ST. AUGUSTINE: "CONFESSIONS": BOOK X.

Introduction: 

Sabidius published his translation of Book IV of the St. Augustine's "City of God" on 19 December 2021. In the passage below he turns to the other most renowned work of the famous theologian, namely, the "Confessions", an autobiographical work, consisting of thirteen books, written in 396-397 A.D., shortly after Augustine, who lived from 354 to 430, had become Bishop of Hippo Regius in North Africa. The first nine books of the work outline the details of Augustine's early life, leading to his conversion to Christianity in 386 while living near Milan in Italy, and end with his return to Africa in 388 following the death of his mother Monica, who had previously joined him in Italy. The last four books of the "Confessions" are more philosophical. Books XI-XIII are commentaries on the Book of Genesis and its significance for Christian belief, while Book X, translated by Sabidius below, is an inner self-portrait of the author at the time of writing, i.e. about a decade after his conversion. In this book Augustine moves from personal memories to an introspective evaluation of memory itself, the significance of prayer and confession, and the means by which men can approach God and gain salvation. It is a long book of forty-three chapters, the longest of the thirteen books, and is one of great profundity and an astonishing honesty in relation to the various temptations which which still beset him. Because of the sheer intellectual depth of Book X, and the extent to which it is dealing with the author's inner thoughts and emotions it is hard for any translation to do justice to the original Latin text, and the many abstract concepts which are featured within it. 

The text for this translation is taken from that provided by the Loeb Classical Library (William Heinemann Ltd, London, and Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts, first printed 1912). The chapter headings of this version have also been utilised. The headings for the six parts into which the translation below has been divided are taken from "The Confessions of St. Augustine," translated by F.J. Sheed (Sheed & Ward, London, 1943). The translation itself is entirely that of Sabidius. 

ST. AUGUSTINE: "CONFESSIONS": BOOK X

PART 1. WHY HE MAKES THIS CONFESSION (Chapters I-V).

Chapter I. The Confessions of the Heart.

1. Let me know you, (O) my advocate, and let me know (you) as I am known (by you). (You are) the strength of my soul, (and may you) enter into it and make it fit for yourself, so that you may have (it) and hold (it) without spot or wrinkle. This is my hope, (and) therefore do I speak (as I do), and in this hope do I rejoice, when I rejoice healthfully. But (as for) the other (things) of this life, the more we weep, the less we should weep (for them), and the less we weep, the more we should weep for them. For behold, you have esteemed the truth, for he who does this, comes to the light. This I would do in confession (both) before you in my heart, and before many witnesses in my writing. 

Chapter II. Secret Things are known to God. 

2. And from you, Lord, at any rate, unto whose eyes the bottom of a man's conscience is laid bare, what could be hidden in me, even if I refused to confess (it) to you? For I should be hiding you from me, not me from you. But now that my groaning is evidence that I am displeased with myself, you shine out and are pleasing (to me) and beloved and longed for (by me), so that I am ashamed of myself and cast myself aside and choose you, and I please neither you nor me except (when I am speaking) of you. To you, therefore, Lord, I am open, whatever (it is that) I am; and I have said with what a reward I confess to you. For I do not do it with the words and voices of the flesh, but with the words of my soul and the cry of my thoughts, which your ear understands. For, when I am wicked, (then) to confess to you is nothing other than displeasing to me, but, when (I am) good, to confess to you is nothing other than not to attribute this to myself; since you, Lord, bless the just, but first you make a just man of him (who was) a sinner. Therefore, (O) my God, confession is made to you in your sight in silence, and yet not in silence. For with regard to noise it is silent, but it cries out aloud with regard to my feelings. For neither do I utter anything right to men, which you have not heard from me previously, nor do you hear any such (thing) from me, which you have not said to me previously.     

Chapter III. The Confession of our ill deeds, and how it helps us. 

3. Why then does it matter to me, with regard to men, that they should hear my confessions, as though they could cure all my infirmities? (As) a race, they are curious (enough) to pry into the life of another, but (too) lazy to correct their own. Why do they want to hear from me who I am, (when) they do not wish to hear from you who they are? And how do they know, when they hear from me about myself, whether I am speaking the truth, since no one knows what is going on inside a man, but the spirit of the man which is in him? But, if they hear from you about themselves, they cannot say, "The Lord is lying." For what is it (for them) to hear about themselves from you, but to recognise themselves (for what they are)? Moreover, who can know (himself) and say, "It is false," unless he himself is lying? But because charity believes all (things), especially among those, whom, having been joined together, it makes into one, I too, Lord, also confess to you in such a way that men can hear (me), (although) I cannot prove to them whether I confess the truth; but they believe me, whose ears charity opens up to me.  

4. Nevertheless, you my private physician, make clear to me with what benefit I shall do these (things). For the confessions of my past sins, which you have forgiven and covered over, so that you might make me glad in you, (by) changing my life by faith and your sacrament, when (its words) are read and heard, stir my heart, so that it does not sleep in despair and say, "I cannot," but it stays wide awake in the love of your mercy and the sweetness of your grace, by which every weak (man) is (made) powerful, because by it he becomes aware of his own weakness. And hearing of the past sins of those who are now free of them delights good (men), and they are so delighted not because there are sins, but because there have been, and are not (now). So for what benefit, my Lord, to whom my conscience confesses daily, more confident in the hope of your mercy than in its own innocence, for what benefit, I ask, do I also confess to men in your presence through this book, who I am now, not who I once was? For I have seen that benefit and have spoken of (it). But who I am now, yes, at this very moment (when I am writing) my confessions, many (of those) who have known me and (who) have not known me, (but) who have heard something from me (i.e. from my writings) or about me, do wish to know this, but, wherever I am and whoever I am, their ear is not near to my heart. So, they wish to hear me confessing, what I myself am within, (something) to which neither their eye, nor their ear, nor their understanding can extend; yet they wish to be ready to believe, (and) to be ready to know, don't they? For the charity, through which they are good, tells them that I do not lie about myself when confessing, and (it is) this charity within them (that) believes me. 

Chapter IV. Of the great fruit of Confession.

5. But for what benefit do they want this? Do they wish to congratulate me, when they hear how close, by your grace, I have come to you, and to pray for me, when they hear how far I am held back by the weight of my (sins). By such (things) will I show who I (am). For it is no small benefit, (O) Lord my God, that thanks are offered to you by many (people) for me, and that you are besought by many on my behalf. Let the brotherly mind (find) in me what you say should be loved, and let it grieve (to find) in me what you say should be lamented. Let the brotherly mind do this, not that of strangers or of aliens' children, whose mouths have spoken vain things, and their right-hand (is) the right-hand of iniquity, but that brotherly (mind), which, when it approves of me, rejoices for me, and, when it condemns me, feels sorry for me, since, whether it approves of (me) or condemns (me), it (still) loves me. By such (things) I will show (who) I (am): let them breathe (freely) at my good (deeds), and sigh at my (evil) ones. My good (deeds) and your gifts are arranged by you, (while) my offences (are due) to my failings and your evidence. Let them breathe freely at the former and sigh at the latter, and let my thanksgiving and tears rise up into your sight from the hearts of my brothers (who are) your censers. When you, (O) Lord, are delighted by the incense in your holy temple, take pity on me for your own name's sake in accordance with your great mercy, and in no way give up (what you have) begun in me, but make perfect my imperfections. 

6. This is the fruit of my confessions, not of what I have been, but of what I am, so that I confess this before you not only in secret rejoicing (mixed) with trembling, and in secret sorrow (mixed) with hope, but also in the ears of the believing sons of men, (who are) sharers of my joy and partakers of my mortality, both my fellow-citizens and pilgrims together with myself, (both those who have) gone before (me) and (those who are) to follow after (me), and (those who are) the companions of my life. These are your servants, (and) my brothers, whom you have chosen to be your sons, whom you have commanded that I serve (as) my masters, if I wish to live with you in your (grace). But this word of yours would not be enough for me, if it were laid down (only) by speaking, and not preceded by action. And I do this in (both) words and deeds, (and) I do this under (the shadow of) your wings, in a perilous situation that would be too great, were it not for the fact that my soul has been placed under (the shadow of) your wings and my infirmity is known to you. I am (only) a child, but my father lives forever, and is a sufficient protector for me, for he who begat me and (he who) watches over me are one and the same, and you yourself are (the source of) all my blessings, you, (O) Omnipotent (One), who are there with me even before I am with you. So I reveal myself to those whom you command (me) to serve, not who I have been, but who I am now and who I am still; but I do not judge myself. So, let me thus be heard.    

Chapter V. That Man does not know himself thoroughly; and does not know God except through a glass darkly. 

7. For you, Lord, do judge me, because, although no man knows what are a man's (thoughts), but the spirit of the man that is in him, yet there is something in a man which the very spirit of the man that is in him does not know, but you, Lord, who made him, know everything about him. But as for me, although I despise myself in your sight, and consider myself (to be but) dust and ashes, yet I know something of you, which I do not know of myself. And surely now we see through a glass darkly, not yet face to face; and so, so long as I am away from you, I am more aware of myself than of you; and yet I know that you cannot suffer harm in any way; but I know not what temptations I can resist, or which (ones) I cannot. And there is hope, because you are faithful, and you do not allow us to be tempted beyond what we are able to bear, but with the temptation you also create a (means of) escape, so that we can keep going. I shall, therefore, confess what I know of myself, and, because what I know of myself I know (only) because your light shines upon me, and what I do not know of myself I have long been unaware of, until my dusk becomes like midday in your countenance.   

PART 2. WHAT IS GOD? (Chapters VI-VII). 

Chapter VI. What God is, and how he is known.

8. (It is) not with a doubtful conscience but with a sure one that I love you, (O) Lord. You have struck my heart with your word. and I have fallen in love with you. But both heaven and earth and everything that is in them, behold they tell me from every direction that I should love you, nor do they cease to tell everyone that there are no excuses (for not doing so). But you will have more pity (on him) to whom you show pity, and you will bestow (more) compassion (on him) to whom you will be merciful; for otherwise heaven and earth would announce your praises to the deaf. But what am I loving, when I love you? Not bodily beauty, nor the splendour of any (particular) time, not the brightness of that light which to behold is so welcome to our eyes, not the sweet melodies of all kinds of songs, not the fragrant smell of flowers, and ointments, and spices, not manna and honey, not the limbs (which are) so acceptable to bodily embraces: I do not love any of these (things) when I love my God, (but he who is) the light, the voice, the odour, the food, the embrace of my inner man, which no place can receive, when (that light) shines on my soul, and which no moment snatches from me when (that voice) sounds, and which no wind scatters when (that odour) wafts, and which no voracious appetite slackens when it tastes (that food), and which no fulfilment of desire slackens when it clings to (that embrace). This is what I love, when I love my God.  

9. And what is this? I asked the earth and she answered (me): "I am not (it)"; and all the (things) that are in it made the same confession. I asked the sea and its abysses and their creeping living creatures, and they replied: "We are not your God; look up above us!" I asked the airy winds and the whole of the air with its inhabitants: "Anaximenes (i.e. a Sixth Century B.C. philosopher from Miletus in Asia Minor, who believed that air was the first cause of things) is wrong; I am not God."  I asked the heavens, the sun, the moon, (and) the stars: "Nor," they say, "are we the God whom you are seeking." And I said to all those things that encompass the entrances to my flesh: "Tell me about my God, seeing that you are not (he), tell me something about him." And they exclaimed in a loud voice: "He himself made us." I put an effort into my questioning, and their response was a credit to them. Then I turned to myself and said to myself: "Who are you? And I answered: "A man." And behold here there are a body and a soul in me, one without and the other within. Which of these (two) is it, from which I ought to have sought my God, whom by my body I had now sought after from earth right up to heaven, till I could send those rays from my eyes as messengers? But (that) which (is) the inner (part is) the better (part). Of course, all of these bodily messengers announced to the presiding judge (the details) of the replies of heaven and earth and of all the (things) that are in them, that said: "We are not God," and "He made us himself." These (things) did my inner man know through the ministry of the outer (man); I, the inner (man) knew (all) this, I, (who was) the soul, by means of my bodily senses. I asked the mass of the universe about my God, and it answered me (thus): "I am not (he), but he himself made me." 

10. Does not this vision appear to all (those) whose senses are unimpaired? Why (then) does it not say the same (things) to all of us? Animals, (both) great and small, are aware of it, but they cannot ask questions (of it). For reason does not preside over their senses (as) a judge of what they report. But men can ask, so that they can observe the unseen (capacities) of God, (which can be) understood by those which have been done, but they are made subject to them by their love (of them), and subjects are not able to make judgments. Nor will these (creatures) respond to those whom question (them) unless they can be judges, nor do they alter their voice, that is their outward appearance, if only one man can see (it), but another who sees (it) does ask, so as to appear in one way to this (man) and in another way to that (one), but appearing in the same way to both, it speaks to the former (but) is dumb to the latter: nay, it does speak to (them) all, but they can (only) understand (it), who can compare that voice received from outside with the truth (that is) within. For the truth says to me: "Neither heaven, nor earth, nor any other body is your God." This (is what) their nature says (to them). (This) they see: there is less bulk in part (of something) than in the whole of it. Now I speak to you, (O) my soul, you who are my better (part), since you enliven the mass of your body (by) giving life to it, (something) which no body can give to (another) body. But to you your God is also the way of life of your life. 

Chapter VII. God is not to be found by any ability in our bodies.

11. What then do I love, when I love God? Who is that (being, who is so) far above the head of my soul? By my very soul will I climb up to him. I will surpass that faculty by which I am attached to my body and by which I fill up its frame with life. By this faculty I cannot find my God: for both the horse and the mule, which have no understanding, might as well find (him), as they have the same faculty, by means of which their bodies also live. (But) I have another faculty, by which I not only give life to my body, which the Lord had forged for me, but by which I also endow (it) with feelings, for he tells my eye not to hear, and my ear not to see, but (he has provided me) with the former, through which I can see, (and) the latter, through which I can hear, and to (all) the other senses (he has assigned what is) proper on an individual basis, according to their own locations and functions: I, the soul, alone perform these different functions, by means of the (senses). I must also surpass this faculty of mine; for both the horse and the mule possess it; (for) they also feel though the body. 

PART 3. ANALYSIS OF MEMORY (Chapters VIII-XXV).

Chapter VIII. The Force of the Memory.

12. I will therefore surpass this natural (faculty) of mine, and rise by stages to the one who made me, and come into the open fields and spacious palaces of my memory, where there are treasures of countless forms of every kind which are brought (to it) by the senses. There there is stowed away whatever we also think of, either by enlarging (it) or reducing (it), or by modifying in one way or another the (things) which the senses arrive at, and, if (there is) anything else, (which has been) entrusted and restored (to its proper place) that forgetfulness has not swallowed up and buried. Whenever I am there, I do demand that whatever I want is produced, and some (things) appear at once, other (things) require more time, and are drawn out, as it were, from more secret hiding places; other (things) too rush out in throngs, and, while something else is sought and asked for, they spring forth into our midst, saying: "Perhaps it is we who are wanted?" And I drive these away with the hand of my heart from the face of my memory, until what I wish (to see) is made clear and emerges into my sight from its hiding places. Other (things) are supplied quite easily and in unruffled order, just as I asked (for them), and the former (notions) give way to the following (ones), and, as they give way, they are stored away, ready to re-emerge again when I should want (them). This (is) exactly (what) happens, when I recite something from memory.     

13. There all (things) are preserved separately according to their categories, and they are brought in each through its own special entrance, so, for example, light, and every colour and bodily shape through the eyes, and every kind of sound through the ears, and every smell by access to the nostrils, and every taste by access to the mouth, and, by the sensation of the whole body, what (is) hard or soft, what (is) hot or cold, or smooth or rough, heavy or light, whether (it is) external or internal to the body. All these (sensations) that great recess of my memory, and I know not what secret and ineffable (aspects) of its folds, retains: they all enter it, each by its own entrance, and are laid up in it. And yet the (things) themselves do not enter, but the images of the things perceived by the senses are there at hand, whenever the thoughts recall them. How these (images) are formed, who can say, although it is apparent by which of the senses they have been taken and stored away? For even while I dwell in darkness and in silence, I can produce colours in my memory, if I wish, and distinguish between white and black and between whatever other (colours) I choose, nor do sounds break in and disturb the (image) drawn up by my eyes, on which I am reflecting, although they themselves are set aside and hidden away separately, as it were. For I can summon them, if I wish, and they are there instantly, and I can sing as much as I want, though my tongue is quiet and my throat is silent, and those images of colour, which are there nevertheless, do not insert themselves or interrupt (me), when another (piece of) treasure is taken up again, which entered through the ears. In the same way, I can recall, as I wish, the other (things) which have been brought in and accumulated by my other senses, and I can distinguish the scent of lilies from (that of) violets, though smelling nothing, and I prefer honey to new wine, and the smooth to the rough, although, at that moment, not tasting or handling anything, but (only) remembering (it).      

14. I do (all) these (things) within (me), in that vast courtyard of my memory. For there I have heaven, earth, and the sea ready at hand, together with everything that I could have perceived within them, except those (things) which I have forgotten. There I also meet with myself, and I think about what I (have done), where and when I did (it), and how I felt when I was doing (it). There are all the (things) that I remember, whether experienced by me or believed (by others). From the same source too I can construct the likenesses of things, some  experienced by me or believed (by me) on the basis of what I have experienced, and other (likenesses) from the past; and from these too I can reflect upon future actions, events, and hopes, and all these as if (they were) present again. "I will do this or that," say I to myself in that great fold of my mind full (as it is) of the images of so many and such great things, and this or that will follow. "O if (only) this or that would come to pass! May God avert this or that!" I say these (things) to myself, and, when I speak, the images of all the (things) of which I speak are present (coming) from the same treasure-store of my memory, nor could I have spoken of any of these (things) at all, if (the images) were lacking.  

