The Confessions of St. Augustine
It is in thee, my mind, that I measure times. Interrupt me not, that
is, interrupt not thyself with the tumults of thy impressions. In thee
I measure times; the impression, which things as they pass by cause in
thee, remains even when they are gone; this it is which still present,
I measure, not the things which pass by to make this impression. This
I measure, when I measure times. Either then this is time, or I do not
measure times. What when we measure silence, and say that this silence
hath held as long time as did that voice? do we not stretch out our
thought to the measure of a voice, as if it sounded, that so we may be
able to report of the intervals of silence in a given space of time? For
though both voice and tongue be still, yet in thought we go over poems,
and verses, and any other discourse, or dimensions of motions, and
report as to the spaces of times, how much this is in respect of that,
no otherwise than if vocally we did pronounce them. If a man would utter
a lengthened sound, and had settled in thought how long it should be, he
hath in silence already gone through a space of time, and committing
it to memory, begins to utter that speech, which sounds on, until it be
brought unto the end proposed. Yea it hath sounded, and will sound; for
so much of it as is finished, hath sounded already, and the rest will
sound. And thus passeth it on, until the present intent conveys over
the future into the past; the past increasing by the diminution of the
future, until by the consumption of the future, all is past.
But how is that future diminished or consumed, which as yet is not? or
how that past increased, which is now no longer, save that in the mind
which enacteth this, there be three things done? For it expects, it
considers, it remembers; that so that which it expecteth, through
that which it considereth, passeth into that which it remembereth. Who
therefore denieth, that things to come are not as yet? and yet, there is
in the mind an expectation of things to come. And who denies past things
to be now no longer? and yet is there still in the mind a memory of
things past. And who denieth the present time hath no space, because it
passeth away in a moment? and yet our consideration continueth, through
which that which shall be present proceedeth to become absent. It is not
then future time, that is long, for as yet it is not: but a long future,
is "a long expectation of the future," nor is it time past, which now is
not, that is long; but a long past, is "a long memory of the past."
I am about to repeat a Psalm that I know. Before I begin, my expectation
is extended over the whole; but when I have begun, how much soever of
it I shall separate off into the past, is extended along my memory; thus
the life of this action of mine is divided between my memory as to what
I have repeated, and expectation as to what I am about to repeat; but
"consideration" is present with me, that through it what was future, may
be conveyed over, so as to become past. Which the more it is done again
and again, so much the more the expectation being shortened, is the
memory enlarged: till the whole expectation be at length exhausted, when
that whole action being ended, shall have passed into memory. And this
which takes place in the whole Psalm, the same takes place in each
several portion of it, and each several syllable; the same holds in that
longer action, whereof this Psalm may be part; the same holds in the
whole life of man, whereof all the actions of man are parts; the same
holds through the whole age of the sons of men, whereof all the lives of
men are parts.
But because Thy loving-kindness is better than all lives, behold, my
life is but a distraction, and Thy right hand upheld me, in my Lord the
Son of man, the Mediator betwixt Thee, The One, and us many, many also
through our manifold distractions amid many things, that by Him I may
apprehend in Whom I have been apprehended, and may be re-collected from
my old conversation, to follow The One, forgetting what is behind, and
not distended but extended, not to things which shall be and shall
pass away, but to those things which are before, not distractedly but
intently, I follow on for the prize of my heavenly calling, where I may
hear the voice of Thy praise, and contemplate Thy delights, neither
to come, nor to pass away. But now are my years spent in mourning. And
Thou, O Lord, art my comfort, my Father everlasting, but I have been
severed amid times, whose order I know not; and my thoughts, even
the inmost bowels of my soul, are rent and mangled with tumultuous
varieties, until I flow together into Thee, purified and molten by the
fire of Thy love.
And now will I stand, and become firm in Thee, in my mould, Thy truth;
nor will I endure the questions of men, who by a penal disease thirst
for more than they can contain, and say, "what did God before He made
heaven and earth?" Or, "How came it into His mind to make any thing,
having never before made any thing?" Give them, O Lord, well to
bethink themselves what they say, and to find, that "never" cannot be
predicated, when "time" is not. This then that He is said "never to have
made"; what else is it to say, than "in 'no time' to have made?" Let
them see therefore, that time cannot be without created being, and cease
to speak that vanity. May they also be extended towards those things
which are before; and understand Thee before all times, the eternal
Creator of all times, and that no times be coeternal with Thee, nor any
creature, even if there be any creature before all times.
