augustine’s philosophical musings on time distinguish between human perceptions of past, present, and future and God’s eternal nature. This exploration remains a significant contribution to metaphysics.
- Intellectual and Spiritual Transformation: Augustine’s shift from Manichaeism to skepticism to Neoplatonism and finally to Christianity illustrates the interplay between reason and faith. He argues that intellectual inquiry, when guided by divine truth, leads to spiritual awakening.
Historical and Cultural Significance
This book is a landmark text for several reasons. As an autobiography, it pioneered a genre that prioritizes personal introspection over external achievements. Its candid exploration of sin, doubt, and redemption set a precedent for later spiritual memoirs. Theologically, it shaped Christian thought, particularly Augustine’s doctrines of original sin and divine grace, which influenced medieval scholasticism and the Protestant Reformation.
The work also bridges classical and Christian traditions. Augustine draws on Neoplatonism, particularly the writings of Plotinus, to articulate Christian concepts, demonstrating that faith and reason can coexist. His rhetorical skill, honed as a teacher of rhetoric, makes the text both intellectually rigorous and emotionally compelling.
Why Read Confessions Today?
Confessions remains relevant for its universal themes and profound insights into the human experience. Readers of all backgrounds can relate to Augustine’s struggles with identity, purpose, and morality. His emphasis on introspection encourages self-awareness, while his theological reflections invite contemplation of life’s deeper questions. The text’s lyrical prose, rich with metaphor and emotion, continues to captivate literary enthusiasts.
For those interested in history, philosophy, or theology, Confessions offers a window into the late Roman world, the rise of Christianity, and the intellectual currents of the time.
Confessions by Augustine
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Book 1
You are great, O Lord, and greatly to be praised; Your power is great, and Your wisdom is infinite. People want to praise You; humans, just a small part of Your creation; humans, who carry their mortality, the evidence of their sin, the proof that You oppose the proud: yet people want to praise You; they, just a small part of Your creation. You awaken us to enjoy praising You; for You made us for Yourself, and our hearts are restless until they rest in You. Help me, Lord, to know and understand what comes first, to call on You or to praise You? And also, to know You or to call on You? For who can call on You without knowing You? Because someone who doesn't know You might call on You as someone else. Or, is it that we call on You so we can know You? But how can they call on Him in whom they haven't believed? Or how can they believe without a preacher? And those who seek the Lord will praise Him: for those who seek will find Him, and those who find will praise Him (Rom. 10:14). I will seek You, Lord, by calling on You; and will call on You, believing in You; for You have been preached to us. My faith, Lord, will call on You, which You have given me, with which You have inspired me, through the Incarnation of Your Son, through the ministry of the Preacher.
And how can I call on my God, my God and Lord, since when I call for Him, I'm asking Him to come to me? Is there any space within me where my God can come? How can God, who made heaven and earth, come into me? Is there anything in me that can hold You, Lord my God? Do heaven and earth, which You made and where You made me, contain You? Or, because nothing could exist without You, does everything that exists contain You? Since I exist too, why do I ask You to come into me, when I wouldn't exist if You weren't already in me? Why? Because I haven't gone down to hell, and yet You are there too. "If I go down to hell, You are there" (Ps. 139:8). I couldn't exist at all, my God, if You weren't in me; or rather, unless I were in You, from whom all things come, by whom all things exist, in whom all things are. Yes, Lord, that's true. Where do I call You from, since I am in You? Or how can You come into me? Where can I go beyond heaven and earth for my God to come into me, who has said, "I fill the heaven and the earth" (Jer. 23:24)?
Do heaven and earth hold You, since You fill them? Or do You fill them and still overflow, since they can't contain You? And where do You pour the rest of Yourself when heaven and earth are full? Or do You not need anything to hold You, since You hold everything, and what You fill, You fill by holding it? The things You fill don't support You, because even if they were broken, You wouldn't be spilled out. And when You pour Yourself on us, You aren't brought down, but You lift us up; You aren't scattered, but You gather us. But You who fill everything, do You fill them with Your whole self? Or, since nothing can fully contain You, do they hold part of You? And do they all hold the same part at once, or does each hold its own part, with bigger things holding more and smaller things holding less? Is one part of You bigger and another smaller? Or are You completely everywhere, while nothing can fully contain You?