15. Great, too great, is the force of memory, (O) my God, (it is) a vast and infinite sanctuary. Who can plumb its depths? Yet this is a faculty of my mind, and belongs to my nature; and (yet) I myself do not comprehend all that I am. So the mind is (too) narrow to contain itself. Now where is (that part of it) that cannot contain itself? It is outside itself, and not within itself, is it not?  How then does it not contain (itself)? Great wonder springs up in me, amazement seizes hold of me concerning this. And men go forth to admire the heights of the mountains, and the huge waves of the sea, and the very wide courses of the rivers, and the circuit of the Ocean, and the motions of the stars, and they do not think of themselves, nor do they marvel at (the fact) that, while I have been mentioning all these (things), I was not seeing them with my eyes, nor yet could I speak of (them), unless I actually saw within my inward memory the mountains, and waves, and rivers, and stars, which I have seen, and the Ocean, in which I have believed, with such vast spaces (between them), as though I must have seen (them) outside (of myself). Nor yet did I draw (them) into (myself) when I saw them with my eyes; nor are they themselves (actually) with me, but (only) their images. And I know from which sense of the body which (image) has been imprinted on my (mind).  

Chapter IX. The Memory of the different Sciences.  

16. But these (are) not the only (things which) the vast capacity of my memory keeps in store. Here too are all those (things) which (have been) learnt from the liberal sciences, (and) not yet forgotten, removed, as it were, to some inner place, (yet) not a place; nor (is it) their images (that) I bear, but the sciences themselves. For what grammar is, what skill in argument (is), how many kinds of questions (there are), anything I know of these (things) exists in my memory in such a way that I have not (just) retained an image (of it), and have left the thing itself outside of me, or I have let it sound and pass away like a voice impressed on my ears by a trace, through which I might be recalled, as though it sounded when it was no longer sounding; or like an odour, (which), while it passes and evaporates into the winds, (still) affects our (sense of) smell, through which it conveys into our memory an impression of itself which we can revisit by recalling (it) to our mind; or (it is) like food, which has certainly not now left any taste in our belly, and yet leaves a taste in our memory, so to speak; or (it is) like anything which is felt when the body is touched which, even though it is parted from us, is (still) pictured in our memory. Of course, those things are not actually admitted into it, but their images only are caught up with an admirable swiftness, and are stored away as if in wondrous sanctuaries, and are brought forth in a marvellous manner, when we recall (them).  

Chapter X. Our Senses convey things into our Memory.

17. But now, when I hear that there are three kinds of questions, whether (something) exists, what it is, (and) what kind of (thing) it is, I do indeed retain the impressions of the sounds, of which these words are composed, and I know that they passed through the air with a noise, and are not (there) now. But, (as for) the things themselves, which are signified by those sounds, I never arrived at (them) with any sense of my body, nor saw (them) anywhere, except (in) my mind, and I have not stored away their images in my memory but the (things) themselves; (and) by what means these (things) entered into me, let them tell (me), if they can. For I have gone over all the entrances to my flesh, but I have not discovered through which of them they have entered. For my eyes say: "If they were coloured, we reported that they (were); my ears say: "If they made any sounds, they were disclosed by us"; my nostrils say: "If they have any smell, they came in through us"; the (sense of) taste also says: "If there is no savour, ask me nothing." The (sense of) touch says: "If it is not corpulent, I did not touch (it), (and if I did not touch it,) nor did I give any information about it." When and how did these (things) enter into my memory? I know not how; for, when I learned of them, I did not believe (that they came) from the mind of another, but I recognised (them) in my own, and I approved (them) for being true, and entrusted (them) to it (i.e. his mind), storing (them in a place) from which I might bring (them) out whenever I wished. So there they were (in my mind), even before I had learned of them, but they were not in my memory. Where (were they) then? Or why, when they were spoken of, did I acknowledge (them), and say: "So it is, it is true." (It was) because they were already in my memory, but so remote and pushed (so) far back, as it were, into secret caverns, that, if they had not been drawn out (from there) on someone's advice, (then) perhaps I might not have been able to think of them.  

Chapter XI. The Forms of things are in the Soul.

18. Therefore, we find that to learn these (things), which we do not imbibe (as) images by means of our senses, but (which) we perceive inside (ourselves) without images just as they are by themselves, is nothing else but, as if by a process of thought, to gather those things which the memory used to contain in a random and confused manner, and, by marking (them), to see to it that, having been placed (ready) at hand, as it were, in that very memory, where previously they lurked (while) scattered and neglected, they now come readily to our attention as we have grown used (to them). And how many (things) of this kind does my memory bear, which have already been discovered, and, as I have said, placed as if (ready) to hand, which we are said to have learned and to know! If, for a short space of time, I have ceased to reflect on these (things), they are submerged again, and disperse again into the deeper recesses (of my memory), as it were, so that I have to think them out once more from the same place, as if (they were) fresh again - for they have no other quarter - and they must be driven out again, so that they can be known, that is I must collect (them) from some dispersion, from which is derived (the word) 'cogitare' (to think). For 'cogo' (I collect) and 'cogito' (I recollect) are thus (connected), as (are) 'ago' (I perform) and 'agito' (I agitate) (and) 'facio' (I make) and 'factito' (I keep making). But yet the mind has properly appropriated this word (i.e. cogitare) to itself, so that (it is) not what (is assembled) elsewhere, but what is assembled in the mind, that is (what) is 'recollected', (that) is now properly said to be 'thought about'.   

Chapter 12. The Memory of Mathematicians. 

19. The memory also contains the innumerable calculations and laws of numbers and dimensions, none of which has a bodily sense imprinted (in it), seeing that they do not have any colour, or make any sound, or smell, nor can they be tasted or touched. I have heard the sounds of those words, by which (those things) are expressed, when there is a discussion of them, but the (words) are one thing, and the (calculations) are another. For the words sound in Greek in one form, and in Latin in another, but the (calculations) are neither Greek nor Latin, nor (are they) any other kind of language. I have seen the lines (drawn) by engineers (that are) even as small as the threads of a spider's web; but these are different; they are not the images of those (dimensions) which the eyes of my flesh showed me: whoever knew them recognised them within (himself) without any kind of a material object. With all my bodily senses I have also become aware of the numbers which we use to count; but those (numbers), by which we count, are different, nor are they images of them, and therefore they are very (real). Let him who does not see them laugh at me for saying these (words), and I shall pity (him) for laughing at me. 

Chapter XIII. The Memory of Memory. 

20. All these (things) I keep in my memory, and I keep in my memory how I learned them. I have also heard, and retain in my memory, many (things) which are put forward most falsely; although these (arguments) are false, yet it is not false that I have remembered them; and that I have distinguished between the true (facts) and the false (ones), which are advanced against (them), I remember this too; and I now see that I discern these (things) in one way, but I recall that I have often discerned them in another, whenever I gave any frequent thought to them. So, I quite often remember that I have understood these (facts), and what I discern and understand at that moment I stow away in my memory, so that I shall afterwards remember that I understood (them) at the time. And I remember that I have remembered (them), just as if later on I shall remember that I have been able to remember these (facts) now, (it will be) especially through the power of my memory (that) I shall recall (doing so).   

Chapter XIV. How, when we are not glad, we call to mind things that have made us glad. 

21. The same memory also contains the feelings of my mind, not in the way in which the mind itself keeps them, when it experiences them, but in another very different (way), as if the strength of my memory is keeping them. For even when I am not (feeling) happy, I can remember (the times when) I was (feeling) cheerful, and, when I am not (feeling) sad, I can recall my past unhappiness, and I can reflect without fear that I have sometimes felt afraid, and I am mindful of past desire without any (present feeling of) desire. Sometimes too, on the contrary, (when I am feeling) happy, I remember my previous sadness, and, (when I am feeling) sad, (I remember my previous) happiness. It would not be remarkable if this were about my body: for the mind (is) one thing, (and) the body (is) another, and so it would not be so strange if I were glad to remember some past bodily pain. But now, since the mind is also the memory itself - for when we commit something to be kept in the memory, we say: "See that you keep it in mind," and, when we forget (something), we say: "For it was nor in my mind," and "It has slipped from my mind," while we are calling the memory itself the mind - why is it that when I gladly remember my past sorrow, my mind contains happiness and my memory sadness, and my mind is happy because of the joy that is in it, but my memory is not sad because of the sadness that is in it? Does not (the memory) belong perchance to the mind? Who will say this? So, of course, the memory is the belly of the mind, so to speak, and joy and sadness (are) like food (that is) sweet and bitter: (these,) when they are committed to the memory, (are) passed into the belly, as it were, where they can be stored, but can have no taste. It is ridiculous to imagine the one (i.e. the memory) to be similar to the other (i.e. the belly), but yet they are not entirely dissimilar.      

22. But look, I bring (them) from my memory, when I say there are four emotions of the mind - desire, joy, fear, (and) sorrow - and whatever I can extrapolate from these emotions, by dividing and defining each (of them) into forms of its own kind, I find there and produce from it what I am going to say, and yet I am not disturbed by any one of these emotions, when I recall them by drawing (them) from my memory; and they were there before they were recalled and brought back by me; therefore they could be brought out from there by (the process of) recollection. Perchance then, just as fodder is brought up from the belly by chewing the cud, so these (things) are brought up from the memory by (the process of) recollection. So why is the sweetness of joy or the bitterness of sorrow not felt in the mouth of reflection by the one who is engaged in the discussion, that is by the one who is remembering? Or is it different to the extent that it is not alike in all respects? For who would willingly talk about such (subjects), if, whenever we mentioned sadness or fear, we were compelled to experience sadness or fear? And yet we would never speak of them, if we could not find in our memory, not only the sounds of their names according to the images impressed upon our bodily senses, but also the ideas of the things themselves, which we never admitted through any entrance to the body, but the mind itself, perceiving them by the experience of its own passions, has committed (them) to the memory, or (the memory) itself has retained these (things), even though they were never committed to it. 

Chapter XV. We remember absent Things also.

23. But whether (this can be done) by images or not, who can easily say? I talk of a stone, I talk of the sun, when the things themselves are not actually present to my senses; (but) of course their images are there at hand in my memory. I talk of some bodily pain, but, so long as nothing aches, I do not feel (it); yet, unless the image of it were present in my memory, I should not know what to say (about it), nor could I distinguish it from pleasure when discussing (it). I talk of my bodily health, when I am sound in body; the condition itself is there in me; but yet, if its image were not in my memory, I could not possibly remember what the sound of this name should signify; nor would those who are sick understand, when health were mentioned, what was being spoken of, unless the same images were retained by the power of the memory, even if the thing itself were absent from the body. I name the numbers, by which we count: and (it is) not their images (that) are there in my memory, but (they) themselves. I speak of the image of the sun, and it is there in my memory; for (it is) not the image of its image (that) I recall, but the (image) itself: it is there at hand as I remember (it). I speak of the memory, and I know what I am speaking of. And where (else) do I recognise (it), except in the memory itself? And surely it isn't there itself through its image, and not in its own right?   

Chapter XVI. There is a Memory of Forgetfulness also. 

24. Why, when I name forgetfulness, and similarly recognise what I name, for what reason could I recognise a thing unless I remembered (it)? I speak not of the sound of the name, but of the thing which it signifies; if I were to forget this, I could certainly not recognise what that sound could (mean). So, when I remember, my memory itself is present in it own right; but, when I remember forgetfulness, both my memory is present and forgetfulness, my memory, by which I remember (it), and the forgetfulness, which I remember. But what is forgetfulness, but the deprivation of memory? How then is it present, so I can remember it, when I cannot remember (it) when it is present? But, if we retain in the memory what we remember, we could not possibly recognise the thing which was signified by it, when we (first) heard its name, (and so) forgetfulness is retained in the memory. It is present then, so that we may not forget (it), which, when it is present, we do forget. Is it to be understood from this that, when we remember it, it is present in the memory not in its own right, but through its image? (If so, it is) because, if forgetfulness were present in its own right, it would cause us not to remember, but to forget. Now, who will finally investigate this (matter)? Who will comprehend how it will turn out?    

25. Lord, I am certainly working hard here, and I am working hard on myself: to myself I have become a land of difficulty and much sweat. For I am not now investigating the heavenly regions, or measuring the distance of the stars, or trying to discover the movements of the earth: I am (the one) who remembers, I (am) a mind. So (it is) not strange if (the knowledge of) whatever I am not is far away from me: but what (is) nearer to me than myself? And lo, the power of my memory is not understood by me, although I could not speak of myself without it. For what can I say, when I am certain that I have remembered forgetfulness? Can I say that what I remember is not in my memory? Or can I say that forgetfulness is there in my memory for this (reason), that I may not forget? Both of these (suggestions) are utterly absurd. What of this third (possibility)? On this basis, can I say that (it is) the image of forgetfulness, not forgetfulness itself, (that) is held in my memory, when I remember it? And, if this is agreed, can I say this, seeing that it is first necessary that the thing itself be present, through which that image is imprinted? For by this means I remember Carthage and all the (other) places where I have been; and so (I remember) the faces of the men that I have seen, and (the things that have been) reported by the other senses; by this means do I remember the health and sickness of my own body: when these (things) were present, my memory took from them the images, which I might look at (when they were) present, and reconsider in my mind, when I remember them even in their absence. So, if forgetfulness is retained in the memory by means of its image, it must have been sufficiently present that its image might be captured. But, when it was present, how did it inscribe its image in the memory, when forgetfulness by its presence deletes what it finds to have been noted (there) already? And yet in whatever way it happens, although that way may be incomprehensible and inexplicable, I am certain that I remember that same forgetfulness, by which what we remember is obliterated.    

Chapter XVII. A threefold Power of Memory. 

26. Great is the power of memory, I know not how awesome (it is), (O) my God, (in) its profound and infinite multiplicity; and this (thing) is the mind, and I myself am this (thing). So what am I, my God? What am I by nature? A life (that is) varying, manifold, and immensely powerful. Behold, (what is) in the innumerable plains, and hollows, and caverns of my memory, and (they are) immeasurably full of (all) kinds of countless things, (brought in) either by their images, as in the case of all bodies, or by their (actual) presence, as in the case of the arts, or by I know not what ideas or impressions, as with regard to the feelings of the mind - which the memory retains, even though the mind does not suffer (them) - over all of these (things) do I run about and fly on this side and that, and I also probe into (them) as far as I can, and (there is) no end (of them): so great is the power of memory, so great is the force of life in man living in the manner of mortals! What, then, can I do, (O) you, my true life, (and) my God? I will even surpass this faculty of mine, which is called memory, (yes), I will surpass it, so that I may come on to you, (O) my sweet light. As I mount up by means of my soul to you, who dwells above me, I will even transcend this faculty of mine, which is called memory, longing to reach out to you (in the only place) where you can be reached, and to cling to you (in the only place) where it is possible for you to be clung to. For beasts and birds have a memory too, for otherwise they could never find their way back to their lairs and nests again, nor to the many other (things), to which they are accustomed. So I shall also transcend my memory, in order to reach him who has separated me from the four-footed (beasts) and has made me wiser than the winged (creatures) of the sky. So I shall transcend my memory, but where then  shall I find you, (my only source of) true goodness and sure sweetness, where then shall I find you? If I find you outside of my memory, I am being forgetful of you. And how shall I find you now, if I have no memory of you?   

Chapter XVIII. Of the Remembrance.

27. For the woman had lost a coin and was searching for it with a lantern, but, if she had not recognised it, she never would have found it. For, when it was found, how would she have known whether it was the right (one), if she had not remembered it? I remember that I have searched for and found many (things that I had) lost. Now I know this, because, when I was looking for one of them, and it was put to me: "Perhaps it is this?" (or) "Perhaps (it is) that," I always used to say: "That's not it," until the thing that I was seeking was shown to me. Whatever it was, unless I had remembered it, I would never have found (it), even if it were shown to me, because I could not have recognised (it). And so it is always the case, when we look for something that is lost from our eyes, (but) not from our memory, as in the case of any visible object, its image is retained within (us), and we look for (it), until it is restored to our sight. When it has been found, it is recognised by its image, which is within (us). Nor do we say that we have found what was lost unless we recognise (it), nor can we recognise (it) unless we remember (it): but, while this was lost to the eyes, it was retained in the memory. 

Chapter XIX. What Remembrance is. 

28. But, when the memory itself loses something, as does happen when we forget (something) and try to remember (it), where in the end do we look for (it), except in the memory itself? And, if then something is perchance offered (to us) instead of something else, we reject (it), until the thing we are looking for is presented (to us). And, when that happens, we say: "This is it"; but we could not say this, unless we recognised (it), and we could not recognise (it) unless we remembered (it). For we had certainly forgotten (it). Or (could it be) that it had not entirely escaped (our memory), but that the missing part was sought through the part which was retained, because the memory realised that it could no longer perform a function, to which it was, at the same time, accustomed, and, crippled, as it were, by a mutilated habit, kept demanding that what was lacking should be restored? Likewise, if a man (who is) known (to us) is either seen with our eyes or thought of, and we inquire after his name (which we have) forgotten, any other (name) that occurs (to us) is not applied (to him), because it is not usual (for it) to be associated with him, and so it is rejected until that (name) presents (itself to the memory), in which the knowledge (of it) also corresponds accurately (with the one to which we are) accustomed. And from where does it come, but from the memory itself? For even when we recognise (it) when prompted by someone else, it (still) comes from there. For we do not consider it (as) a fresh (name), but from our memory we prove it to be the name what was given (to it). But, if it were utterly blotted from the mind, we should not remember (it), even when reminded. For we have not yet entirely forgotten what we remember we have forgotten. We shall not be able to search for (as) lost something which we have entirely forgotten.   

Chapter XX. All Men desire Blessedness. 

