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The Confessions of St. Augustin In Thirteen Books
Chapter VII.--Troubled by Restlessness and Grief, He Leaves His Country a Second Time for Carthage.
12. O madness, which knowest not how to love men as men should be loved! O foolish man that I then was, enduring with so much impatience the lot of man! So I fretted, sighed, wept, tormented myself, and took neither rest nor advice. For I bore about with me a rent and polluted soul, impatient of being borne by me, and where to repose it I found not. Not in pleasant groves, not in sport or song, not in fragrant spots, nor in magnificent banquetings, nor in the pleasures of the bed and the couch, nor, finally, in books and songs did it find repose. All things looked terrible, even the very light itself; and whatsoever was not what he was, was repulsive and hateful, except groans and tears, for in those alone found I a little repose. But when my soul was withdrawn from them, a heavy burden of misery weighed me down. To Thee, O Lord, should it have been raised, for Thee to lighten and avert it. 1 This I knew, but was neither willing nor able; all the more since, in my thoughts of Thee, Thou wert not any solid or substantial thing to me. For Thou wert not Thyself, but an empty phantasm, 2 and my error was my god. If I attempted to discharge my burden thereon, that it might find rest, it sank into emptiness, and came rushing down again upon me, and I remained to myself an unhappy spot, where I could neither stay nor depart from. For whither could my heart fly from my heart? Whither could I fly from mine own self? Whither not follow myself? And yet fled I from my country; for so should my eyes look less for him where they were not accustomed to see him. And thus I left the town of Thagaste, and came to Carthage.
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"The great and merciful Architect of His Church, whom not only the philosophers have styled, but the Scripture itself calls technites (an artist or artificer), employs not on us the hammer and chisel with an intent to wound or mangle us, but only to square and fashion our hard and stubborn hearts into such lively stones as may both grace and strengthen His heavenly structure."--Boyle. ↩
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See iii. 9; iv. 3, 12, 31; v. 19. ↩
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Confessiones (CSEL)
Caput 7
O dementiam nescientem diligere homines humaniter! o stultum hominem inmoderate humana patientem! quod ego tunc eram. itaque aestuabam, suspirabam, flebam, turbabar, nec requies erat nec consilium. portabam enim concisam et cruentam animam meam, inpatientem portari a me; et ubi eam ponerem non inveniebam. non in amoenis nemoribus, non in ludis atque cantibus, nec in suave olentibus locis, nec in conviviis apparatis, nec in voluptate cubilis et lecti, non denique in libris atque carminibus adquiescebat. horrebant omnia et ipsa lux, et quidquid non erat quod ille erat, inprobum et taediosum erat, praeter gemitum et lacrimas: nam in eis solis aliquantula requies. ubi autem inde auferebatur anima mea, onerabat me grandis sarcina miseriae, ad te, domine, levanda erat et curanda, sciebam, sed nec volebam nec valebam, eo magis, quod mihi non eras aliquid solidum et firmum, cum de te cogitabam. non enim tu eras, sed vanum phantasma et error meus erat deus meus. si conabar eam ibi ponere, ut requiesceret, per inane labebatur et iterum ruebat super me; et ego mihi remanseram infelix locus, ubi nec esse possem nec inde recedere. quo enim cor meum fugeret a corde meo? quo a me ipso fugerem? quo non me sequerer? et tamen fugi de patria. minus enim eum quaerebant oculi mei, ubi videre non solebant: atque a Thagastensi oppido veni Carthaginem.