What are You then, my God? What, but the Lord God? For who is Lord but the Lord? Or who is God except our God? Most high, most good, most powerful, most all-powerful; most merciful, yet most just; most hidden, yet most present; most beautiful, yet most strong; stable, yet beyond understanding; unchanging, yet changing everything; never new, never old; always renewing, and bringing age upon the proud, and they don't know it; always working, always at rest; always gathering, yet lacking nothing; supporting, filling, and covering everything; creating, nourishing, and maturing; seeking, yet having everything. You love without passion; are jealous without worry; change Your mind, yet do not grieve; are angry, yet calm; change Your works, but Your purpose remains unchanged; take back what You find, yet never lost it; never in need, yet happy with gains; never greedy, yet demanding interest. You receive more so that You may owe; and who has anything that is not Yours? You pay debts, owing nothing; forgive debts, losing nothing. And what have I now said, my God, my life, my holy joy? Or what does anyone say when they speak of You? Yet woe to those who do not speak, since even the most eloquent are silent.
Oh! I wish I could rest in You! Oh! I wish You would come into my heart and fill it with joy, so I can forget my troubles and hold onto You, my only true good! What are You to me? In Your kindness, teach me to express it. Or what am I to You that You ask for my love, and if I don't give it, You are angry with me and warn me of serious troubles? Is it really a small thing not to love You? Oh! For the sake of Your mercy, tell me, O Lord my God, what You are to me. Say to my soul, "I am your salvation" (Ps. 35:3). Speak so that I can hear. Look, Lord, my heart is open to You; open its ears and say to my soul, "I am your salvation". After hearing this, let me hurry to hold onto You. Don't hide Your face from me. Let me die—unless I see Your face, then let me live.
My soul is small and cramped; make it bigger so You can come in. It's falling apart; please fix it. There's stuff inside that must offend You; I admit it and know it. But who can clean it? Who else can I call out to but You? Lord, clean me from my hidden faults and protect me from the enemy's power. I believe, so I speak. Lord, You know. Haven't I confessed my sins to You, and You, my God, have forgiven the wrongs in my heart? I don't argue with You, who are the truth; I'm afraid of fooling myself, worried my sin might deceive itself. So, I don't argue with You; because if You, Lord, kept track of sins, who could stand before You? (Ps. 19:12-13, Ps. 32:5, Ps. 130:3)
Let me speak to Your mercy, me, just dust and ashes. Let me speak, since I'm talking to Your mercy, not to someone who mocks me. Maybe You look down on me too, but You will come back and show me compassion. What can I say, Lord my God, except that I don't know where I came from into this life that is dying—or should I call it a living death? Then right away, Your comforting compassion took care of me, as I heard (since I don't remember it) from my parents, from whose bodies You once formed me. I was comforted by a mother's milk. Neither my mother nor my nurses stored their own milk for me; but You provided the food for my infancy through them, according to Your plan, where You distribute Your riches through the hidden sources of everything. You also made me want no more than You gave; and my nurses willingly gave me what You provided them. They, with a love taught by heaven, willingly gave me what they had plenty of from You. This good from them was good for them too. It wasn't really from them, but through them; because from You, O God, come all good things, and from my God comes all my health. I learned this later, as You, through these gifts, inside me and outside, showed Yourself to me. Back then, I only knew how to suck; to rest in what felt good, and cry at what bothered my body; nothing more.
Later on, I started to smile, first while sleeping and then when awake. This is what I was told about myself, and I believed it because we see the same in other babies, even though I don't remember it myself. Gradually, I became aware of where I was and wanted to express my desires to those who could fulfill them, but I couldn't. My desires were inside me, and they were outside; they couldn't understand my spirit through their senses. So I moved my limbs and made sounds randomly, using the few signs I could, which were only a little like what I actually wanted. When I wasn't immediately obeyed (because my desires were either harmful or unclear), I got upset with the adults for not giving in to me, and with those who didn't owe me anything for not serving me. I took revenge on them by crying. I've learned this about babies by watching them, and they, without knowing it, have shown me more about what I was like than my caregivers who knew me.