29. How then do I seek you, (O) Lord? For when I seek you, my God, I am seeking a happy life. I will seek you, so that my soul shall live. For my body lives through my soul, and my soul lives through you. How then do I seek the happy life? since I do not possess it, until I can say: "It is enough, (it is) there!" whereas I ought to be saying: "How am I seeking it?" (Should it be) by way of remembrance, as if I had forgotten it, and yet retained (the fact) that I had forgotten it, or through a desire for learning about (something) unknown, whether I had never known it, or whether I had so far forgotten it that I did not remember that I had forgotten (it). Is not the happy life (something) which all (men) desire, and there is absolutely no one who does not want (it)? (So) where did they learn of this (situation) that they want it so much? Where did they see (this situation) that they love it (so much)? We certainly have it, (but) how I know not. And there is a certain other way, through which, when a man has it, then is he happy, and there are (those) who are happy in hope. These have it to a lesser extent than those who are already happy in the situation itself, but yet they are in a better position than (those) who are happy neither in this situation nor in the hope of it; yet, even those very same (people), if they did not have it in some way (or other), they would not have longed to be so happy: that they do long (for this) is most certain. By some means or other they have come to know (what) it (is), and so they have some kind of knowledge of it, concerning which I am in some doubt as to whether it is in my memory (or not), because, if it is there, then must we once have been happy; I do not now inquire (as to) whether (we were) all (happy) individually, or in relation to that man (i.e. Adam), who was the first to sin, (and) in whom we all died and from whom we are all born into a state of misery; but I do ask whether the happy life is in our memory. For we should not love it, if we did not know (of it). We have heard of it (by) name, and we all confess that we desire the thing itself; for we are not delighted by the sound (of its name) only. For when a Greek hears it in Latin, he is not pleased, because he does not know what has been said; but we are pleased, just as he is if he hears it (pronounced) in Greek; since the thing itself is neither Greek nor Latin, (those) who (are) Greek and Latin, and men of other languages, (all) covet its achievement. It must, therefore, be known to everyone, and, if they could be asked in a single language whether they would wish to be happy, without any doubt they would reply that they would. (But) this could not happen unless the situation itself, of which this is the name, were retained in their memory. 

Chapter XXI. We also remember what we never had. 

30. (Is it to be found in the memory) in the same way as I remember Carthage, which I have seen? No; for the happy life cannot be seen by the eyes, because it is not a material object. (Is it to be found in the memory) in the same way as we remember numbers? No; for he, who has these in his mind, no longer seeks to acquire (them); but we do have (the knowledge of) a happy life in our minds, and therefore we love (it), and yet we still wish to attain it, so that we may be happy. (Is it to be found in the memory) as we remember (the art of) eloquence? No: although (those) who were not yet eloquent, do call this skill to mind, when they hear its name, and (there are) many (who) desire to be (so), when it appears that it is in their consciousness; but by means of their bodily senses they have noticed that others (are) eloquent, and they have taken pleasure (in this), and they wish to be so (themselves): although they would not have been (so) delighted but for their inward knowledge, and they would not have wished to be so (themselves), if they has not taken pleasure (in it): - but, (as for) the happy life, (there is) no bodily sense (by which) we can experience (it) in others. Do we remember (it) as if (it were) joy? Perhaps (that is) so. For I can remember my joy even (when I am) sad, just as (I can remember) the happy life (even when I am) feeling miserable; nor through any bodily sense did I ever either see, or hear, or smell, or taste, or touch that joy of mine, but I have experienced (it) in my mind, whenever I rejoiced, and the knowledge of it has stuck in my memory, so I can recall it, sometimes with disgust, sometimes with longing, according to the disparity of the things which I remember brought me joy. For at times I was filled with a sort of joy at those shameful (things), which, when I now recall (them), I loathe and curse, and sometimes at those good and decent (things), which I recall with longing, even if perhaps they are not present (now), and so I recall my former joy with sadness. 

31. So where and when did I experience this happy life of mine, so that I can recall it with both love and longing? Nor (am) I alone (in this) nor (do I share it) with (just) a few, but, in short, we all want to be happy. Because, unless we knew of (it) with a sure knowledge, we should not desire (it) with so sure a will. But what is this? Why, if it were asked of two (men) whether they wish to go to war, it might happen that one of them would reply that he wished (to do so), and the other that he did not: but, if it were asked of them, whether they wished to be happy, they would both say at once without any hesitation that they did wish (it), nor would one man go to war for any other (reason), and would the other man be unwilling (to do so) for any other (reason), except that (they wished) to be happy. (Is this) perhaps because one (man) finds pleasure in one thing, and the other in another? So, all (men) are in agreement that they wish to be happy, just as they would agree if they were asked this, that they wished to be joyful, and they call this joy a happy life. But. although one (man) obtains (it) by one means, and the other (man) by another, yet there is one which they are all striving to attain, (and that is) to be joyful. Since this is a thing, of which no one can say that he has had no experience, it is accordingly found in his memory and recognised, whenever the name of the happy life is heard. 

Chapter XXII. True Joy is this blessed Life. 

32. Far be it, (O) Lord, far be it from the heart of your servant, who confesses to you, far be it (for me) to imagine, whatever (may be) the joy (in which) I rejoice, that I am truly happy. For there is a joy that (is) not granted to the ungodly, but to those who worship you for your own sake, for whom you yourself are their joy. And this is the happy life, to rejoice in you, (and) for you, (and) because of you; this it is, and there is no other. But those who think that there is another, look for joy elsewhere, but it isn't true. Yet their inclination is not (totally) estranged from some semblance of joy.  

Chapter XXIII. A blessed life, what and where it is. 

33. So, it is not certain that all (men) do wish to be happy, since (those) who have no wish to rejoice in you, which is the only happy life, do not really desire the happy life. Or do all (men) desire this, but, because the flesh lusts against the spirit, and the spirit against the flesh, so they cannot do what they want, they fall back upon what they can (do), and thus they are contented because their wish (to do) what they can't do is not strong enough to enable (them to do it). For, (if) I ask of everyone, whether they choose to rejoice in the truth rather than in falsehood, so they do not hesitate to say that they would prefer the truth, just as they do not hesitate to say that they would wish to be happy. For a happy life is to rejoice in the truth. For this is my joy in you, (O) God, who are the truth, my light, the health of my countenance, (and) my God. Everyone desires this life, which alone is happy, everyone desires to rejoice in the truth. I have known many (men), who wished to deceive, but no one who (wished) to be deceived. So, where did they learn about this happy life, unless (it was the place) where they also learned about the truth? For they love the (truth), because they do not wish to be deceived, and, when they love the happy life - which is nothing other than to rejoice in the truth - , they must also love the truth, and they could not love (it), unless there was some knowledge of it in their memory. Why, then, do they not rejoice in it? (It is) because they are more strongly taken up with other (things), which make them more miserable than the (truth), which they dimly remembered, (could make them) happy. For there is still a faint (glow of) light in men; let them walk, let them walk, lest the darkness should overwhelm (them).

34. Now why does truth engender hatred, and your servant become the enemy of those (to whom) he preaches the truth, when the happy life, which is nothing but joy in the truth, is (so) beloved? Unless (it is) because the truth is so loved that those who love something else would wish the (thing) that they love to be the truth, and, because they do not want to be deceived, they are not willing to be convinced that they are deceiving (themselves). And so they hate the truth on account of the thing that they love in place of the truth. They love it when it enlightens (them), (but) they hate (it) when it refutes (them). For, because they are unwilling to be deceived, and are happy to deceive, they love it when it discovers itself, and hate it when it discovers them. For this reason it repays them, in such a way that it reveals those who are unwilling that they should be revealed by it against their will, and (the truth) itself is not revealed to them. For this reason, for this reason, yes, for this very reason, does the human mind, so blind and sluggish, base and ill-behaved (as it is), wish to lie hidden, but it does not wish that anything should be concealed from itself. The contrary befalls it, so that it cannot itself lie hidden from the truth, but the truth is concealed from itself. Even yet, while it is in this wretched state, it prefers to find joy in (things that are) true rather than in false (things). So it will be happy if, with no trouble disturbing (it), it will find joy in that very truth through which alone all other things are (rendered) true.   

Chapter XXIV. That the Memory contains God too.

35. Behold, how great (is the space) I have stretched in my memory (while) seeking you, (O) Lord, and I have not found you outside it. For I find nothing concerning you that I have not remembered from what I have learned about you. For, from what I (first) learned about you, I have forgotten nothing. For from the (time) when I got to know you, you remain in my memory, and I (still) find you there, whenever I call you to mind and delight in your (memory). These are my holy delights, which you have bestowed on me in your mercy, having regard for my poverty. 

Chapter XXV. In what degree of the memory God is found.   

36. But where do you reside in my memory, (O) Lord, where do you abide there? What kind of lodging have you constructed for yourself? What sought of sanctuary have you built for yourself? You have bestowed such an honour to my memory, that you should reside in it, but I must (now) consider in what part of it you abide. For I have (already) passed beyond those parts of it that the beasts share (with me), when I remember you (since I did not find you there among the images of material (things), and I came to those parts of it to which I had entrusted the (various) dispositions of my mind, and I did not find you there. Then, I penetrated the seat of my mind itself - for this is there in my memory, since the mind can also remember itself - , but you were not there, because you are not like the image of a material (thing) nor the emotions of a living (man), such as occurs when we are glad, (or) we are sorry, (when) we desire (or) we are afraid, (when) we remember (or) we forget, and any other (feeling) of this kind that occurs, and so you are not the mind itself, because you are the Lord God of the mind, and all these (things) are subject to change, but you remain immutable over everything and have deigned to dwell in my mind from the (time) when I (first) learned about you. Then, why do I ask which part of it you inhabit, as if there were any places there at all? (But) you certainly do dwell in it, as I remember you from the (time) when I (first) learned about you, and I find (you) in it, whenever I am reminded of you. 

PART 4. PRAYER (Chapters XXVI-XXIX).

Chapter XXVI. Whereabouts God is to be found. 

37. Where, then, did I find you, so that I might learn about you? For you were not already in my memory before I learned about you. Where, then, did I find you, so that I might learn about you, but in yourself far above me? But (there is) no (particular) place, and we go backwards and forwards, but there is no place. You are present everywhere, (O) Truth, when everyone seeks your counsel, and you reply at once to all (those) consulting (you) on different (matters). You answer clearly, but not everyone hears you clearly. Everyone consults (you) whenever they wish, but they do not always hear what they want (to hear). Your best attendant is (he) who is less concerned to hear from you what he wants (to hear), but rather (he who) wishes (to do) what he has heard (he should do) from you. 

Chapter XXVII. How God draws us to himself. 

38. Too lately have I loved you, (you) beauty so ancient and so fresh, too lately have I loved you! And behold, you were within (me) and I (was) outside (of myself), and I looked for you there, and I, deformed (as I was), fell upon those fair (forms) that you have made. Those (things) kept me far from you, (those things) which, if they were not in you, were not (there at all). You called and you cried out (to me), and you pierced my deafness: you shook me, you shone brightly on (me), and you put my blindness to flight: you shed your fragrance (about me), and I drew my breath and gasped upon you: I tasted you, and (now) do I hunger and thirst (for you); you have touched me, and I have been inflamed by your peace.  

Chapter XXVIII. The Misery of this Life. 

39. When I shall have been closely connected to you in every (part) of me, (then) shall I have no more sorrow and toil, and my life will be lived (in a way which is) totally full of you. But now, since you raise up the (one) whom you fill, I am a burden to myself because I am not yet full of you. My lamentable pleasures are in conflict with my sorrows which are worthy of joy, and I do not know which one of (them) will gain the upper hand. Woe is me! (O) Lord, take pity on me! My sorrows (that are) evil are in conflict with my joys (that are) good, and I do not know which one of (them) will gain the upper hand. Woe is me! (O) Lord, take pity on me! Woe is me! Behold, I do not conceal my wounds (from you): you are a doctor, I am sick; you are merciful, I am in need of your mercy. The life of man upon earth is a period of trial, is it not? Whoever would wish for hardships and difficulties? You command that these (things) should be endured, not loved. No man loves (something) which he endures, even if he loves the (power of) endurance. For, although he may be glad that he can endure, yet he prefers that there should be nothing that he should have to endure. (When I am) in trouble, I long for good fortune, (but when I am) in prosperity, I fear adverse (circumstances). What middle place (is there) between these (two situations), where the life of man is not a trial? Woe to the prosperities of this world again and again, through fear of adversity and through the corruption of joy! Woe to the adversities of this world again and again, and for a third (time), from a longing for prosperity and because adversity itself is hard, and lest it should break our (power of) endurance! Is not the life of man on earth a trial without any intermission?    

Chapter XXIX. Our Hope is all in God. 

40. Now, I have no hope at all, except in your great mercy. Give what you command and command what you will! And, since I knew, says a man, that, because no one can be continent unless God gives (him the power), it was itself also (a mark) of wisdom to know whose gift it was. Through continence we are truly bound up and brought back into the one (body), from which we have dropped down into many. For he loves you less, who loves something else besides you, which he does not love for your sake. O love, you who are ever burning and are never quenched, (O) charity, my God, set me on fire! You demand my continence: give what you command and command what you will!

PART 5. AUGUSTINE'S PRESENT STATE. (Chapters XXX-XLI).

Chapter XXX. The deceitfulness of Dreams. 

41. You assuredly command me to restrain myself from the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and worldly ambition. You have commanded (me to abstain) from fornication, and, with regard to wedlock itself, you have advised something better (i.e. chastity) than what you have permitted (i.e. marriage). And, since you gave your advice, it was followed, even before I became a dispenser of your sacrament (i.e. Augustine was made a priest at Hippo Regius in 391 at the age of 37). But the images of those things which habit has fixed there still live on in that memory of mine, about which I have spoken so much; now, they occur to me, when I am awake, though they lack strength, but in my sleep, (they) not only bring me delight, but also acquiescence in a very similar act. Now, the illusion of this image has such great power over my soul (and) my body, that these false visions persuade (me to do) when sleeping what true (ones) cannot do when (I) am awake. Am I not (then myself) at that time, (O) Lord, my God? And yet there is a great difference between myself and myself, between the moment when I pass from being awake to sleep. or (the moment when) I return from sleep to being awake! Where then is my reason, which resists such suggestions when I am awake, and remains unshaken, even if the things themselves are pressed upon (me)? Is it closed, together with my eyes? Does it fall asleep together with my bodily senses? And why (is it that) we (so) often resist (them) even in our sleep, and, mindful of our purpose, and persisting in it most chastely, we bring no assent to such enticements? And yet the difference is so great, that, when it happens otherwise, we return to the repose of our conscience; and, by this very difference, we did not do what we are still sorry happened to us in some way or other.   

42. Is not your hand, (O) Almighty God, able to cure all the weaknesses of my soul, and also, by your abundant grace, to extinguish the impure motions of my sleep? You, (O) Lord, will increase your gifts to me more and more, so that my soul may follow me to you, freed from the bird-lime of concupiscence; (this is) so that it may not rebel against itself; and so that it may not only not commit, even in sleep, those shameful acts (inspired) by the bestial images of seducers leading to the pollution of the body, but that it may not even consent (to them). For that nothing of this sort should have the very least influence, or could even be checked by the smallest thought, in the case of the pure feelings of a sleeper, not only during this life but even at my present age, is not hard for the Almighty (to arrange), as he can do (anything) beyond what we ask or perceive. But what I still am in this kind of evil (state) of mine I have now told my good Lord; exulting, while trembling, in that (grace) which you have given me, and bemoaning that for which I am (still) imperfect, (and) hoping that you will perfect your mercies in me, leading to a full peace, which my interior and exterior will enjoy with you, when death shall be swallowed up in victory. 

Chapter XXXI. The Temptation of Eating and Drinking.

43. There is another evil of the day which I would wish were sufficient unto it. For by eating and drinking we repair the daily decays of our body, until (the time comes when) you shall destroy (both) our food and our stomachs, (and) when you will put an end to our emptiness with a wonderful fulness, and you will clothe this corruptible (body) with an eternal incorruption. But now is this necessity sweet to me, and (it is) this sweetness (that) I fight against, lest I should be taken captive (by it), and I wage a daily war by my fasts, quite often bringing my body back into subjection, and my pains are removed by this pleasure. For hunger and thirst are certainly painful: they scorch and kill like a fever, unless the medicine of nourishments comes to our aid. Since this is readily at hand from the comfort (we receive) from your gifts, in which earth, and water, and air serve our weakness, our calamity is termed our delight. 

44. This have you taught me, that I should take my food as if I were receiving medicine. But, while I am passing from the discomfort of emptiness to the peace of satiety, in that very passage does the snare of concupiscence lie in wait for me. For that passage is a (source of) pleasure in itself, and there is no other (way) in which it can be passed (but the one) which necessity compels (us) to take. And, since health is the cause of our eating and drinking, dangerous pleasure attaches itself like a lackey, and generally tries to go before (it), so that, for its sake, I may do what I either say I do, or I wish (to do), for the sake of my health. Nor do they both have the same requirement: for what is enough for health is too little for pleasure, and it is often uncertain whether the necessary care of my body still requires sustenance, or whether the voluptuous pretence of greed offers its services. In this uncertainty my unhappy soul rejoices, and in it it provides the vindication of an excuse, being glad that what would be sufficient for the treatment of health does not appear to cloak the business of pleasure under the pretext of (caring for) health. I daily endeavour to resist these temptations, and I call upon your right-hand and refer my hesitations to you, because my plan concerning this matter is not yet in place.   

45. I hear the voice of my God commanding (me): "Do not let your hearts be weighed down by over-indulgence and drunkenness." Drunkenness is far from me: you will have mercy that it should not come near to me. But over-indulgence does sometimes steal up on your servant: you will have mercy that it keeps far away from me. For no one can be temperate, unless you should give (him this power). You grant us many (things), when we pray (for them); and (even) before we pray, anything good that we have received, we have received from you; and we afterwards recognise that we received it from you. I have never been a drunkard, but I have known drunkards made sober by you. So it is your doing that (they) who have never been (drunkards) should not become like that, just as it is your doing that (they) who have been (drunkards) should never be so (again), (and) it is also your doing that both of these (categories) should know by whose doing it was (that these were the circumstances). I have heard another (voice) of yours: "Do not pursue your lusts, and turn away from your inclinations." And by your gift I have heard that (saying), to which I have become greatly attached: "If we eat, we shall not grow fat; nor, if we do not eat, shall we lack (anything)." That is to say: "Neither shall the one thing make me rich, nor the other one (make me) wretched." I have also heard another (voice): "For I have also learned that, in whatever (state) I am, it is sufficient; and I know how to be in abundance, and I know how to suffer need. I can do all (things) through him that strengthens me." Behold, a soldier of the heavenly camp, not the dust. But remember, Lord, that, although we are dust, you have made man of dust, and he has been lost and was found. Nor could he do this of his own power, because (he) was the man (i.e. St. Paul), with, whom I fell in love, while he was saying these words by the breath of your inspiration: "I could (do) all (things)," says he, "through him that strengthens me." Strengthen me, so that I can (do these things). Give what you command, and command what you will. He acknowledges that he has received (your gifts), and (that) of which he boasts, he boasts in the Lord. I have heard another voice begging to receive (your gifts): "Take away from me," he says, "the desires of the belly." By this it appears, (O) my holy God, that you give, when (something) is done which you command should be done.  