O Lord my God, what a depth is that recess of Thy mysteries, and how far
from it have the consequences of my transgressions cast me! Heal mine
eyes, that I may share the joy of Thy light. Certainly, if there be mind
gifted with such vast knowledge and foreknowledge, as to know all things
past and to come, as I know one well-known Psalm, truly that mind is
passing wonderful, and fearfully amazing; in that nothing past, nothing
to come in after-ages, is any more hidden from him, than when I sung
that Psalm, was hidden from me what, and how much of it had passed away
from the beginning, what, and how much there remained unto the end. But
far be it that Thou the Creator of the Universe, the Creator of souls
and bodies, far be it, that Thou shouldest in such wise know all things
past and to come. Far, far more wonderfully, and far more mysteriously,
dost Thou know them. For not, as the feelings of one who singeth what he
knoweth, or heareth some well-known song, are through expectation of the
words to come, and the remembering of those that are past, varied,
and his senses divided,--not so doth any thing happen unto Thee,
unchangeably eternal, that is, the eternal Creator of minds. Like then
as Thou in the Beginning knewest the heaven and the earth, without any
variety of Thy knowledge, so madest Thou in the Beginning heaven and
earth, without any distraction of Thy action. Whoso understandeth, let
him confess unto Thee; and whoso understandeth not, let him confess
unto Thee. Oh how high art Thou, and yet the humble in heart are Thy
dwelling-place; for Thou raisest up those that are bowed down, and they
fall not, whose elevation Thou art.
BOOK XII
My heart, O Lord, touched with the words of Thy Holy Scripture, is much
busied, amid this poverty of my life. And therefore most times, is the
poverty of human understanding copious in words, because enquiring hath
more to say than discovering, and demanding is longer than obtaining,
and our hand that knocks, hath more work to do, than our hand that
receives. We hold the promise, who shall make it null? If God be for us,
who can be against us? Ask, and ye shall have; seek, and ye shall find;
knock, and it shall be opened unto you. For every one that asketh,
receiveth; and he that seeketh, findeth; and to him that knocketh,
shall it be opened. These be Thine own promises: and who need fear to be
deceived, when the Truth promiseth?
The lowliness of my tongue confesseth unto Thy Highness, that Thou
madest heaven and earth; this heaven which I see, and this earth that I
tread upon, whence is this earth that I bear about me; Thou madest it.
But where is that heaven of heavens, O Lord, which we hear of in the
words of the Psalm. The heaven of heavens are the Lord's; but the earth
hath He given to the children of men? Where is that heaven which we see
not, to which all this which we see is earth? For this corporeal whole,
not being wholly every where, hath in such wise received its portion of
beauty in these lower parts, whereof the lowest is this our earth; but
to that heaven of heavens, even the heaven of our earth, is but earth:
yea both these great bodies, may not absurdly be called earth, to that
unknown heaven, which is the Lord's, not the sons' of men.
And now this earth was invisible and without form, and there was I know
not what depth of abyss, upon which there was no light, because it had
no shape. Therefore didst Thou command it to be written, that darkness
was upon the face of the deep; what else than the absence of light? For
had there been light, where should it have been but by being over all,
aloft, and enlightening? Where then light was not, what was the presence
of darkness, but the absence of light? Darkness therefore was upon it,
because light was not upon it; as where sound is not, there is silence.
And what is it to have silence there, but to have no sound there? Hast
not Thou, O Lord, taught his soul, which confesseth unto Thee? Hast not
Thou taught me, Lord, that before Thou formedst and diversifiedst this
formless matter, there was nothing, neither colour, nor figure, nor
body, nor spirit? and yet not altogether nothing; for there was a
certain formlessness, without any beauty.
How then should it be called, that it might be in some measure conveyed
to those of duller mind, but by some ordinary word? And what, among all
parts of the world can be found nearer to an absolute formlessness, than
earth and deep? For, occupying the lowest stage, they are less beautiful
than the other higher parts are, transparent all and shining. Wherefore
then may I not conceive the formlessness of matter (which Thou hadst
created without beauty, whereof to make this beautiful world) to be
suitably intimated unto men, by the name of earth invisible and without
form.
So that when thought seeketh what the sense may conceive under this,
and saith to itself, "It is no intellectual form, as life, or justice;
because it is the matter of bodies; nor object of sense, because being
invisible, and without form, there was in it no object of sight or
sense";--while man's thought thus saith to itself, it may endeavour
either to know it, by being ignorant of it; or to be ignorant, by
knowing it.
But I, Lord, if I would, by my tongue and my pen, confess unto Thee the
whole, whatever Thyself hath taught me of that matter,--the name whereof
hearing before, and not understanding, when they who understood it not,
told me of it, so I conceived of it as having innumerable forms and
diverse, and therefore did not conceive it at all, my mind tossed up and
down foul and horrible "forms" out of all order, but yet "forms" and I
called it without form not that it wanted all form, but because it had
such as my mind would, if presented to it, turn from, as unwonted and
jarring, and human frailness would be troubled at. And still that which
I conceived, was without form, not as being deprived of all form, but
in comparison of more beautiful forms; and true reason did persuade me,
that I must utterly uncase it of all remnants of form whatsoever, if
I would conceive matter absolutely without form; and I could not; for
sooner could I imagine that not to be at all, which should be deprived