And look! My infancy is long gone, and I am still alive. But You, Lord, live forever, and nothing in You dies. Before the world was created, and before anything that can be called "before," You are there, and You are God and Lord of everything You have made. In You, the first causes of all things that don't last are fixed forever; and the sources of all changing things remain unchanging in You. In You live the eternal reasons for all things that are temporary and without reason. Tell me, Lord, as I humbly ask You; speak to me with compassion, for I am in need of Your mercy. Did my infancy come after another age of mine that ended before it? Was it the time I spent in my mother's womb? I've heard a bit about that and have seen pregnant women myself. And what about before that life, O God my joy, was I anywhere or anything? I have no one to tell me this—not my father, not my mother, not the experiences of others, nor my own memory. Are You teasing me for asking this and telling me to praise You and acknowledge You for what I do know?
I acknowledge You, Lord of heaven and earth, and thank You for my earliest beginnings and my infancy, which I don't remember. You have arranged it so that people can learn about themselves from others and trust in the care of nurturing women. Even then, I existed and lived, and by the end of my infancy, I could look for ways to express my feelings to others. Where could such a being come from, except from You, Lord? Can anyone create themselves? Or can there be any source that gives us essence and life, other than You, O Lord, in whom essence and life are the same? For You are the ultimate Essence and Life. You are the highest and never change; in You, today never ends, yet it does end because all things are within You. They couldn't pass away unless You supported them. Since Your years never end, Your years are one eternal "today." How many of our years and our ancestors' years have passed through Your "today," receiving their form and existence from it; and more will pass and receive their form. But You remain the same, and everything of tomorrow, everything beyond, everything of yesterday, and everything before that, You have done today. What does it matter to me if someone doesn't understand this? Let them also rejoice and say, "What is this?" Let them be happy even in their confusion, and be more satisfied to find You by not fully understanding than to not find You by understanding everything.
Listen, O God. Oh, the sin of humanity! That's what people say, and You feel sorry for them because You created them, but You didn't create the sin in them. Who reminds me of the sins of my infancy? In Your eyes, no one is free from sin, not even a baby who has only lived a day on earth. Who reminds me? Isn't it every little baby, in whom I see what I can't remember about myself? What was my sin then? Was it that I cried while nursing? If I did that now for food suitable for my age, I would rightly be laughed at and corrected. What I did then deserved correction, but since I couldn't understand correction, custom and reason stopped me from being corrected. We get rid of those habits as we grow up. No one knowingly throws away what is good, even when pruning. Or was it good, even for a short time, to cry for something that, if given, would harm me? To be upset that people who are free, older, and even the ones who gave me life, didn't serve me? That many others, wiser than me, didn't follow my every wish? To try to hit and hurt because my demands weren't met, which would have harmed me if they were? The innocence of a baby is due to its weak limbs, not its will. I've seen and known even a baby being envious; it couldn't speak, yet it turned pale and looked angrily at its foster brother. Who doesn't know this? Mothers and nurses tell you they calm these things with some remedies. Is that innocence too, when there's plenty of milk, but the baby won't share it with another who desperately needs it and whose life depends on it? We tolerate all this, not because they are no or small evils, but because they will disappear as the child grows; for, although tolerated now, the same behaviors are completely unacceptable in older years.
You, Lord my God, who gave life to my infancy, providing my body with senses, shaping my limbs, and making everything work together for my well-being and safety, you command me to praise you for these things, to confess to you, and to sing to your name, the Most High. For you are God, Almighty and Good, even if you had done nothing but this, which only you could do: your unity is the model for everything; you make all things beautiful from your own beauty; and you organize everything by your law. This time of my life, Lord, which I don't remember and only know from what others say and from observing other infants, even if my guess is true, I am reluctant to count as part of my life in this world. It is as hidden from me as the time I spent in my mother's womb, lost in the shadows of forgetfulness. But if I was shaped in iniquity and my mother conceived me in sin (Ps. 51:5), where, I ask you, O my God, where, Lord, or when, was I your servant without guilt? But look, I move past that time; and what do I have to do with it now, since I can recall nothing of it?