46. You have taught me, good Father, that all (things are) pure to the pure, but they are evil to the man who eats in an aggressive manner; and that every creature of yours is good and nothing should be abandoned which is received with an act of thanksgiving; and, because food does not commend us to God, that no one should judge us with regard to meat and drink; and that he who eats should not despise (one) who does not eat, and that (he) who does not eat should not judge (one) who does eat. These (things) I have learned, thanks to you and praise be to you, my God, my Master, who is knocking at my ears, and enlightening my heart: deliver me from all temptation. I do not fear the uncleanness of meat, but the uncleanness of my greed. I know that (it was) permitted to Noah to eat every kind of flesh, that was good for food, that John (the Baptist), endowed, (as he was) with a remarkable abstinence, was not defiled by the flesh of living (creatures), that is by the locusts, (which were) granted (to him) as food. And I know that Esau was deceived by his longing for (a pottage of) lentils, and that David reproached himself because of his desire for water, and that our King was tempted not by flesh but by bread. And so, the people in the wilderness deserved to be reproached, not because they desired flesh, but because in their desire for food they murmured against the Lord. 

47. Placed, then, amid these temptations, I contend daily against over-indulgence in eating and drinking: for it is not (of such a nature) that I can resolve to repudiate (it) once and for all, and never to come near to (it) afterwards, as I could do in the case of carnal copulation. So, the reins of the throat should be kept between temperate easing and constriction. And who is he, Lord, who is not transported somewhat beyond the limits of necessity? Whoever he is, he is a great (man); let him magnify your name. But I am not (such a man), because I am a sinner. But I too magnify your name, and he, who has overcome the world (i.e. Jesus Christ), disturbs you on account of my sins, numbering me among the weak members of his body, because your eyes have seen his imperfect (body), and in your book all my (members) will be designated.  

Chapter XXXII. Of our Delight in Smelling. 

48. I am not troubled by the allurement of smells: when they are absent, I do not miss (them), (but), when they are present I do not refuse (them, although I am) also always ready to be without them. For that darkness is (much) to be lamented, in which my abilities which are within me are concealed from me, so that my mind, when it asks itself about its own powers, does not think it should readily believe itself, since what is in it is mostly hidden, unless it is revealed by experience, and no one ought to feel confident that (he) who could become better from a worse (state) could not also become worse from a better (state). Our only hope, our only (source of) confidence, our only assured promise (is) your mercy.  

Chapter XXXIII. The Pleasures taken in Hearing.   

49. The delights of my ears had more persistently enveloped and subjugated me, but you have released and liberated me (from them). Now, in these melodies, which your words breathe (their soul into) when they are sung in a sweet and well-attuned voice, I find, I confess, some little pleasure, but not so that I hold fast to them, but so that I get up. when I wish (to). But with those words, whereby they live so as to be admitted into me, they seek a place of no little estimation in my heart, and I can scarcely assign them (one that is) suitable. For sometimes it seems to me that I give them more honour than is fitting, while I realise that my mind is stirred to a flame of more devout and more ardent devotion, when they are sung in such a manner, than if they were not sung in such a way, and that all the emotions of my spirit have by their variety their own measures in voice and song, by which they are stirred up by some mysterious relationship between the (two) of them. But this gratification of my body, to which my mind ought not to be given over to be paralysed, often deceives me, while my senses do not follow reason in such a way that they patiently (follow) after (her), but, only because they earned their admission on account of her, they also strive to run before (her) and lead (her). So I sin in these (matters), while being unaware of (it), and afterwards I am aware of (it).   

50. Yet sometimes (by) seeking, in my excessive anxiety, to avoid this very trap, I err with too much strictness, and sometimes so greatly that I wish all the tunes of sweet old songs, by which David's Psalter is so often sung, to be banished from my ears, and from those of the Church as well, and it seems to me that a safer (practice is the one) which I remember (has) often (been) told to me concerning Athanasius, bishop of Alexandria (i.e. he held this post from 328 to 373 A.D.) who used to make the reader of the psalm recite (it) with so slight an inflection of voice that it was closer to speaking than to singing. But yet, when I remember those tears of mine which I shed during the beginning of the recovery of my faith, and how at this time I am moved not by the singing but by the things that are sung, when they are sung with a clear voice and with a most suitable modulation, I do acknowledge the great advantage of this tradition. So, while I fluctuate between the peril of pleasure and the experience of wholesomeness, I am more inclined  - though (I am) not pronouncing an irrevocable opinion - to approve the custom of singing in church, so that through the delights of the ears the weaker minds may rise to the feeling of devotion.  Yet, when it befalls me that the singing moves me more than the subject (of the words) that are being sung, I confess that I am sinning in a way that deserves to be punished, and then I prefer not to hear the singer. Look where I am! Weep with me, and weep for me, (you) who feel something good within yourselves, from which (good) deeds proceed. For you who do not have these thoughts, these (things) do not move you. But you, (O) Lord my God, listen, and look, and see, and have mercy and heal me, (you) in whose eyes, I have become a problem to myself, and this is the (source of) my weakness.   

Chapter XXXIV. The Enticements coming in by the Eyes.  

51. There remains the pleasure of these eyes of my body, concerning which I make confessions, which the ears of your temple may hear, those ears brotherly and devout (as they are), so that I may conclude (my discussion of) the temptations of the lustful body, which still provoke me as I sigh, and desiring that this habitation of mine which comes from heaven should be (the source of) my principal shelter. My eyes love the beautiful and diverse shapes, (and) the bright and delightful colours. Do not let these take possession of my soul; let my God, who has made (all) these (things which are) indeed very good, take possession of it, but he is my (source of) goodness, not they. They affect me all day while I am awake, nor is any respite given to me from them, as is given to me from the sounds of song, and sometimes in the silence (which comes) after all (of them). For light, the queen of colours, (by) shedding itself over everything which we see, wherever I am during the day, entices me by its varied approach, (even) when I am doing something else, and am paying no (particular) attention to it. But it works its way in so forcibly that, if it is suddenly withdrawn, it is sought after with longing, and, if it is absent for a long time, it saddens the mind. 

52. O (you) light, which Tobias saw when he taught his son the way of life, (though) his eyes (were) blind, and went before him with the feet of charity, never straying; or which Isaac saw with the eyes of his body, weighed down and dimmed (as they were) by old age, when he earned (the right) to bless his sons without knowing (which was which), but to know (them) by blessing (them); or which Jacob saw, when, blind in his eyes because of old age, he shed light from his illuminated heart on the tribes of his future people (by) designating (their names) in relation to his sons, and (when) he laid his hands, mystically spread out, on his grandchildren by Joseph, not as their father sought to correct (them) from outside, but as he himself had inwardly discerned. This is the light, it is the one and only (light), and all (those) who see (it) and love it (are) one (body). But that earthly (light) of which I was speaking, encompasses the life of this world for her blind lovers with an enticing and perilous sweetness. But, since they know (how) to praise you for it, (O) All-creating God, they take it up in that hymn of yours, and they are not taken up by it in their sleep: so I desire to be (as they are). These seductions of the eyes I resist. lest my feet, with which I walk upon your path, should be ensnared, and I raise my unseeing eyes to you, so that you should pluck them, for they are ensnared. You never cease to pluck (them), but I am repeatedly stuck in the snares all around (me). (This is) because you, who guards Israel, will neither slumber nor sleep.    

53. What innumerable (articles made) by various crafts and practical skills in clothes, shoes, vessels and utensils of every kind, in pictures also and different (kinds of) images, and these going far beyond (all) necessary and moderate use and (all) pious meaning, have men added in order to tempt their eyes, outwardly following what they make, (and) inwardly forsaking (him) by whom they were made, and destroying what they have become. But I, my God and my glory, do also sing for this reason a hymn to you, and consecrate praise to the one who consecrated me, since those beautiful (items) which are passed through (men's) souls into their ingenious hands come from that beauty which is above our souls, (and) for which my soul sighs day and night. But the framers and followers of those things of external beauty derive the means of judgment from it, but they do not derive from it the means of making use of (it). And it is there, and they do not see it, so they may not go afar and preserve their strength for you, nor spread it abroad on delightful fatigues. But, though I speak of and discern these (things), I also entwine my footsteps in these beauties, but you will pluck me out, (O) Lord, you will pluck (me) out, since your mercy is before my eyes. For I am sadly caught, and you will mercifully pluck (me) out, although I sometimes do not feel (it), because I had happily fallen lightly upon them, and sometimes with pain because I had already stuck fast in (them).     

Chapter XXXV. Of our Curiosity in knowing. 

54. To this there is added another form of temptation, (which is) much more dangerous. For, besides that concupiscence of the flesh, which consists in the delight of all our senses and pleasures, through which (those) who take themselves far from you become enslaved and perish, the soul has by means of the same bodily senses a certain vain and curious desire, veiled under the title of knowledge and learning, not of delighting itself in the flesh, but of experiencing (things) through the flesh. Since it is (derived) from our craving for knowledge, and our eyes are the chief (organ) in our senses for (the acquisition of) knowledge, this is called in divine language the lust of the eyes. For to see properly belongs to the eyes: yet we use this word also in relation to the other senses, when we employ them for (seeking) knowledge. For we do not say: "Hark how red it is"; or, "Smell how it shines"; or, "Taste how beautiful it is"; or, "Feel how it gleams"; for all these (things) are said to be seen. Yet we do say not only: "See how it shines", (something) which only the eyes can perceive, but also: "See how it sounds", "See how it smells", "See how it tastes", "See how hard it is". And so the general experience of the senses is called the lust of the eyes, as was said, because the function of seeing, in which the eyes hold the primacy, the other senses also take possession of, by way of analogy, when they investigate any (items of) knowledge.  

55. But from this it may more evidently be discerned what pleasure, what curiosity may be enacted by the senses. what pleasure regularly follows (things that are) beautiful (to look at), melodious (to hear), sweet (smelling), savoury (tasting), (and) soft (to touch), but curiosity (may be enacted) too for the purpose of trying (things) out, which is contrary to these (things), not for the sake of suffering trouble, but from a relish for attempting (things) and learning (from them). But what pleasure is there to see in a mangled carcase (something) that would make you shudder? And yet, if it should be lying nearby, they would flock together, in order to be made sad and to turn pale. They are also afraid, lest they see it in their sleep, as if, when they were awake, someone had forced them to see it, or any report of its beauty had persuaded (them to go to it). So it is with regard to the other senses, which it is tedious to pursue. (It is) from this disease of curiosity (that) those freaks are exhibited in the theatres. (It is) from this (disease of curiosity) that men) proceed to busy themselves in investigating thoroughly (the hidden power) of nature, which is not (known to anyone) except us, and which to know is of no value (to them), and men desire nothing other than to know (it). (It is) from this also (that men proceed), if it is sought with the same end of perverted science by means of the magical arts. From this also (even) with regard to religion itself is God put to the test, when signs and wonders are demanded (of him), not desired for any good end, but merely for the experience (of them).   

56. In this vast forest so full of snares and dangers, behold I have cut off many (of them) and have thrust (them) from my heart, just as you, (O) God of my salvation, have given me (the power) to do; and yet when do I venture to say, since in our daily lives so many temptations of this kind are buzzing around (us), when do I venture to say that nothing of such a kind can make me intent on looking at (them) and cultivating those vain concerns? To be sure, the theatres do not now carry me off, nor do I care to know of the courses of the stars, nor has my soul ever sought answers from ghosts; I detest all sacrilegious rites. How great (are) the wiles (that) the enemy has practised on me in my suggesting that I should ask for some sign! But I beseech you by our King and our only homeland, Jerusalem the chaste that, just as any consent to such (suggestions) is far from me (to give), so may it always be further and further (from me). But, when I pray to you for the health of another, the purpose of my petition is very different from that (concern) for someone else, and, when you do what you will, you give me, and you always will give (me), (the grace) to follow (you) willingly.

57. But yet who can record how many (times) our curiosity is tested each day by the most trivial and insignificant things, and how often we give way (to it)? In the first place, how often do we put up with (people) telling foolish (tales) through fear of offending the weak, and then gradually we give our attention (to them) willingly. I do not now go to watch a dog running after a hare, when it happens in the circus; but, certainly, (the sight of) such a chase in a field, if by chance I am passing by, distracts me perhaps even from some serious consideration, and turns my attention towards it, compelling me to turn aside not by means of my horses's body, but through the inclination of my heart, and, unless, by showing (me) my weakness, you now admonish me, either to raise my thoughts from the sight itself and towards you by means of some contemplation, or to despise it utterly and go my way, I should be vainly besotted (by it). What (can I say), when, as I am sitting at home, a lizard catching flies, or a spider entangling (them) in its web as they fly, often makes me attentive to them. Because they are (but) small creatures is it not therefore the same thing? From there I proceed to laud you, the wonderful creator and disposer of all things, but I do not begin to be attentive (to them) for this reason. It is one thing to get up quickly, (and) it is another (thing) not to fall (in the first place). And my life is full of such (faults), and my only hope (is in) your very great mercy. For when our heart is made the repository of such things and makes piles of such plentiful rubbish, then are our prayers often interrupted and disturbed, and while in your presence we direct the voice of our heart to your ears, such important business is cut short when I know not what futile thoughts rush in upon us.         

Chapter XXXVI. The Sin of Pride.

58. Shall I consider this too among (the things) that ought to be despised, or can anything restore me to my hope but your well-known mercy, by which you have now begun to change me? And you know to what degree you have disfigured me, you who cures me in the first of all from the burning desire of avenging myself, so that you become favourably disposed to all my other iniquities and heal all my infirmities, and redeem my life from corruption and envelop me in your compassion and mercy, and satisfy my desire for good (things), (you) who have curbed my pride by my fear of you and (who) have tamed my neck to your yoke. And this I now bear, and (its burden) is light to me, since you have promised that (it would be) so, and (so) you have made (it); and truly it was so, but I did not know (that), since I was afraid to undergo (it). 

59. But tell me, Lord, you who alone rules without pride, because you are the only true Lord who has no lord, has this third kind of temptation also departed from me, or can it depart from me during this whole life, (namely) the desire to be feared and loved by men for no other reason, but that there may be joy in it, (something) which is no true joy? A miserable life this is, and (one which involves) dishonourable bragging. Hence it happens especially that (men) neither love you nor fear you in purity of heart, and so do you resist the proud, but give grace to the humble and thunder down upon the ambitions of the world, and the foundations of the mountains quake at this. Since, on account of certain functions of human society, it is necessary for office-holders to be loved and feared by men, the enemy of our true happiness (i.e. our adversary, the Devil) bears down upon me, spreading everywhere in his snare (the words) "Bravo, bravo," so that, while I eagerly gather up (the tributes), I may be taken unawares and divorce my joy from the truth, and place it among the fallacies of mankind, wishing that I am loved and feared, not on your behalf but in your place, and, by this means, to make me look like himself and keep (me) with him; (he did this) not so as (to share with me) the concord of charity, but (to feel) the fellowship of punishment, for he determined to set up his throne in the north, so that (all) darkened and chilled (men) might serve him as he imitates you in his perverse and crooked ways. But we, (O) Lord, we are your little flock; do you possess us (as your own). Spread your wings over (us) and let us fly under them. Be you our glory; for the sake of you in us, let us be loved and feared. Whoever wishes to be praised by men, when you find fault with (him), cannot be defended by men when you call (him) to account. But, when a man (who is) not a sinner is praised in relation to the longings of his soul, nor is he blessed who has done evil things, but is praised for some gift which you have given him, and he rejoices more that he is being praised by them than (because) he has the gift for which he is being praised, then is he being praised while you find fault with (him), and he who was praised (is) now a better (man) than he who was praised. For God's gift in man was pleasing to the former, (whereas) man's gift was more pleasing to the latter.  

Chapter XXXVII. Praise and Criticism, how they move us.

60. We are tested daily by these temptations, (O) Lord, we are tested without a break. Our daily furnace is the tongue of man. And in this matter you require continence from us: give what you command, and command what you will. (For) you know (how) the sighing of my heart and the floods (of tears) from my eyes concerning this issue (rise up) to you. For I cannot readily discern how I am the more cleansed from this pestilence, and I greatly fear my secret (sins), which your eyes perceive, but mine (do) not. For with regard to other kinds of temptations, I have the ability to examine myself, but with regard to this (one) almost none at all. For from the pleasures of the flesh and from the curiosity of superfluous knowledge, I perceive how much I have gained from the ability to restrain my mind, when I do without these things, either voluntarily or when they are absent. For then I ask myself, how much or how little does it trouble me not to have (them). But as for the riches which are coveted for the (reason) that they may serve (a man in satisfying) one or other of these three temptations, or two of them, or all (of them), if the soul cannot begin to see, when it has riches, whether it should disparage them, then they should be discarded, in order to prove itself. But to do without praise, and to experience what we can (do) in that (situation) means to live wickedly and so desperately and wildly, don't you think, that no one would know us who did not detest us? What greater folly could be talked of or thought about? But, if praise is usually and should be the companion of a good life and of good works, so we ought not to forsake its company (any more) than the good life itself. But I do not know whether I can be without something, either patiently or with difficulty, unless (the time comes) when it is absent.