As I moved from being a baby to a child, or rather as childhood came to me, it replaced infancy. Infancy didn't really go anywhere—where could it go?—but it was gone. I wasn't a speechless baby anymore; I was a talking child. I remember this and have since noticed how I learned to speak. My elders didn't teach me words in a structured way like they did with other things later on. Instead, I wanted to express my thoughts through cries, broken sounds, and different movements of my body so I could get what I wanted. Even though I couldn't express everything I wanted or to whom I wanted, I practiced the sounds in my memory with the understanding that You, my God, gave me. When they named something and turned towards it as they spoke, I saw and remembered that they called the thing they pointed to by the name they said. It was clear they meant this thing and not something else from their body language—the natural language of all people—shown through facial expressions, eye movements, gestures, and voice tones, which indicate the feelings of the mind as it seeks, holds, rejects, or avoids something. By constantly hearing words in different sentences, I gradually figured out what they meant. Once I got used to these signs, I used them to express my will. I exchanged these common signs of our wills with those around me, diving deeper into the busy interactions of human life, still relying on parental authority and the guidance of elders.
O God, my God, what troubles and mockeries I went through when I was told to obey my teachers, as was expected of a boy, so that I could succeed in this world and become skilled in language, which would lead to the "praise of men" and false riches. Then I was sent to school to learn things, but I didn't understand their purpose; and if I didn't study, I was punished. This was considered right by those before us, and many who went through the same process created difficult paths for us to follow, adding more work and sorrow to the children of Adam. But, Lord, we found that people called on You, and we learned from them to think of You as someone great, who, though hidden from our senses, could hear and help us. So, as a boy, I began to pray to You, my help and refuge; and I struggled to speak to call on You, praying earnestly, even as a small child, that I wouldn't be punished at school. And when You didn't answer me (not leaving me to foolishness), my elders, even my own parents, who meant no harm, laughed at my beatings, which were a great and painful trouble to me then.
Is there, Lord, any soul so great and so deeply connected to You with such intense love that they can think lightly of torture and pain, which people everywhere fear and call on You to avoid? Is there anyone who, from being devoted to You, has such a strong spirit that they laugh at those who fear these things the most, just as our parents laughed at the punishments we faced in school from our teachers? We didn't fear our punishments any less, nor did we pray to You any less to escape them. Yet we sinned by writing, reading, or studying less than what was expected of us. It wasn't because we lacked memory or ability, which You gave us enough of for our age, but because our only joy was playing; and for this, we were punished by those who were doing the same thing themselves. But adults' laziness is called "work," while the same behavior in children is punished by those adults; and no one feels sorry for either children or adults. Would anyone with good sense approve of me being beaten as a child because, by playing ball, I made less progress in studies that I was supposed to learn, only so that, as an adult, I might play more inappropriately? And what else did the person who beat me do? If he lost in some trivial argument with his fellow teacher, he was more upset and jealous than I was when beaten at ball by a playmate.
And yet, I sinned here, Lord God, the Creator and Organizer of everything in nature, and the one who allows sin, Lord my God, I sinned by breaking the rules of my parents and teachers. Whatever they wanted me to learn, no matter their reasons, I could have used it for good later. But I disobeyed, not because I made a better choice, but because I loved playing, enjoyed winning, and liked hearing made-up stories that made me want to hear more. My curiosity grew as I watched the shows and games of adults. The people who put on these shows are so respected that almost everyone wants the same for their children, yet they are okay with punishing them if these games distract them from their studies, which are meant to help them become the ones who put on the shows. Look with pity, Lord, on these things, and save us who call on You now; save those too who don't call on You yet, so they may call on You, and You can save them.
As a boy, I had already heard about eternal life, promised to us through the humility of our Lord God, who lowered Himself to meet our pride. Even from my mother's womb, who had great hope in You, I was marked with the sign of His cross and preserved with His salt. You saw, Lord, how when I was still a boy, I was suddenly struck with a stomach illness and was close to death—You saw, my God (for You were watching over me), how eagerly and faithfully I sought, through the caring devotion of my mother and Your Church, the baptism of Your Christ, my God and Lord. My mother, deeply concerned (because with a pure heart in Your faith, she was even more devoted to my salvation), would have quickly arranged for my consecration and cleansing through the life-giving sacraments, confessing You, Lord Jesus, for the forgiveness of sins, if I hadn't suddenly recovered. So, as if I might become impure again if I lived, my cleansing was postponed, because the sins after that washing would bring greater and more dangerous guilt. I already believed then: and so did my mother and the whole household, except my father. Yet he did not overcome the influence of my mother's faith in me, so that because he did not yet believe, neither should I. It was her sincere wish that You, my God, rather than he, should be my father; and in this, You helped her to prevail over her husband, whom she obeyed better by also obeying You, who commanded this.
I ask You, my God, I really want to know, if it's Your will, why was my baptism delayed back then? Was it for my benefit that I was given freedom to sin? Or was I not given that freedom? If not, why do we still hear people saying, "Let him be, let him do what he wants, because he is not yet baptized?" But when it comes to physical health, no one says, "Let him be more injured, because he is not yet healed." How much better it would have been if I had been healed right away; and then, with the help of my friends and myself, my soul's restored health could have been kept safe in Your care, who gave it. It would have been better, truly. But how many and great temptations seemed to threaten me after my childhood! My mother saw these coming and chose to expose the raw material that I might be shaped from later, rather than the finished product, once made.
When I was a boy, which was less scary for me than being a teenager, I didn't like studying and hated being forced to do it. But I was made to study, and that was good for me, even though I didn't do well. If I hadn't been forced, I wouldn't have learned. However, no one does well when they're doing something against their will, even if what they're doing is good. The people who forced me didn't do well either, but the good that came to me was from You, my God. They didn't care how I would use what they made me learn, except to satisfy the endless desires of a wealthy beggar and a shameful pride. But You, who knows even the number of hairs on our heads (Matt. 10:30), used their mistakes for my benefit. You also used my unwillingness to learn as a punishment for me—a fitting penalty for such a young boy and such a big sinner. So, through those who didn't do well, You did good for me; and through my own sin, You justly punished me. For You have commanded that every excessive desire should be its own punishment.
But why did I hate learning Greek so much when I was a boy? I still don't fully understand. I loved Latin, but not the basics taught by my first teachers—rather, what the more advanced teachers, the grammarians, taught me. Those early lessons in reading, writing, and arithmetic felt like a heavy burden, just like Greek did. Why was this? It was because of the sin and emptiness of this life, because I was just flesh and a fleeting breath that comes and goes. Those early lessons were certainly better because they were more useful; they gave me the ability to read what is written and to write what I want. But with Greek, I was forced to learn about the adventures of Aeneas, forgetting my own, and to cry over the death of Dido, who killed herself for love. Meanwhile, I was dry-eyed about my own miserable self, dying in these studies, far from you, O God, my life.
What could be more miserable than someone who doesn't feel sorry for themselves; crying over Dido's death because of her love for Aeneas, but not crying over their own death due to a lack of love for You, O God. You are the light of my heart, the bread of my soul, the power that gives strength to my mind, and the one who inspires my thoughts, yet I did not love You. I turned away from You, and everyone around me doing the same would say, "Well done! Well done!" because being friends with this world is turning away from You. "Well done! Well done!" echoes until one feels ashamed not to be like everyone else. Despite all this, I did not cry, even though I cried for Dido who was killed, "seeking by the sword a stroke and wound extreme," while I was seeking something even worse, the lowest of Your creations, having abandoned You, earth returning to earth. And if I was forbidden to read all this, I was upset that I couldn't read what made me sad. Madness like this is considered a higher and richer learning than the one by which I learned to read and write.
But now, my God, speak loudly in my soul, and let Your truth tell me, "Not so, not so. That first study was much better." For, look, I would easily forget the adventures of Æneas and all the rest, rather than how to read and write. But over the entrance of the Grammar School is a veil drawn! True; yet this is not so much a symbol of something hidden, as a cover for error. Let not those, whom I no longer fear, protest against me, while I confess to You, my God, whatever my soul desires, and agree with the condemnation of my wrong ways, so that I may love Your good ways. Let not either buyers or sellers of grammar learning protest against me. For if I ask them whether it is true that Æneas once came to Carthage, as the poet says, the less educated will reply that they don't know, the more educated that he never did. But if I ask with what letters the name "Æneas" is written, everyone who has learned this will answer me correctly, according to the signs that people have agreed upon. If, again, I ask which could be forgotten with the least harm to the concerns of life, reading and writing or these poetic stories? Who doesn't see what everyone must answer who hasn't completely forgotten themselves? I sinned, then, when as a boy I preferred those empty studies to the more useful ones, or rather loved one and hated the other. "One and one, two"; "two and two, four"; this was to me a hateful singsong: "the wooden horse filled with armed men," and "the burning of Troy," and "Creusa's ghost and sad likeness," were the favorite spectacle of my vanity.