61. So what shall I confess to you, Lord, in relation to this kind of temptation? What, but that I am delighted by praises? But yet by the truth more than by praises. For, if it were put to me whether I should prefer to be praised by all men for behaving madly or mistakenly in all matters, or to be criticised while being constantly and very definitely in the right, I can see what I would choose. But yet I wish that praise from another (man's) mouth should not increase my joy at any good (qualities) of mine; but yet I must confess not only that (praise) does increase (it), but also that criticism diminishes (it). And, when I am disturbed by these wretched (failings) of mine, an excuse steals into my mind, (though) how good it is (only) you know, (O) God; for it leaves me in doubt. For, since you have required not only continence from us, that is that we should withhold our love from certain things, but also justice, that is how we should bestow it, nor do you wish that you alone are to be loved by us, but our neighbour also, I often seem to be pleased by my neighbour's progress or the promise (that he shows for the future), when I am delighted by the praise of one who well understands, and, on the contrary, I am saddened by the want in him when I hear him criticise (something) which he does not understand or (something which) is good. For I am also saddened sometimes by the praises I (receive), when those (things) are praised in my case with which I myself am displeased, or when lesser or trivial good (qualities in me) are esteemed  more highly than they ought to be esteemed. But then again how do I know whether I am so affected because I do not want my praiser to differ from me, not because I am concerned for his welfare, but because the same good (qualities) which please me with regard to myself are the more pleasing to me when they are also pleasing to someone else. For in some sense I am not being praised when my own view of myself is not praised, seeing that those (qualities) are praised which are displeasing to me, or those (qualities are praised) the more which please me less. And so, I am unsure of myself in this (situation), am I not?  

62. Behold, (O) Truth, I see in you not that I ought to be concerned by my praises on my own behalf, but for the sake of my neighbour's welfare. But whether I am so (concerned) I do not know. (For) in this matter, I am less aware of myself than of you. I beseech you, (O) my God, let me be aware of myself, that I may confess to my brethren who are due to pray for me what a wound I have found in myself. Once again let me examine myself more carefully. If I am concerned for the welfare of my neighbour in my praises, why am I less concerned if someone else is unjustly criticised than if I (am)? Why am I more stung by the reproach which is cast upon myself than (at that) which is cast upon another for the same fault? Am I also ignorant of this too? And is this (all) that remains, that I should now deceive myself and not present the truth in your presence (both) in my heart and on my tongue? Keep this madness far away from me, (O) Lord, lest my own mouth provides me with the oil of a sinner in order to fatten my head. 

Chapter XXXVIII. Virtue is endangered by Vainglory.

63. I am poor and needy, and I (become) better (only) amid secret sighing (when I am) displeased with myself and seek your mercy, until my weakness is repaired and made up right into a (state of) peace which is unaware of the eye of the proud. But the report coming from the mouth (of the people) and our deeds which become known to men provide the most dangerous (source of) temptation, (stemming) from our love of praise, which in order to (achieve) a certain individual excellence collects votes obtained by begging: it does tempt me, even when it is found to be at fault by me in relation to myself, (yes, even) in that very reason in which it is at fault, and often does (a man) vainly boast of that very vainglory, and therefore he cannot now boast of his contempt for glory: for he does not condemn it when he boasts (of it). 

Chapter XXXIX. Of Self-love.

64. There is within us, (there is) within (us) also, another evil in the same kind of temptation, in which (those) who please themselves with regard to themselves are full of complacency, although they do not please, or they (actually) displease, others, nor do they wish to please others. But, although they are pleasing themselves, they greatly displease you, not only for (treating things which are) not good as if (they were) good, but also for (treating) your good (things) as if (they were) their own, or they even recognise them as yours but (claim them) as if due to their own merits, or as if (received) through your grace, yet not rejoicing in a neighbourly spirit, but grudging it to others. In all these perils and toils of such a kind you see the trembling of my heart, and I feel that my wounds are repeatedly healed by you, rather than not inflicted on me (in the first place). 

Chapter XL. His Striving against Sin.

65. When have you not walked with me. (O) Truth, teaching (me) what I should be wary of, and what I should seek, when I reported to you, as far as I could, on what I had seen in the world below and asked you for advice (on them)? I have scanned the world outside with my senses as well as I could, and, with regard to myself, I have turned my attention to the life of my body and those senses of mine. Then, I entered into the recesses of my memory, full of innumerable stores in wonderful ways, and I contemplated (these) and stood in dread, and I could understand nothing of them without your (help), and found none of these (things) to be you. Nor (was) I myself the inventor (of these things), (I) who went through (them) all and tried to distinguish and evaluate everything according to its worth, taking up and examining some (things) with my faltering senses, feeling other (things) which were connected with myself, identifying and enumerating the messengers themselves, and then exploring other (things) in the extensive treasury of my memory, stowing away some and drawing out others: I was not myself when I did these (things). that is, that power of mine by which I did it, neither was it you, because you are that never failing light, which I continued to consult about all things, whether they existed, what they were, and how they were to be valued: and I heard (you) instructing and commanding (me). And I often do this; (for) it delights me, and whenever I can be released from the requirements of necessity, I take refuge in this pleasure. Nor in all these regions, through which I run in order to consult you, do I find a safe haven for my mind, but in you, by whom let (all) my gathered parts be gathered up, nor let anything of mine recede from you. And sometimes you let me experience a very unusual feeling, (amounting) to a strange kind of sweetness inside (me), which if it could be perfected within me, it would be something I know not what, which this life shall never be (a part of). But I fall back upon these things due to the wretched weight (of my distress) and I am absorbed and held fast by my habits and weep greatly, but I am held down very firmly. So much is the burden of custom worth! In this situation I am able but unwilling to be; in the other I am willing but unable to be, wretched in both circumstances.     

Chapter XLI. God and a Lie cannot stand together. 

66. I have thus considered the infirmities of my sins in the three forms of greed, and I have called upon your right-hand to (come) to my assistance. For I have beheld your splendour within my wounded heart, and dazzled I have said: "Who can (get) there? I have been discarded from the sight of your eyes." You are the truth that presided over all (things). But I, through my covetousness, did not wish to lose you, but I did wish, together with you, to possess a a lie, as (there is) no one (who) would speak so falsely as he (who) does not know what the truth is. And so I did lose you, because you do not deign to be caught in possession of a lie. 

PART 6. THE TRUE MEDIATOR (Chapters XLII-XLIII).

Chapter XLII. Angels cannot be our Mediators. 

67. Whom could I find who would reconcile me to you? Should I have canvassed the support of the angels? By what prayer? By what religious rites? Many (men), trying to return to you, and not being able (to do so) by themselves, have, I hear, tried these (ways) and have fallen into a craving for strange visions and have been thought worthy of such delusions. For, exalted by pride in their learning, they sought you, puffing up, rather than beating, their breasts, and they drew to themselves through a similarity in their hearts the princes of the air, those conspirators and associates in their pride, by whom they were deceived through their magical powers, as they looked for a mediator, by whom they might be purged, but there was not (one). For it was the Devil, transforming himself into an angel of light. And it greatly allured their proud flesh that he himself was not of a fleshly body. For they were mortals and sinners, but you, Lord, to whom they wished to be reconciled, (are) immortal and without sin. But a mediator between God and mankind must have something in common with God, and something in common with men, lest if he were like men in both these aspects, he should be (too) far from God, or, if he were like God in both these aspects, he should be (too) far from men, and so he could not be a mediator. So that deceitful mediator, by whom through secret judgments, our pride deserves to be ridiculed, has one (thing in common) with men, (and) that is sin, (and) he wants to be seen to share something else with God, so that because he is not clothed with the mortality of flesh, he might make himself known as immortal. But, since the wages of sin is death, he has this in common with men, that for this reason he should be condemned to death with them. 

Chapter XLIII. Christ only is the all-sufficient Intercessor.  

68. But (there is) a true mediator, whom from  your secret memory you have shown to men, and (whom) you have sent, so that they too might learn that same humility from his example; that mediator between God and man (is) the man Christ Jesus, who appeared between mortal sinners and the immortal Just (One), (being) mortal with men (and) just with God, so that, because the reward of righteousness is life and peace, he might nullify through his righteousness which was joined to God the death of the wicked who were justified, (that death) which he chose to have in common with them. He was shown to the holy (men) of old, so that they might thus be saved through faith in his future passion, just as we (are saved) through faith (n a passion that has) happened. For, in so far as (he is) a man, so he is a mediator, but in so far as (he is) the Word, (he is) not an intermediary, because he is equal with God, and God with God, and (they are) one God together.   

69. How greatly have you loved us, good Father, in that you have not spared your only son, but you have delivered him (unto death) on behalf of us wicked (men)! How much you have loved us, for whom he thought it was no robbery to be made equal with you and even subjected to death on a cross: he alone among the dead (was) free, having the power to lay down his life and the power to take it up again, (being) victor and victim for us in your (sight), and so (he was) the victor, because (he was) the victim, (and he was) the priest and the sacrifice for us in your (sight), and so (he was) the priest because (he was) the sacrifice, making us your sons from (being) your servants, and being born from you by serving you. Deservedly is my hope strong in him, because you will cure all my infirmities through him who sits at your right hand, and he will intercede with you on our behalf: otherwise I should despair. For many and great are those infirmities also, many and great they are, but your medicine is stronger (still). We might think that your word was far from union with man and despair of ourselves, if he had not been made flesh and dwelt among us.

70. Terrified by my sins and by the weight of my misery, I had deliberated in my mind and contemplated fleeing into the wilderness, but you forbade me (from doing this) and gave me strength by saying: "So Christ died for (us) all, so that (those), who live, no longer live for themselves, but for him who died for (us) all." See, Lord, I cast my cares upon you, that I may live, and I shall consider the wonders of your law. You are aware of my inexperience and my weakness: teach me and heal me. That only son of yours, in whom are all the hidden treasures of wisdom and of knowledge, has redeemed me with his blood. Let not the proud disparage me (now), since I reflect upon the price of my (redemption), and I eat and drink (it) and give (it to others), and (as I am) poor, I wish to be filled by one among those who eat and have their fill: and they will praise the Lord who seek him. 

   

 

     

 

   

 

  

 

   

  

 

BOETHIUS: "DE CONSOLATIONE PHILOSOPHIAE": BOOK I.

BOETHIUS: "DE CONSOLATIONE PHILOSOPHIAE": BOOK I. 

Introduction:

Having just translated a passage from St. Augustine of Hippo, Sabidius has also realised that he has similarly failed to honour, in his translations, the works of the almost equally renowned Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius (consul in 510 A.D.), whose great work, "The Consolation of Philosophy", which he wrote in prison in 524 A.D., while awaiting the death penalty, was one of the most admired and frequently read books in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages. Sabidius has therefore put this shortcoming to rights by translating below the first of the five books, of which this great work is comprised. One of the peculiarities of "De Consolatione" is that the work is composed of alternating pieces of poetry and prose. The pieces of poetry, written in somewhat idiosyncratic meter, are far from easy to translate, and those English translations that are available are not very convincing. This is perhaps particularly the case when the translator converts the Latin verse into English verse. Whatever may be the merits of the verse so produced, such verse often appears to be composed at the expense of the actual meaning of the Latin words. In his translations given below, both of the poetic 'metra' and the following pieces of 'prosa', Sabidius tries to keep as closely as possible to the meaning of the actual words employed by Boethius, and does not seek to express what he is saying in a different way or even to offer an improved version.   

Metrum 1: Boethius, imprisoned and alone, bewails his condition. 

I, who once composed these verses with youthful zest, am (now) compelled to begin to (to write) these mournful strains, alas, in tears. Behold, the Muses, bedraggled (as they are), dictate to me that these things must be written, and these elegiac verses wet my cheeks with genuine tears. At least, no terror could stop them (i.e. the Muses) from escorting (me) as companions on my journey. Once the glory of my happy and fresh youth, they comfort (me) now in my misfortunes as a gloomy old man. For old age came unexpectedly, having been hastened (on its way) by (various) evils, and grief (then) bade her time begin. Grey hair grows in abundance on my head out of season (i.e. he was still only middle-aged), and the loose skin quivers on my exhausted body. Alas, how it turns away those wretches with deaf ears, and it cruelly refuses to close eyes that are weeping! While fickle fortune favoured (me) with short-lived blessings, a sad hour almost sank my life (in ruins). Now, since gloomy (fortune) has changed her deceitful countenance, impious life extends its unwelcome delays. Why, my friends, did you so often consider me (to be) fortunate? He who fell was not in a settled state. 

Prosa 1: A mysterious female figure, appears at Boethius' side and puts the poetic Muses to flight. 

While I myself was silently pondering these (things) in my mind and was setting forth my woeful complaint with the help of a pen, a woman seemed to be standing above my head, with a very grave countenance, with her eyes burning and keen in strength (of sight) beyond (what is) common to men; her colour was fresh and (indicative) of an inexhaustible vigour, although she was so full of years that she could in no way be thought (to belong) to our own time,  and her stature was of uncertain measurement. For, on the one hand, she reflected the common height of men, and, on the other, she seemed to knock the heavens with the very top of her head, and, whenever she raised her head any higher, she even penetrated the very heavens and eluded the gaze of the men who were looking (at her). Her garments were made, by delicate workmanship, of the finest threads of an imperishable material, which, as I afterwards discovered when she revealed (it), she had woven herself with her own hands. A certain duskiness, caused by the neglect of old age, had obscured their appearance, like it is usual (to obscure)  smoky portraits. On their lower hem the embroidered Greek (letter) Pi (viz. πρᾶχις, practice, i.e. mechanical competence in philosophy) could be read, and Theta (viz. θεορία, theory, i.e. full contemplative understanding of philosophy) on the upper hem, and between the two letters, in the shape of stairs, distinct steps appeared, from which there was an ascent from the lower to the higher letter. Yet the hands of certain marauders had torn this garment of hers and had carried off such pieces (of it) as each one (of them) could (get). And in her right-hand she carried some books, and in her left-hand she held a sceptre. 

When she saw the poetic Muses standing by my bed, and dictating words to go with my tears, for a while (she was) provoked (to anger), and, inflamed with wild looks, she said, "Who has permitted these harlots of the stage to have access to this sick (man), (they) who not only fail to take care of his grief with any (suitable) remedies, but nourish (them) besides with sweet poisons? For these are (the very women) who kill the richly fruitful harvest of reason with the sterile thorns that come from the emotions, and accustom the minds of men to sickness (of mind), (and) do not cure (them). But, if you were carrying off (as a victim) of your blandishments (only) some profane (fellow), (such) as is commonly (to be found) among your people, I would think it could be borne without difficulty; for from him my work should receive no damage. But (now you have taken hold, haven't you, of) him who has been nourished on the works of the Eleatics (i.e. the teachings of Parmenides of Elea, d, c, 450 B.C.) and the Academics (i.e. the teachings of Plato, d. 347 B.C., founder of the Academy in Athens)? But rather get you gone, (you) Sirens (i.e. legendary birds with the faces of beautiful girls, who lured mariners to the shore and their death), pleasant to the point of destruction (as you are), and leave him to my own Muses to take care of and heal!"  

Rebuked by these (words), that band cast (their eyes) on the ground with very sorrowful countenances, and, betraying their bashfulness with blushing, they sadly left the threshold. But I, whose sight was dimmed and drowned in tears, could not discern who this woman of such imperious authority might be, and I was astounded (and), with my sight fixed upon the ground, I began to await in silence what she might do afterwards. Then, she came nearer and sat down on the extreme edge of my bed, and, beholding my face smitten with grief and looking down at the ground in sorrow, she complained in the following verses about the confusion in my mind: 

Metrum 2: The visitor compares Boethius' present enervated state to his former energy and vision. 

Alas, how sluggish (is) your mind, when sunk headlong in the depths (of despair), and, when (all) its own light has been lost, it proceeds to go into outer darkness, whenever the anxiety of guilt, increased by earthly winds, grows to an immense (size)! He was once free (to operate) under an open sky, and, accustomed (as he was) to follow the motions of the heavenly (bodies), he used to discern the light of the rosy sun and to gaze at the stars of the chilly moon, and, whatever wandering return courses a star follows when turned across different spheres, he triumphantly realised that (the movements of) a star could be worked out by mathematical calculations. And, just as he sought the reasons why the sound of storms should disturb the surface of the sea, what (is) the spirit (that) rotates the well-settled world, or why (it is that) the sun, having fallen into the western waves, should rise from the reddish east, what (it is that) tempers the pleasant hours of spring, so that it adorns the earth with rose-red flowers, and whose gift it is that at the full of the year ripe autumn should abound in swollen grapes, so it was customary to disclose and to explain the various reasons for the secrets of nature. Now he lies, with the light of his mind having been exhausted, and with heavy chains pressed around his neck, and, inclining his countenance downwards, he is forced, alas, to contemplate the coarse earth.   

Prosa 2: The visitor briefly diagnoses Boethius' ailment, and makes a first curative gesture.

"But it is time," says she, " for remedies rather than for complaints." But then, (fixing) both her eyes intently upon me, she says, "Are you the man, who, having once been nourished with my milk and reared with my food, had achieved the vigour of a man's mind? And yet we had given (you) such weapons, as would have protected you with invincible strength, if you had not earlier cast them aside, Do you recognise me? Why do you say nothing? Is it shame or bewilderment that has made you silent? I should prefer (it to be) shame, but, as I perceive, bewilderment has overwhelmed you." And when she saw me not only silent, but entirely dumb and mute, she gently laid her hand upon my breast, and said: "There is no danger; he is suffering from drowsiness, the common disease of deluded minds. He has forgotten for a while who he is; he will easily remember, if he has recognised me first. To make this possible, let me wipe his eyes a little, dimmed (as they are) with a cloud of mortal concerns." She said these (things), and, having gathered her dress into a fold, she dried my eyes, (which were) awash with tears.

Metrum 3: Vision returns to Boethius' eyes. 