Why did I hate the Greek classics, which have similar stories? Homer also created similar fictional tales, and while they are beautifully crafted, they were unpleasant to me as a child. I suppose Virgil would be the same for Greek children if they were forced to learn him like I was with Homer. The truth is, the difficulty of a foreign language made all the sweetness of Greek stories seem bitter. I didn't understand a single word, and to make me understand, I was pushed with harsh threats and punishments. There was a time (as a child) when I didn't know Latin either; but I learned it without fear or pain, just by observing, surrounded by the affection of my family and the playful encouragement of friends. I learned it without any punishment pushing me, because my heart wanted to express its thoughts, which I could only do by learning words from those who talked with me, not those who taught me. I shared my thoughts with those around me. It's clear that a free curiosity helps us learn more than being forced to. This enforcement only limits our freedom, through Your laws, O my God, from the teacher's cane to the trials of martyrs, providing a necessary bitterness that brings us back to You from the deadly pleasure that pulls us away from You.
Listen, Lord, to my prayer; don't let my soul get tired under Your discipline, and don't let me get tired of confessing all Your mercies to You. You've pulled me out of all my worst ways so that You could become my greatest joy, more than all the temptations I used to chase. I want to love You completely and hold onto Your hand with all my heart, and may You continue to save me from every temptation until the end. Look, Lord, my King and my God, let everything useful I learned as a child be for Your service—whether it's speaking, writing, reading, or counting. You gave me Your discipline while I was learning pointless things, and You've forgiven my sin of enjoying those pointless things. In them, I did learn many useful words, but these can also be learned in things that aren't pointless; and that's the safe path for young people to follow.
Oh, the trouble caused by human customs! Who can stand against you? How long until you dry up? How long will the children of Eve be swept into that vast and terrible ocean, which even those who follow the cross barely escape? Didn't I read about Jove, the thunderer and the adulterer, in your stories? Obviously, he couldn't be both, but the made-up thunder was used to justify real adultery. And now, which of our educated leaders listens seriously to someone from their own group who says, "These were Homer's stories, transferring human traits to the gods; he should have brought divine qualities to us!" It would have been more accurate to say, "These are indeed his stories, but he gave a divine nature to wicked men so that crimes would no longer be seen as crimes, and those who commit them might seem to imitate not immoral men, but the heavenly gods."
And yet, you destructive force, people are thrown into you with great rewards for achieving such learning; and a big ceremony is made of it when this happens in public, with laws providing a salary in addition to the student's payments. You crash against your rocks and roar, "This is where words are learned; this is where eloquence comes from; essential for achieving your goals or defending your beliefs." As if we would never have known words like "golden shower," "lap," "beguile," "temples of the heavens," or others in that passage, unless Terence had put a corrupt young man on stage, using Jupiter as his example of seduction.
"Viewing a picture, where the tale was drawn,
Of Jove's descending in a golden shower
To Danae's lap a woman to beguile."
And then notice how he stirs up his own desires as if he has heavenly permission:
"And what God? Great Jove,
Who shakes heaven's highest temples with his thunder,
And I, poor mortal man, not do the same!
I did it, and with all my heart I did it."
The words aren't learned any more easily because of this bad behavior; instead, they make the bad behavior seem less shameful. I'm not blaming the words themselves, which are like valuable and special containers, but rather the false ideas that are taught to us through them by misguided teachers. If we don't accept these ideas, we are punished, and there's no fair judge to whom we can appeal. Yet, O my God, in whose presence I can now safely remember this, I unfortunately learned all of this willingly and with great enjoyment, and because of this, I was considered a promising student.
Be patient with me, my God, while I talk a bit about my intelligence, which is Your gift, and how I wasted it on foolish things. I was given a difficult task that troubled my soul, where I had to either earn praise or face shame and the fear of punishment, to recite the words of Juno as she was angry and upset because she could not
"This Trojan prince from Latinum turn."
I had heard words that Juno never said, but we were made to follow these poetic stories and say in prose what the poet expressed in verse. The speaker who was most praised was the one who showed the strongest emotions of anger and sadness, using the most appropriate language while keeping the character's dignity. What does it matter to me, O my true life, my God, that my speech was applauded more than those of many my age and class? Isn't all this just empty praise? Wasn't there anything else where I could have used my intelligence and speech? Your praises, Lord, could have supported the young growth of my heart with the strength of Your Scriptures, so it wouldn't have been led astray by these meaningless distractions, becoming a corrupted target for the birds of the air. For people sacrifice to rebellious angels in more ways than one.
But why should I be surprised that I was drawn to meaningless things and turned away from Your presence, O my God, when people were presented to me as role models? These people, if they made a small mistake in their speech while describing something they did that wasn't wrong, would feel embarrassed when criticized. Yet, when they spoke eloquently about their own chaotic lives, they were praised and felt proud. You see these things, Lord, and remain silent; You are patient and full of mercy and truth. Will You stay silent forever? Even now, You rescue the soul that seeks You from this terrible pit, the soul that longs for Your joy, whose heart says to You, "I have sought Your face; Your face, Lord, will I seek" (Ps. 27:8). Being led by misguided desires is what separates us from You. It's not by physically moving away that people leave or return to You. Did the younger son in Your story look for horses, chariots, or ships, or fly with wings, or travel by walking to waste all You gave him in wild living in a distant land? You were a loving Father when You gave to him, and even more loving when he returned empty-handed. So, being driven by lustful, misguided desires is the real distance from Your presence.
Look, O Lord God, yes, look patiently as You usually do, at how carefully people follow the agreed-upon rules of letters and syllables passed down from those who spoke before them, while ignoring the eternal covenant of everlasting salvation received from You. So much so, that a teacher or student of the traditional rules of pronunciation will upset people more by saying "uman being" without the 'h', breaking grammar rules, than if he, a "human being," hates another "human being," breaking Your rules. As if any enemy could be more harmful than the hatred he feels; or could hurt the person he attacks more than he harms his own soul with his hatred. Surely, no knowledge of letters can be as natural as the understanding in one's conscience, "that he is doing to another what he would not want done to himself" (Matt. 7:12). How deep are Your ways, O God, You who are truly great, sitting silently on high and by an unending law giving out blindness to those with lawless desires. In the pursuit of fame for eloquence, a person standing before a human judge, surrounded by a crowd, speaking against his enemy with intense hatred, will be very careful not to make a mistake and say "uman being" instead of "human being"; but he doesn't care if, in his anger, he harms the real human being.
This was the world I found myself at the entrance of during my childhood; this was the place where I was more afraid of making a language mistake than I was of envying those who didn't make one. I speak and confess these things to You, my God, because I received praise from people I thought it was virtuous to please. I didn't see the deep pit of wrongdoing I was in, away from Your sight. What could be worse than I already was, even displeasing those like me? I deceived my tutor, my teachers, and my parents with countless lies because I loved playing, was eager to see pointless shows, and restless to imitate them! I also stole from my parents' cellar and table, driven by greed or wanting to give to boys who traded their games with me, which they enjoyed just as much as I did. In these games, I often tried to win unfairly, while being overcome by the empty desire to be the best. What could I tolerate less, or criticize more fiercely when I noticed it, than what I was doing to others? And if I was caught and criticized, I would rather argue than give in. Is this the innocence of childhood? No, Lord, no; I ask for Your mercy, my God. As I grew older, these same sins moved from teachers and games to magistrates and kings, to gold, estates, and slaves, just as harsher punishments replaced the cane. It was the small stature of childhood that You, our King, praised as a symbol of humility when You said, "Of such is the kingdom of heaven" (Matt. 19:14).
Yet, Lord, to You, the Creator and Ruler of the universe, most excellent and most good, I owe You thanks, our God, even if You had only given me boyhood. For even then I existed, I lived, and felt; and had a natural care for my well-being—a hint of that mysterious Unity from which I came; I protected the completeness of my senses with an inner awareness, and in these small pursuits, and in my thoughts on small things, I learned to love truth, I hated being deceived, had a strong memory, was able to speak, was comforted by friendship, avoided pain, baseness, ignorance. In such a small creature, what was not wonderful, not admirable? But all are gifts from my God: it was not I who gave them to myself; and these are good, and together they make up who I am. Good, then, is He who made me, and He is my good; and before Him, I will rejoice for every good thing I had as a child. For my sin was that I sought pleasures, greatness, and truths not in Him, but in His creations—myself and others—and so I fell into sorrows, confusions, and mistakes. Thanks be to You, my joy and my glory and my confidence, my God, thanks be to You for Your gifts; but please preserve them for me. For in doing so, You will preserve me, and those things You have given me will grow and be perfected, and I myself will be with You, since even my existence is a gift from You.