Then, night having been dispelled, the darkness left me, and their former vigour returned to my eyes, just as when the clouds are gathered up by the violent Corus (i.e. North-West Wind) and the arch of heaven is conspicuous with stormy rain-clouds. The sun is hiding, and, although the stars have not yet come into the sky, night is shed from above on to the earth; if Boreas (i.e. the North Wind), sent forth from his Thracian cave, should lash the (night) and unlock the imprisoned day, Phoebus (i.e. the Sun) shines out, suffused with a sudden light, and strikes our wondering eyes with his rays.   

Prosa 3: Boethius recognises Philosophia; she explains why she has come. 

In the same way the mists of sadness dissolve and I took in the sky and recovered my mind, so that I could recognise the face of the one curing me. So, when I turned my eyes and firmly fixed my gaze upon her, I saw my nurse Philosophia, in whose house I had been kept since my youth. "And why," said I, "O mistress of all the virtues, have you come down from the highest vault of the sky to these lonely places of my banishment? (Did you come) so that you can also keep company with me, accused (as I am) of false charges?    

"Should I," said she, "desert you, my foster-child, and not share the burden which you have borne through hatred of my name by joining with you in your labour? And yet it was not right for Philosophia to abandon the innocent (man) on his journey unacccompanied; so doubtless I should fear the accusation against me, and I should have a horror (of it), as if something new had happened? For do you now think that wisdom has been exposed to dangers in the presence of wicked customs for the first time? In ancient times, (and) also before the time of my servant Plato (i.e. the Athenian philosopher, teacher and writer, 429-347 B.C.), did we not often contend with great conflict with the rashness of folly, and, while he lived, did (not) his master Socrates (i.e. the renowned Athenian philosopher and orator, d. 399 B.C., having been condemned to death for corrupting the youth) win the victory of an unjust death in my presence? When afterwards the mob of Epicureans and Stoics and others, each one on behalf of its own sect, strove to usurp its inheritance and to draw me (to them), protesting and struggling, as if (I were) a part of their plunder, they tore the garment which I had woven with my own hands, and, having carried off some little pieces of it, they thought that I had yielded totally to them, and they departed. Since some vestiges of my clothing were seen on them, they were rashly supposed to be my familiars and some of them were overwhelmed by the error of the profane multitude. 

But, if you did not know of the flight of Anaxagoras (i.e. an Ionian philosopher, and friend of Pericles, he left Athens in 432 B.C., having been accused of impiety) or of the poison (i.e. hemlock) of Socrates, or of the torments of Zeno (i.e. a Pre-Socratic Greek philosopher and a member of the Eleatic school founded by Parmenides, 495-430 B.C.) because they are foreign (examples), but you may know of (men like) Canius (i.e. Julius Canius, a First Century A.D. Stoic philosopher, martyred in the reign of Caligula, 37-41), and Seneca (i.e. Lucius Annaeus Seneca the Younger, philosopher and prolific writer, driven to suicide by Nero in 65 A.D.) and Soranus (i.e. a First Century A.D. Stoic philosopher, also driven to suicide by Nero), the memory of whom is neither antiquated nor obscure. Nothing else drew them to their ruin, but that they were established in my practices, and they were seen to be very different from wicked (men) in their inclinations. So, there is nothing at which to marvel, if in this high sea of life we are tossed by buffeting storms, and our main purpose is this - to displease (those who are) most wicked. But, although there is a numerous army (of such people), yet it is to be despised, since it is ruled not by any captain, but it is carried off rashly and at random by maddening error. If ever they assail us, while arranging a very strong battle-line, our captain withdraws her forces into a fortress, and they are occupied by seizing little packs (of plunder). But, safe from all their furious activity, we can laugh from above at their snatching every thing of least value, and, protected by that rampart of ours, it is not right for us to aspire to that raging folly.  

Metrum 4: Boethius' goal is indicated by a portrait of the truly wise man, serenely above all the hopes and fears of worldly life. 

Whoever can be happily reconciled to his time of life has cast proud fate beneath his feet, and, looking straight at each (stroke of) fortune, could keep his countenance under control. The rage and threats of the ocean, disturbing totally the turning of the waves, whenever restless Vesuvius hurls steaming flames from its broken furnaces, or accustomed to striking lofty towers with a bolt of its fiery thunder, cannot move him. Why do wretched (men) wonder so much at cruel tyrants raging in their feeble manner? If you neither hope for, nor greatly fear anything, you have disarmed the weak man's wrath. But whatever a fearful (man) dreads or longs for, inasmuch as he is not subject to his own law, he lays down his shield, and, having gone from the place, he fastens the chain by which he can be pulled. 

Prosa 4: Boethius gathers his strength for a long outburst against the injustice of his condition, recounting the principal events of his public career. 

"Do you understand such (things)," said she, " and have they penetrated your mind, or (are you deaf) to the lyre like an ass? Speak out, and do not hide (it) in your mind (viz. Homer: Iliad i. 363). If you are awaiting the attentions of the doctor, you must reveal your wound." 

Then, I gathered together my mind and (answered) strongly: "Surely the severity of raging fortune's (attack) on me needs no further reminder, nor does it (not) stand out sufficiently by itself? Does not the very appearance of the place move you at all? Is this the library which you yourself had assigned (as) your most fixed seat in my house, (and) in which, as you sat (there), you often used to talk with me about the knowledge of human and divine things? Were my attire and my face the same as this, when I probed the secrets of nature with you, when you described to me the course of the stars with your rod (i.e. a geometrical instrument for measuring and drawing), (and) when you related my character and the manner of my whole life to the patterns of the celestial order. If we are obedient to you, can we bring back these rewards? And yet you decreed this sacred sentence through the mouth of Plato: that the commonwealth would be happy, if either the students of wisdom were governing, or their governors should come to study wisdom (viz. Plato: Republic v. 473). You admonished (us) through the mouth of the same man (i.e. Plato) that it was an indispensable reason for wise (men) to enter public life, that, if the rule of cities were left in the hands of wicked and profligate citizens, they would bring destruction and ruin upon good (men). 

"So, following this authority, I wished to transfer to an act of public administration what I had learned from you in our private leisure (sessions). You and the god who had inserted you into the minds of the wise are my witnesses that nothing but the common desire of all good (men) had brought me to office. From this (there stemmed) deep and inexorable differences with wicked (men), and, (something) which freedom of conscience possesses, the constant scorning of the dislike of powerful (people) for guarding the law.   

"How often have I intercepted Cunigast making some attack on the fortunes of some weak (man), how often have I stopped Triguilla, the prefect of the royal household, from (committing) some injustice (which he had) begun (or which he had) already carried right through, (and) how often have I protected, by exposing my authority to some danger, those wretched (men) whom the unpunished avarice of the barbarians (i.e. the Ostrogoths) was constantly harassing with false accusations! Never did any man draw me from right to wrong, I grieved, just like (the ones) who suffered (it), that the fortunes of our provincial (citizens) were ruined, at one time by private plundering, and at another by public exactions.

"When, at a time of bitter famine, a grievous and inexplicable (policy of) forced sale (was) imposed, and it seemed that it would crush the province of Campania with want, I got into a dispute with the praetorian prefect for the sake of the common good, and, when the king (i.e. Theodoric) heard the case, I made my argument, and I was successful, to the extent that the forced sale was blocked. Paulinus, a man of consular status (i.e. Flavius Paulinus, consul 498 A.D.), whose wealth those dogs of the Palatine (i.e. the royal palace) had all but devoured in their hope and ambition, I drew from out of the very jaws of those gaping (courtiers). So that the penalty for a preconceived accusation should not take hold of Albinus, a man of consular status (i.e. Caecina Decius Faustus Albinus, consul 493 A.D.), I exposed myself to the hatred of his informer, Cyprian. But I, who through my love of justice have left myself nothing by which I might be safer among courtiers, ought to have been safer among the rest. But by whose accusations have I been overthrown? Of those (informers, by whom) Basilius, having once been expelled from the royal service, was compelled, by the necessity of debt, to denounce me by name. But, when the royal censor had decreed that Opilio (i.e. the brother of Cyprian and son-in-law of Basilius) and Gaudentius should go into exile on account of their innumerable and manifold deceits, and since, as they were reluctant to comply, they protected themselves by (seeking) sanctuary in a sacred building, when the king found out about it, he declared that, unless they departed from the city of Ravenna by a certain day, they would be marked with brands on their foreheads and expelled (by force). What did it seem could be added to such severity? Yet, on that very day, when these same (men) were taken down, their accusation against my name was received. So, why (did that happen)? Did my dealings deserve such action? Or did the prearranged condemnation make these accusers just (ones)? So, did it not put fortune to shame, if not for my integrity being called into question, but for the base (behaviour) of those accusing (me)? 

"But what, you will ask, (was) the basis of the crime I am  accused of? I am said to have wanted the senate to be safe. Do you wish (to know by what) means? I am accused of hindering the informer from bringing forward evidence by which he could prove that the senate (was) guilty of treason. So, what do you think, O mistress? Shall I deny the charge, lest I am a (source of) shame to you? But I did want (the senate to be safe), nor shall I ever cease to want (it). Shall I confess (it)? But I have stopped hindering the activities of the informer. Shall I call (it) an offence to have desired the safety of that order (i.e. the senators)? At any rate, with their decrees concerning me, it has caused it to be an offence. But, always deceiving itself, folly cannot change the merits of things, nor, according to the decree of Socrates, do I think it is proper to conceal or to pardon a lie. But how this may be, I leave its appraisal to your judgment and to (that) of the wise. I have also committed the course and the truth of this matter to memory with my pen, lest it may escape the notice of posterity.  

"For what does it accomplish to speak of those falsely composed letters, in which I am shown to have hoped for the freedom of Rome? The forgery of these letters would have appeared manifest, if it had been possible for me to have used the confession of my very accusers, (something) which in all matters of this kind carries the greatest weight. For what liberty may remain to be hoped for? Would that there could be any! I would have responded in the words of Canius (viz. Prosa 3), who, when he was charged by Gaius Caesar (i.e. Caligula), the son of Germanicus, with being aware of the conspiracy being made against him, said: 'If I had known (of it), you would not have known.' Nor has sorrow so dulled my wits that I am complaining that wicked (men have been) devising criminal deeds against virtue, but I do greatly marvel that they have brought about (the things) which they had hoped (to do). For suppose the desire (to do) bad (things) was perhaps (a mark) of our (human) weakness, (yet) the ability (to do bad things) against the innocent, which every evil (man) may commit with god looking on, is like some monstrous portent. For this reason one of your familiar friends (i.e. Epicurus in Lactantius: De Ira Dei, xiii) asked not unjustly: 'If there is a god,' said he, 'from where (do) bad (things come)? But, if there is no (god), from where (do) good (things come)?' But (let it be granted) it were right that wicked men, who seek the blood of all good (men) and the whole of the senate, should also have wished to aim at destroying me, whom they saw fighting in defence of good (men) and the senate. But did I also deserve the same (treatment) from members of the senate? You remember, I suppose, how you were always present directing (me), when I was about to say or do anything. You remember, I repeat, (how) at Verona, when the king, eager for a shared downfall, endeavoured to transfer the charge of treason brought against Albinus to the whole order of the senate, with what great disregard for my own danger I defended the innocence of the whole senate; for the autonomy of a good conscience is in some way diminished, when, by declaring (what) he (has) done, a man receives the reward of fame. But you see what a fate has befallen my innocence; instead of the rewards of true virtue, I am undergoing the punishment for a crime I did not commit. Did the manifest confession of any crime ever make the judges so harmonious in their severity, that either the error of men's judgment or the circumstances of fortune, uncertain in the case of all mortals, placated some of them? If I had been accused of wanting to burn down sacred buildings, or to slit the throats of priests with an impious sword, or to have contrived the death of all good (men), yet sentence would have been pronounced against (me) in my presence, but (only after I had) confessed and (had been) convicted. Now, almost five hundred miles away (i.e. Boethius was imprisoned at Ticinum, modern Pavia, about 20 miles south of Milan) dumb and defenceless, I am condemned to death and proscription (i.e. confiscation of his property). O (how) they (i.e. the senators) deserve that no one should be convicted of a similar crime! 

"Even (those) who were accusing (me) could see my status as the accused in a criminal case, and, in order that they might blacken it by the addition of some other charge, they falsely asserted that I had defiled my conscience with sacrilege (i.e. engaged in black magic and witchcraft) for the sake of obtaining public office. But you, (who were) innate in me, did repel the desire for all mortal things from the seat of my mind, and, beneath your gaze, it was not possible for there to be any place for sacrilege. For, on a daily basis, you used to instil in my ears and thoughts that (saying) of Pythagoras, 'Follow God.' Neither was it appropriate that I, whom you were preparing for that (state of) excellence, so as to make (me) just like a god, should seek to win the aid of the most vile spirits (i.e. demons). Besides, the harmless sanctuary of my house, the coming together of my most honourable friends, (and) also my holy father-in-law (i.e. Quintus Aurelius Memmius Symmachus, consul 485 A.D.) who is just as worthy of deep respect as you are yourself, clear me from all suspicion of this crime. But, O the wickedness (of it all), for (it is) from you (that) they obtain their faith in so great a crime, and (it is) for this very reason (that) I seem to have been associated with evil-doing, because I am steeped in your teachings (and) trained in your morals. So, it is not enough that respect for you brings me no benefit, but you must be assailed on your own account due to the hatred (directed) against me. But yet this heap (of things) is also added to my ills, because the reputation of most things (is) not merited, but the outcome of fortune keeps its watch, and it considers that only that which happiness has commended should be provided for. For this (reason) it happens that a good reputation (is) the first of all (things to) desert unfortunate (men). I hate to remember those rumours of the people (that) now (go around), and how discordant and various (are) their opinions. I would say only this, that the last burden of adverse fortune is that, when some charge is brought against wretched (men), they are thought to have deserved whatever (punishments) they suffer. And I, for my part, having been banished from all blessings, stripped of all my public offices, (and) defiled in respect of my reputation, have received punishment for my good work. 

"But I seem to see the villainous workshops of the wicked, abounding in joy and gladness, all the most desperate men, threatening a fresh (crop of) deceits for the accusers, good (men) lying prostrate with terror at my critical situation, every profligate (fellow) daring (to attempt) some crime without (any fear of) punishment, and then incited by rewards to carry (it) out, but the innocent (are) deprived, not only of (all) composure, but also of any (means of) defence. So would I like to exclaim:

Metrum 5: If the world at large is so harmoniously governed (lines 1-24), why, Boethius complains, are human affairs alone the toy and sport of arbitrary Fortune (lines 25-48)?

"O creator of the starry heavens, who rests upon your eternal throne, you turn the sky with quick motions, and you compel the stars to submit to your law, so that the shining moon, with her full horns opposite all her brother's fires, makes the lesser stars grow dim, but now, growing pale with a darkened horn, she loses her light (as she comes) closer to Phoebus (i.e. the Sun), and Hesperus (i.e. the Evening Star), who performs his chilly risings at the early period of the night, changes his customary reins once more, as Lucifer (i.e. the Morning Star) (grows) pale at the rising of Phoebus. In the cold of leaf-falling winter, you compress the light for a short period; when hot summer has come, you keep apart the busy hours of the night. Your might rules the changing year, so the tender leaves which the breath of Boreas (i.e. the North Wind) steals, Zephyrus (i.e. the West Wind) restores. And whatever seeds Arcturus (i.e. the Bear-Watcher, who is prominent in the evening sky in the early spring) saw, Sirius (i.e. the Dog-Star, which rises just before dawn in the hottest part of the summer) burns the fully-grown crop. Nothing is free of the ancient law, and no one relinquishes the work of his own post. Governing everything to a fixed purpose, (as) ruler (of the world) you refuse by some just measure to embrace the acts of men. For why does slippery Fortune twist (everything) with such greatly changing circumstances? Harmful punishments, (which are) due to the guilty, oppress the innocent, and (men with) perverse customs reside on a lofty throne, and trample unjustly on the necks of holy (men), harming (them) in turn. Buried in dark shadows, distinguished virtue lurks, and the just (man) has borne the charge of iniquity. No perjury and no deceit, dressed in the colour of a falsehood, harms those (who are doing the damage). But, when it pleases them to use their strength, they are glad to subdue those very great kings, whom countless people fear. O you, who binds the bonds of things, look now at the wretched earth! We men, (who are) not the least part of your very great work (of creation), are tossed by the tide of fortune. (O) ruler, make the rapid waves subside, and strengthen the stability of the earth with the law by which you guide the vast heavens."

Prosa 5: Philosophia reacts calmly to Boethius' complaint, and indicates that his illness is so serious that his cure will require two kinds of remedy.  

When I had blurted out these (words), she, with a calm countenance and not at all disturbed by my complaint, said: "When I (first) saw you sad and weeping, I instantly knew you were a wretched exile. But I would not have known how far that exile was, if your speech had not disclosed (it). But it is not only (a question of) how far you have been driven from your homeland, but you (yourself) have strayed (from it); of, if you would prefer it to be thought that you have been expelled, rather have you driven yourself out. For no one else could ever have had this power over you. For, if you remember of which country you are by origin, it is not governed, as Athens once (was), by the rule of the multitude, but 'there is one ruler, one king,' (viz. Homer: Iliad ii. 204) and He rejoices in the abundance of His citizens, not in driving (them) away, and to submit to His governance and to obey the law is freedom. Are you unaware of that most ancient law of your city, which has decreed that, (where) any man has chosen to make his abode in that (city), he (has) the right not to be an exile? For, (in the case of any man) who is confined within its walls and moat, there can be no fear that he should deserve to be banished. But whoever should cease to wish to dwell in it, likewise he also ceases to deserve (this benefit). 

"And so it is not so much (the sight of) this place, as your appearance, that concerns me, nor (is it) the walls of your library, adorned (as they are) with ivory and glass, (that) I am looking for, but the seat of your mind, where I have placed not my books, but what (it is that) gives books their value, (that is,) what were once my opinions.  

"And you have indeed spoken the truth about your services to the common good, but you have spoken (too) little of your deeds on behalf of the multitude. Of (the things with which) you have been charged, whether rightly or falsely, you have said that (they are) known to all. Of the crimes and deceits of your accusers, you (were) right (to) think that they should be cursorily touched upon, because these (things) are frequently on the lips of the common people, (who are) better and more more richly acquainted with their every detail. You have also sharply rebuked the unjust action of the senate. You have also spoken with grief of the accusation (made) against me, and you have also wept at the damage to my reputation. Lastly, your sorrow has burned with rage against fortune, and (you have) complained that rewards have not been equally distributed on the basis of merit. At the end of your bitter verse, you have laid down a prayer that the peace which (governs) the heavens should govern the earth as well. 

"But, since a very great storm of passions has lain heavily upon you, and pain, wrath, (and) sorrow are taking you in different directions, stronger remedies should not yet be applied to you, while you are in your present state of mind. So, for a time, I shall use gentler (medicines), so that (those feelings), which have hardened through a flood of emotions into a swelling, may be softened by gentler treatment (to enable you) to receive the force of a sharper remedy.   

Metrum 6: Success attends those who adapt their actions to the pattern of nature. (Thus we deduce it makes sense for Philosophia to proceed cautiously with milder remedies at the outset.) 

"When the heavy constellation of the Crab burns under the rays of Phoebus (i.e. the Sun), then (he) who has entrusted copious seeds to reluctant furrows, (has been) deceived by faith in Ceres (i.e. the goddess of corn-crops) and proceeds to (grow) oak-trees. You should never seek a flowery grove in order to collect violets, when the plain has bristled as it whistles under (the impact of) the fierce north winds, nor should you seek to trim vine-shoots in the spring with an eager hand, if you should wish to enjoy their grapes; rather has Bacchus (i.e. the god of wine) conferred his gifts in the autumn. God designates the seasons and assigns (to them) their own tasks, nor does he permit the seasons which he controls to be combined. So whatever (it is that) abandons the fixed order by a precipitous path does not have a happy exit.    

Prosa 6: Philosophia questions Boethius closely in order to determine the exact nature of his philosophic ailment, and to plan the course of her own argument for the rest of the dialogue. 

"So, firstly, will you allow me to discover and test the state of your mind, so that I may understand what may be the means of your cure?" 

"Ask whatever question you like and I will answer," I said. 

Then, she said: "Do you think that the world is governed by haphazard and chance events, or do you believe that the rule of reason is intrinsic to it?" 

"Now," I said, "I could not in any way imagine that such fixed (motions) are caused by casual chance, but I do know that the Creator God watches over his work, and that the day shall never come which drives me away from the truth of this judgment." 

"It is the case," said she. "For you even said this in song a little earlier, and you have lamented that only men were devoid of divine care. For you are not at all troubled about other (things), but that they should be ruled by reason. But ooh! I do greatly wonder how (it is that you are) ill, while holding such a healthy opinion. But let us examine (these things) more deeply; (for) I guess that something, I know not what, is missing.

"But tell me (then), since you do not doubt that the world is ruled by God, by what rudders do you think it is guided?"

"I scarcely know the meaning of your question," said I; "much less am I able to respond to your inquiries."

"I was not deceived, was I," she said, "(in thinking) something was missing, whereby, as if through a breach in the strength of a rampart, an emotional sickness had crept into your mind? But tell me, what is the end purpose of things, or whither the goal of the whole of nature is directed?"

"I have heard (it)," said I, "but grief has dulled my memory."

"Well then, do you know from where all (things) have begun their journey?"

"I do know, " I said, and answered that it was (from) God.

"And how can it be that, knowing the beginning of things, you do not know what is their end purpose? But it is the characteristic (and) the strength of these emotional disturbances that, on the one hand, they can move a man from his (usual) position, but, on the other hand, they cannot destroy (him) and entirely uproot (him) from himself. 

"But this too I want you to answer, do you remember that you are a man?"

"Why should I not remember (it)," said I. 

"Then, can you tell (me) what a man is?"

"Are you asking me (if) I know whether he is a rational and a mortal creature? I know and confess that that (is what) I am."

And she (said): "Do you know that you are nothing else?"

"Nothing (else)," (I said). 

"Now I know," she said, "the other or the greatest cause of your illness; you have ceased to know who you are yourself. For this reason I have fully discovered both the manner of your illness and the means of your health being restored. For, since you are perplexed by your loss of memory, you have felt pain that you are an exile and at the confiscation of your goods. But, since you are unaware of what is the end purpose of things, you think that bad and criminal men (are) powerful and happy. Furthermore, since you have forgotten by what means the world is governed, you believe that these alternations in fortune occur without a guide - (these are) not only grave causes of sickness, but also of death. But (it is) thanks to the author of health that nature has not yet altogether deserted you. (As) the greatest means of rekindling your health, we have your true belief about the world's government, in that you believe that it (is) subject, not to the haphazard nature of chance (events), but to divine reason. So you should have no fear at all; from this tiny little spark the heat of life has blazed within you. But, as it is not yet time for stronger remedies, and it is accepted that the nature of the mind is such that, as often as it rejects true opinions, it is entangled by false ones, from which there arises a fog of emotions to confound its true insight, I shall gradually try to lessen (this particular fog) by (the use of) gentle and moderate poultices, so that, when the darkness of deceitful feelings has been dispelled, you will be able to recognise the true light.

Metrum 7: Philosophia recapitulates the first book's imagery and doctrine.

"When they are shrouded with dark clouds, stars can shed no light. If a boisterous South Wind churns up the tide of the revolving sea, a wave, just now as crystal clear as cloudless days, (is) soon (made) foul by the mud stirred up (by the wind) and blocks one's vision. And some stream wanders far and wide as it flows down from some high hills, but it is often brought to a halt by the barrier of a rock torn from a cliff. If you also wish to discern the truth in a clear light and follow the path with a straight course, (then) get rid of joy, get rid of fear, and put hope to flight, and do not permit the presence of grief. The mind is overcast and bound with chains, where these hold sway." 

 

 

HOMER: "ODYSSEY": BOOK III: TELEMACHUS IN PYLOS.

HOMER: "ODYSSEY": BOOK III: TELEMACHUS IN PYLOS.

Introduction:

Although this, the third book of the "Odyssey", involves no action or dispute, it is remarkably readable and entertaining. Perhaps its central character is Nestor, the old king of Pylos, whose recollections, hospitable instincts, and love of the gods succeed in holding our attention throughout the book. Certainly he treats his visitors, the young Telemachus and the goddess Athene, albeit in the guise of Mentor, a former friend of Telemachus' father Odysseus, with considerable generosity. The beach, just north of  Pylos, on which Nestor is sacrificing black bulls to Poseidon, when his visitors arrive, is reputed to be that of the present-day Voidokilia, which according to Peter Fiennes, writing in his recently published travel book, "A Thing of Beauty" (Oneworld 2021), is "perhaps the most idyllic beach in all of Greece." When Athene gives up her disguise and flies back to Olympus in the form of a sea-eagle (see ll. 371-2), this allows Nestor to indulge his love of the goddess by further sacrifices and ritual feasts. Nestor is remarkably explicit about the great difficulties that the Greeks experienced during the protracted siege of Troy. Although he can tell his visitors little about the fate or the whereabouts of his friend Odysseus, he is a mine of information about the dismal death of his former leader Agamemnon on his return from Troy, and how his quarrel with his brother Menelaus was the cause of the problems afflicting so many of the Greeks when they tried to go home. Undoubtedly, the Gerenian horseman (Γερήνιος ἱππότα), to use the somewhat strange formulaic epithet, with which he is repeatedly described, is one of the personalities in Homer's epics who was most popular with the audiences when poets were declaiming. The content of Book III of the "Odyssey" is probably the foundation of Nestor's popularity.

Ll. 1-50. Telemachus, with Athene in attendance, reaches Pylos. 

Now, the sun. on leaving the most beautiful mere, sprang up into the brazen heaven to bring light to the immortals and to mortal men on the fruitful earth; and they came to Pylos, the well-built citadel of Neleus, and on the shore of the sea they (i.e. the people of Pylos) were offering sacrifices, all-black bulls, to the dark-haired Earth-Shaker (i.e. Poseidon). And there were nine companies (there), and five hundred (men) sat in each (one), and in each (company) they offered nine bulls (to be sacrificed). When they had tasted the innards, and were burning the thigh-bones on (the altar) for the god, the (others) (i.e. Telemachus and his crew) put in (to the shore), and hauled up and furled the sail of the trim ship, and moored her, and they themselves disembarked. Then, Telemachus stepped out of the ship, and Athene led the way; the goddess, bright-eyed Athene spoke first to him: "Telemachus, you no longer need to feel any shame, (no,) not a whit; for this reason you have sailed across the sea, to seek news of your father - where the earth covered him (and) what fate befell him. But come now, go straightaway to Nestor, tamer of horses; let us learn what counsel he has hidden in his breast. And do you beseech him to speak infallible truths; but he will not tell a lie; for he is very wise."

Then, Telemachus spoke to her in reply: "Mentor, how I shall I go (up to him)? And how shall I greet him? Nor am I at all experienced in the subtleties of speech; moreover, a young man feels ashamed to question an older (man)."

Then, the goddess, bright-eyed Athene, replied to him: "Telemachus, some (things) you yourself will devise in your mind, and a god will come up with the rest; for I do not think that you were born and raised without the favour of the gods."

Having spoken thus, Pallas Athene quickly led the way; and then he followed in the footsteps of the goddess. And they came to the gathering and the companies of the men of Pylos. There Nestor sat with his sons, and roundabout (them) his companions were preparing the feast, roasting pieces of meat and putting others on the spit. Now, when they saw the strangers, they all came (around them) in a throng, and they clasped their hands in greeting and bade (them) be seated. In the first place, Nestor's son, Pisistratus, came close (to them) and took the hands of both (of them) and made (them) sit down by the feast on soft fleeces (spread) on the sand of the sea beside his brother Thrasymedes and his father; then he served (them) with helpings of innards, and poured sweet wine in a golden cup; and in welcome he addressed Pallas Athene, daughter of Zeus who bears the aegis: "Pray now, O stranger, to the lord Poseidon; for his (is) the feast, which you have chanced upon in coming here. Now, when you have made a drink offering and have prayed, as is fitting, give this cup of sweet wine to this (friend of yours) to pour, since I think that he too should pray to the immortals; for all men have need of the gods. But he is the younger and the same age as myself; for this reason I shall give you the golden goblet first."

Ll. 51-101. Telemachus identifies himself to Nestor. 

As he (i.e. Pisistratus) spoke, he placed the cup of sweet wine in her hand; and Athene rejoiced at the discreet and judicious man, because he gave her the golden goblet first; and at once she prayed earnestly to the lord Poseidon: "Hear (me), Poseidon, you Earth-Sustainer, and do not refuse our prayer to bring these deeds to fulfilment. Firstly, grant renown to Nestor and his sons, and then grant a gracious recompense to all the rest of the Pylians for this glorious sacrificial offering. And grant, furthermore, that Telemachus and I can return, having achieved what we came here to do in our swift back ship." 

So she prayed and then she herself fulfilled every petition. Then, she gave Telemachus the beautiful two-handled cup; and the dear son of Odysseus prayed in just the same way. Then, when they had roasted the outer flesh, and drawn (it from the spits), they divided up the portions and dined on the glorious feast. Now, when they had satisfied their desire for food and drink, the Gerenian (i.e. Gerenia was a town on the Messenian gulf, and Nestor was supposed to have been brought up there) horseman Nestor was the first to speak to them: "Who are you, O (you) strangers? (And) from where do you sail over the watery ways? Do you wander over the sea on some business (matter), or at random, like pirates, who wander at risk to their lives, while bringing evil to men of other lands?"

Then, wise Telemachus took courage and addressed him in reply; for Athene has put the courage in his heart to ask about his absent father, and so that a good report might be had of him among his men: "O Nestor, son of Neleus, great glory of the Achaeans, you ask from where we are (come); and I shall surely tell you. I am come (in quest of) widespread news of my father, the divinely stout-hearted Odysseus, whom they say once fought by your side and sacked the city of the Trojans. For of all the other (men) who fought with the Trojans, we have heard where each (one) died a woeful death, but in his case the son of Cronos (i.e. Zeus) has even arranged for his death to go unreported. For no man can say exactly where he died, whether he was overcome by enemy warriors on the mainland, or on the sea in the midst of the waves of Amphitrite (i.e. the daughter of Nereus and the wife of Poseidon). Therefore, I have now come to (grasp) your knees (to see) if perhaps you may be willing to tell (me) of his woeful death, whether you have perhaps seen it with your own eyes or heard the story of (him) on his wanderings from someone else; for his mother (i.e. Anticlea) bore him into (a world of) excessive sorrow. And do not soften your words #in any way out of concern for me or pity, but tell me clearly how you caught sight (of him). I beseech (you), if ever my father, noble Odysseus, promised you something by word or some deed in the land of the Trojans, where you Achaeans suffered such woes, and (then) accomplished (it), be mindful of these (things) now, I (pray you), and tell me the full truth."      

Ll. 102-140.  Nestor speaks of his painful memories of the siege of Troy, but emphasises his good relationship with Odysseus.

Then, the Gerenian horseman Nestor answered him: "O (my) friend, now you have reminded me of the sorrow which we, the sons of the Achaeans, irrepressibly courageous (as we were), endured in that land, (and) all (the things which we endured) in our ships as we wandered in search of booty, wherever Achilles might lead, and also all (the battles) that we fought around the great city of king Priam; and then all our best (men) were slain there. There lies warlike Ajax, and there Achilles, and there Patroclus, a counsellor equal to the gods, and there my own dear son Antilochus, both strong and peerless, (who) excelled in speed of running and (as) a warrior; but we suffered many evils besides these; who among mortal men could speak of them all? Nay, if you were to remain (here) for five or six years, and inquire into all these evils that the noble Achaeans suffered there, you would become distressed long before that, and make your way back to your native-land. For we went about plotting their ruin by all kinds of stratagems, but the son of Cronos made (it) hard to achieve. There no one ever chose to vie (with him) face to face, since godlike Odysseus very much prevailed with all kinds of devices, your father (that is), if you are truly his son; amazement takes hold of me as I look (at you). For, in truth, you speak just like (he did), nor would you think that a younger man could speak so like (him). To be sure, all the time (we were) there, godlike Odysseus and I never spoke on opposite sides in the assembly or in the council, but, having one mind, we advised the Argives with wisdom and shrewd counsel how the very best (outcomes) might be achieved. But, when we had sacked the lofty city of Priam, and had gone way in our ships, and a god had scattered the Achaeans, even then Zeus planned  in his mind a woeful return for the Argives, since in no way were they all sensible or just; for this reason, many of them met an evil fate, through the deadly wrath of the bright-eyed daughter of a mighty sire (i.e. Athene). For she had caused strife between the two sons of Atreus (i.e. Agamemnon and Menelaus). Now, these two had called all the Achaeans to an assembly, and at sunset they, the sons of the Achaeans, came recklessly and in (a state of) disorder, (as they were) sodden with wine, (and) they told (them) the reason why they had gathered the host together.    

Ll. 141-183. Nestor goes on to speak of the quarrel between the sons of Atreus, and how this adversely affected the arrangements for the return journey of the Achaeans. 

"Then, in truth, Menelaus told all the Achaeans to give heed to their journey home over the broad back of the sea, but, (in saying this), he utterly failed to please Agamemnon; for he was wishing to hold back the host and offer holy hecatombs, in order to appease the dreaded wrath of Athene - fool (that he was), as he did not know that she had no thought of complying; for the minds of the gods that live forever are not quickly altered. So the two of them stood exchanging harsh words; but the well-greaved Achaeans arose with a wondrous noise, and the divided counsel was agreeable to them. That night we rested, revolving hard thoughts against one another in our minds; for Zeus was arranging a dreadful calamity for us. And in the morning some of us launched our ships on the bright sea, and put on board our possessions and our deep-girded women. Now, half of the host were held back and stayed there with Atreus' son, Agamemnon, shepherd of the host; but (the other) half (of us) embarked and rowed away (in our ships); and they sailed very swiftly, as a god had made smooth the yawning sea. When we came to Tenedos (i.e. an island in the Aegean near the Trojan coast), we offered up sacrifices to the gods, as we longed (to return) to our homes, but Zeus, hard-hearted (as he was), did not yet intend (us to make) our return, and he again let loose upon (us) disastrous strife for a second time. (Then,) some turned around their ships with oars on both sides and departed in the company of the lord Odysseus, shrewd and full of wiles (as he was), (wishing) once more to do favours to Atreus' son, the lord Agamemnon; but I with a full company of ships, which followed me, fled on, since I was aware that the god (i.e. Zeus) was devising evil (things). And the warlike son of Tydeus (i.e. Diomedes) fled, and summoned his companions (to go with him). And, after a long interval, the auburn-haired Menelaus came to join us (i.e. Nestor and Diomedes), and he met (with us) in Lesbos (i.e. an island in the eastern Aegean off the west coast of modern Turkey), (as we were) debating the course of our long sea-voyage, whether we should sail to the north of rugged Chios (i.e. an island in the northeastern Aegean off the coast of modern Turkey and separated from it by a narrow strait), in the direction of the island of Psyria (i.e an island due west of Chios), while keeping it on the left, or to the south of Chios, past windy Mimas (i.e. the large peninsula on the west coast of modern Turkey, opposite Chios). And we asked the god to show (us) a portent; then he showed us (one), and bade (us) cut through the midst of the sea to Euboea (i.e. the large island lying off the coast of eastern Greece), so that we might escape from the misery as soon as possible. Then, a shrill wind sprang up to blow on (them); and the (ships) ran very swiftly over passages teeming with fish, and during the night they came in to land at Geraestus (i.e. the south-western promontory of Euboea); and (there) we laid upon (the altar) of Poseidon many bulls' thigh-bones, (thankful) to have traversed the great sea. It was on the fourth day, when the companions of Tydeus' son, Diomedes, tamer of horses, anchored their well-balanced ships in Argos; but I (i.e. Nestor) kept going towards Pylos, and the wind was never quenched (from the time) when the god first caused (it) to blow.

Ll. 184-228. Nestor tells Telemachus about the return of some of the Achaeans, and exchanges thoughts with him about the situation in Ithaca. 

"So I arrived, dear child, without any news (of the others), nor do I know anything of those of the Achaeans, who were saved and (of those) who were lost. But those (things) I have learned since residing in our halls, you will be told about, as is proper, nor will you be left in the dark. They say that the Myrmidons, who fight with the spear, returned home safely, (those) whom the famous son of great-hearted Achilles (i.e. Neoptolemus) led, and that Philoctetes, the glorious son of Poias, (returned home) safely (too). Then did Idomeneus bring (back) to Crete all his companions who had survived the war, and the sea did not take away any of them. And of the son of Atreus (i.e. Agamemnon), even you yourselves, have heard, though living far away, both how he came home, and how Aegisthus plotted his woeful death. How good (a thing it is) that a son should remain behind when a man dies, since he (i.e. Orestes) took his revenge on his father's killer, the guileful Aegisthus, who slew his glorious father! You too, my friend, for I see that you (are) very comely and tall, be you valiant, so that a man (who is) not yet born may also praise you." 

Then, the wise Telemachus spoke to him in reply: "O Nestor, son of Neleus, great glory of the Achaeans, that son of his certainly took his full revenge, and the Achaeans will spread his fame far and wide, and to men of future generations, so that they may hear (of it). For if only the gods would invest such great strength in me, to take revenge on the suitors for their grievous transgressions, (those men) who have insulted me and shouted reckless (remarks at me)! But, I (would have you know), the gods have no such happiness in store for my father and me; and now, at any rate, I must endure."

Then, the Gerenian horseman Nestor answered him: "O my friend, since you have put me in mind of this, and have spoken (of it), they say that many suitors for the hand of your mother are devising evil (schemes) in your halls against your wishes; tell me, whether you willingly allow yourself to be oppressed, or whether the people hate you across the land, following the voice of a god. Who knows, but he (i.e. Odysseus) may come some day and take his revenge on them for their violence, he alone, it may be, or even the Achaeans all together? For if (only) bright-eyed Athene may chose to love you, as she once cared for glorious Odysseus in the land of the Trojans, where we Achaeans suffered woes - for I have never seen the gods show their love so openly, as (when) Pallas Athene stood manifestly by his side - if she should choose to love you in this way, and would care (for you) in her heart, then many a one of them would utterly escape the notice of marriage."

Then, wise Telemachus said to him in reply: "O old man, in no way do I think that your words will be fulfilled; for you speak of (something) very hard; amazement is taking hold of me. I have no hope that these (things) will happen, no, not even if the gods should will it so."

Ll. 229-275.   Telemachus asks about Agamemnon's death.    

Then, the goddess, bright-eyed Athene, spoke to him (as follows): "Telemachus, what a word has escaped the barrier of your teeth! Easily might a god who willed (it) rescue a man, even from afar. But I would rather suffer many toils on my journey home and see the day of my return, than, after my return, to be slain at my own hearth, as Agamemnon was murdered by the guile of Aegisthus and of his own wife (i.e. Clytemnestra). But, in truth, not even the gods can ward off the death (which is) common (to all) from a man they love, when the deadly fate of grievous death shall lay (him) low."

Then, wise Telemachus spoke to him in reply: "Mentor, let us no longer talk of these (things), despite our sorrow: and his return (is) no longer to be expected, but in his case the immortals have already devised his death and a black fate. But now I wish to make inquiry and to ask Nestor about another subject, since he knows better than any others (what is) right and prudent; for they say that he has been king over three generations of men; and he seems to me to be looked at as though (he were) immortal." "O Nestor, son of Neleus, do you tell me the truth: how did the son of Atreus, wide-ruling Agamemnon, die? Where was Menelaus? And what death did guileful Aegisthus devise for him (i.e. Agamemnon), since he slew a much mightier (man than himself)? Was he (i.e. Menelaus) not in Achaean Argos, but was he wandering somewhere else among men, and so he (i.e. Aegisthus) took courage and slew him (i.e. Agamemnon).     

Then, the Gerenian horseman, Nestor, answered him: "Well then, my child, I shall tell you the whole truth. Surely you yourself can foresee how this (matter) would have fallen out, if the son of Atreus, auburn-haired Menelaus, on his return from Troy, had found Aegisthus in his halls alive; now for him, not even in death, would they have heaped up a mound on the earth, but dogs and birds would have rent his (body), as he lay on the plain far from the city, nor would any of the Achaean (women) have lamented him; for very wicked (was) the deed he had devised. For we lingered there, fulfilling our many martial contests; but he, at ease in a corner of Argos, tried all the time to enchant Agamemnon's wife with his words. 

"To be sure, the queenly Clytemnestra at first rejected the shameful deed; for she was possessed of a good heart; and there was with (her) a man of song, whom the son of Atreus had directly enjoined to guard his wife, when he set out for Troy. But, when the fate of the gods was bound to his destruction, then he (i.e. Aegisthus) took the bard to a desert island, and left (him there) to be the prey and spoil of the birds, and he led her, willing as he was willing, to his own house. Then, he burned many thigh-pieces on the holy altars of the gods, and hung up many pleasing offerings, both woven (articles) and gold, when he had accomplished the dreadful deed, which, in his heart, he had never thought would be possible.   

Ll. 276-328. Nestor tells of Menelaus' wanderings. 

"Now we were sailing together on our way from Troy, the son of Atreus and I, feeling kindly towards one another; but when we came to holy Sunium, the cape of Athens (i.e. the southern tip of Attica, to the south-east of Athens), there Phoebus Apollo visited us with his painless shafts and slew Menelaus' helmsman, as he was holding in his hands the steering-paddle of the ship he was running; (he was) Phrontis, son of Onetor, who used to surpass the tribes of men in steering a ship, when the storm winds are blowing strongly. So there he (i.e. Menelaus) put in to shore, though (he was) eager to be on his way, so that he might bury his comrade and pay (him) the proper funeral honours. But, when he also set sail (i.e. Nestor had already done so) in his hollow ships over the wine-dark sea, and came swiftly to Malea's steep headland (i.e. the stormy south-eastern promontory of the Peloponnese), then the far-seeing Zeus devised a troubled course (for him), and poured out blasts of piercing winds, and the waves (were) swollen like mountains. There he divided his fleet into two parts, and he took some of them to Crete, where the Cydonians (i.e. one of the four tribes of Crete) dwelt around the streams of the Iardanus (i.e. a river at the western end of the north coast of Crete). Now, there is a certain smooth rockface (looking) sheer towards the sea in the misty deep on the borders of (the territory of) Gortyn (i.e. a city in south-central Crete); there the South West Wind thrust great waves against the western headland, near Phaestus, and a small rock holds back a great wave. And there they came, and the men barely escaped destruction, but the waves smashed the ships into pieces against the rocks; then the wind and the current took up the (other) five ships with their dark prows and drove (them) to Egypt. So there he was roaming around with his ships among men who spoke a strange tongue, gathering up quite a livelihood as well as gold; but, meanwhile, Aegisthus had devised these woeful (plans) at their home. After slaying the son of Atreus (i.e. Agamemnon), he was lord of Mycenae, rich in gold, for seven years, and the people were subdued by him. But in the eighth (year) godlike Orestes came back from Athens and put to death his father's murderer, the guileful Aegisthus, who had killed his glorious father. Then, having killed him, he gave a funeral feast to the Argives over (the bodies of) his hated mother (i.e. Clytemnestra) and the impotent Aegisthus; and, on the self-same day, Menelaus, good at the war-cry, came to him, bringing much treasure, as much of a load as his ships could carry. 

"And you, my friend, do not wander far from your home for any length of time, leaving behind your property and those men in your house, (who are) so arrogant that they divide among themselves and devour all your wealth, and you will have gone on a fruitless journey. But to Menelaus I urge and command (you) to go; for he has recently come from abroad, from such men as no one would wish in his heart to go back to, and the storms once drove him astray into a sea so great that even the birds do not venture to go into it within the space of a year, since (it is so) great and terrible. But now, go your way with your ship and your comrades; but, if you wish (to go) by land, (there is) a chariot and horses beside you, and  at your side are my sons, who will be your escorts to lovely Lacedaemon (i.e. Sparta), where auburn-haired Menelaus (resides). And do you yourself beseech him to tell (you) the truth; but he will not tell a lie; for he is extremely wise."

Ll. 329-370. Athene continues to encourage Telemachus to visit Menelaus. 

So he (i.e. Nestor) spoke, and the sun set and the darkness came on. Then, the goddess, bright-eyed Athene, spoke among them: "O old (man), you have surely told this (tale) aright. But come, cut the (victims') tongues (into pieces) and mix the wine, so that, when we have made drink offerings to Poseidon and the other immortals, we can think of sleep; for (it is) the right time for it. For now the light has gone down below the darkness, nor is it fitting to sit for long at the feast of the gods, but (rather) to go (to bed)."  

Thus spoke the daughter of Zeus, and they hearkened to her voice. And heralds poured water on their hands, and filled the mixing bowls with drink, and they distributed (it) to everyone, beginning with the cups (for the libations); then, they cast the tongues on to the fire, and, as they arose, poured libations upon (them). But, when they had poured their drink offerings and had drunk as much as their hearts could wish, then Athene and godlike Telemachus both longed to return to their hollow ship. But Nestor sought to hold (them) back, and accosted them with these words: "May Zeus and the other immortals stop you going from my (house) to your swift ship, as though from one utterly unclad and penniless, who does not have any cloaks or plenty of blankets in his house, on which both he and his guests may sleep softly. But in my (house there are) cloaks and fair blankets. The dear son of this man Odysseus shall surely not lie down on the deck of a ship, so long as  I still live, and when there are sons left in my halls to entertain strangers, whoever (it is that) may come to my house." 

Then, the goddess, bright-eyed Athene, addressed him: "Well indeed have you spoken these (words), (you) dear old man; and it is fitting that Telemachus should obey you, since (that would be) so much better (for him). But, (while) he may now follow with you, so that he may sleep in your halls, I shall go to our black ship, so that I may encourage our companions and tell (them) everything. For I declare that I alone among them am an older (man); but the other men (who) follow (us) in friendship (are) younger, (and) all (of them) of a similar age to great-hearted Telemachus. Now there I shall lie by the hollow black ship; but in the morning I shall go in pursuit of the great-hearted Cauconians (i.e. a tribe resident in Triphylia to the south-west of Pylos), where a debt is owing to me, which is in no way new or small (i.e. this probably refers to property carried off in a raid and then wrongfully retained). But, since he has come to your house, send this (man) on his way with a chariot and with your son (i.e. Pisistratus); and give him horses, which (are) the fleetest at running and the most strong (that) you (have)."

Ll. 371-403. Athene departs, and Nestor prays to her. 

Having spoken thus, bright-eyed Athene departed in the guise of a sea-eagle; and amazement took hold of all (of them), as they gazed (at her). And the old man (i.e. Nestor) marvelled, when he saw (it) with his eyes; and he grasped the hand of Telemachus, and spoke these words (to him) and uttered (them) aloud: "(O) my friend, I do not think that you are base and feeble, if the gods follow you as guides since you are so young. For (surely) this (is) none other (of those) who live on (Mount) Olympus, but the most honoured Tritogenia (i.e. the lady of Lake Tritonis, in Libya, and an epithet of Athene), but the daughter of Zeus, (who) surely gave honour to your noble father among the Argives. But be gracious, (O) my queen, and grant great renown to myself, to my sons, and to my revered queen (i.e. Eurydice); and to you in return I shall sacrifice a yearling heifer, broad-fronted (and) unbroken, which no man has yet led beneath the yoke; to you I shall sacrifice her, having spread gold around her horns."

So he spoke in prayer, and Pallas Athene heard him. Then, the Gerenian horseman Nestor led them, his sons, and his daughters' husbands to his beautiful palace. And, when they reached the king's glorious palace, they sat down in rows on seats and chairs; and, when they had come, the old man mixed up a bowl of sweet wine (for them), which was in its eleventh year, which the housekeeper opened when she had loosened the lid. The old man mixed a bowl of this (wine), and poured out libations in earnest prayer to the daughter of Zeus who bears the aegis. 

But, when they had made their drink offerings, and had drunk as much as their hearts could wish, they went, each to his own home, to take their rest, and there the Gerenian horseman Nestor lulled the dear son of godlike Odysseus to sleep on the perforated bedspread under the resounding portico, and beside (him was) Pisistratus of the good ashen spear, a leader of men, who (alone) among his sons in the palace was still unwed; but he himself slept in the innermost (chamber) of his lofty house, and his wife, the lady of the house, prepared their bed and its bedding.      

Ll. 404-446. Nestor prepares to sacrifice to Athene. 

At the time when the child of the morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, the Gerenian horseman Nestor arose from his bed, and went out and sat down on his polished stone(-benches), (which were) in front of his lofty doors, white and glistening with oil (as they were); on these there once used to sit Neleus, equal to the gods as a counsellor; but by this time he had met his fate and gone to Hades, and now there sat upon (them) Nestor of Gerenia, the warder of the Achaeans, holding a sceptre. And around (him) his sons gathered in a throng, as they came from their bedchambers, Echephron, and Stratius, and Perseus, and Aretus, and the godlike Thrasymedes. And then after them there came (as) the sixth the heroic Pisistratus, and (with them) they led godlike Telemachus and made (him) sit beside (them). 

And the Gerenian horseman Nestor began speaking to them: "Quickly, my dear children, satisfy my desire that I may surely propitiate Athene first of all the gods, (she) who came with me in person to the god's rich feast. But come now, let someone go to the plain for a heifer, so that she may come as quickly as possible, and may a head-herdsman drive (her); and let someone go to the black ship of great-hearted Telemachus and fetch all his comrades, and leave only two (of them); and let someone bid the goldsmith Laerces come here, so that he may spread gold on the heifer's horns. Now, the rest (of you) stay here as a group, and tell the handmaidens (who are) inside to prepare a feast throughout our glorious palace, and (to set) seats and logs of firewood on both sides (of the altar), and to bring fresh water."  

So he (i.e. Nestor) spoke, and they all busied themselves with their work. The heifer came from the plain, and great-hearted Telemachus' comrades came from the swift well-balanced ship, and the coppersmith (i.e. Laerces) came, holding in his hands his bronze instruments, the implements of his craft, an anvil, and a hammer, and a pair of tongs, with which he worked in gold; then the old man Nestor, who fights from chariots, gave (him) gold; and then he prepared (it), and poured (it) around the horns of the heifer, so that the goddess might rejoice when she saw the glorious offering. And Stratius and godly Echephron led the heifer by the horns. Then, Aretus came from his chamber, bringing them water for washing their hands in a cauldron adorned with flowers, and in his other hand (i.e. his left-hand) he held barley grains in a basket, and Thrasymedes, steadfast in battle, stood by (him), holding a sharp double-headed axe in his hand in order to strike the heifer. And Perseus held the bowl for the blood; and the old man Nestor, who fights from a chariot, began (the sacrifice) with the washing of hands and the (sprinkling of) the barley-grains, and he prayed earnestly to Athene, cutting the hair from the head and casting (it) into the fire.    

Ll. 447-497. After the sacrifice is completed, Telemachus departs. 

Now, when they had prayed and cast the barley-grains, straightway the son of Nestor, the high-spirited Thrasymedes, took his stand nearby and struck (the blow); and the double-headed axe cut through the sinews of her neck, and dissolved the strength of the heifer. And the (women) cried out in a loud voice, the daughters, and daughters-in-law, and the revered wife of Nestor, Eurydice, the eldest of the daughters of Clymenus. Then, the other (sons), having lifted (her head) from the broad-wayed earth, held (it) up; and Pisistratus, leader of men, cut her throat. And when the black blood had flowed from her, and the life had left the bones, then they quickly dismembered her and cut out the thigh-bones all in the proper manner, and covered (them) with fat made into two layers, and placed raw pieces of meat upon them. Then, the old man burned (them) on a piece of wood, and poured sparkling wine over them; and beside him the young (men) held five-pronged forks in their hands. But, when the thigh-bones were completely burnt, and they had tasted the inner parts, they cut up the rest and skewered (it) all around with spits, and roasted (it), holding the sharp spits in their hands.   

Meanwhile, the fair Polycaste, the youngest daughter of Nestor, son of Neleus, had bathed Telemachus. Now, when she had bathed (him) and anointed (him) richly with olive-oil, and had cast a fair cloak and a tunic around him, he came forth from the bath-tub with a body like one of the immortals; and he went and sat down beside Nestor, shepherd of the people. 

Now, when they had roasted the outer flesh and had drawn (it) from (the spits), they sat down and feasted; and goodly men waited on (them), pouring wine into golden cups. But, when they had satisfied their desire for food and drink, the Gerenian horseman Nestor began to speak to them: "Come, my sons, bring up those horses with their beautiful manes for Telemachus, and yoke (them) to the bottom of the chariot. so that he may undertake his journey." 

So he spoke, and they readily heard and obeyed him, and they quickly yoked the swift horses to the bottom of the chariot. Then, the housekeeper placed bread and wine in (the chariot), and such delicacies as kings fostered by Zeus are wont to eat. 

Then, Telemachus got into the chariot; and Nestor's son Pisistratus, leader of men, climbed into the chariot beside (him), and took the reins in his hands, and he cracked the whip to set (them) in motion, and, not unwillingly, they sped on their way to the plain, and left the steep citadel of Pylos. And all day long they shook the yoke which they bore around (their necks).

Then, the sun set and all the ways grew dark, and they came to Pherae (i.e. a city on the gulf of Messenia between Pylos and Sparta), to the house of Diocles, son of Ortilochus, whom Alpheus (i.e. the river-god of Elis and the western Peloponnese) begot (as) a son. And there they spent the night, and he put hospitable (materials) beside them.

At the time when the child of the morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, they yoked the horses and climbed into their embellished chariot; and they drove forth from the gateway and the resounding portico; and he cracked the whip to set (them) in motion, and, not unwillingly, they sped on their way. And they came to the wheat-bearing plain, and then they completed their journey there; for so did their swift horses carry (them) on their way. Then, the sun set and all the ways grew dark.