I will now call to mind my past foulness, and the carnal corruptions of my soul; not because I love them, but that I may love Thee, O my God. For love of Thy love I do it; reviewing my most wicked ways in the very bitterness of my remembrance, that Thou mayest grow sweet unto me (Thou sweetness never failing, Thou blissful and assured sweetness); and gathering me again out of that my dissipation, wherein I was torn piecemeal, while turned from Thee, the One Good, I lost myself among a multiplicity of things. For I even burnt in my youth heretofore, to be satiated in things below; and I dared to grow wild again, with these various and shadowy loves: my beauty consumed away, and I stank in Thine eyes; pleasing myself, and desirous to please in the eyes of men.
I reflect now on my past sins and the corrupt desires of my soul—not because I cherish them, but because I long to love You more deeply, my God. It is for the love of Your love that I do this, examining my gravest transgressions with bitter remembrance, so that You may become ever sweeter to me (You whose sweetness never fades, You who are eternal bliss and comfort). I seek to gather myself back from that scattered state where I was torn apart, having turned away from You, the One True Good, losing myself in countless distractions. In my youth, I burned with desire to indulge in worldly pleasures, recklessly chasing after fleeting and hollow romances. My inner beauty wasted away until I became repulsive in Your sight, consumed by self-satisfaction and desperate for the approval of others.
And what was it that I delighted in, but to love, and be loved? but I kept not the measure of love, of mind to mind, friendship's bright boundary: but out of the muddy concupiscence of the flesh, and the bubblings of youth, mists fumed up which beclouded and overcast my heart, that I could not discern the clear brightness of love from the fog of lustfulness. Both did confusedly boil in me, and hurried my unstayed youth over the precipice of unholy desires, and sunk me in a gulf of flagitiousnesses. Thy wrath had gathered over me, and I knew it not. I was grown deaf by the clanking of the chain of my mortality, the punishment of the pride of my soul, and I strayed further from Thee, and Thou lettest me alone, and I was tossed about, and wasted, and dissipated, and I boiled over in my fornications, and Thou heldest Thy peace, O Thou my tardy joy! Thou then heldest Thy peace, and I wandered further and further from Thee, into more and more fruitless seed-plots of sorrows, with a proud dejectedness, and a restless weariness.
What delighted me most was to love and be loved, but I couldn't maintain the proper bounds of love between minds—the pure essence of friendship. Instead, from the murky desires of flesh and the turbulence of youth, fog rose up and clouded my heart, making it impossible to distinguish genuine love from mere lust. These feelings churned within me chaotically, driving my reckless youth over the edge of sinful desires and plunging me into a pit of shameful acts. Your anger loomed over me, though I was blind to it. The rattling chains of my mortal nature had deafened me—punishment for my soul's pride. I drifted further from You, and You let me wander. I was thrown about, depleted, scattered, and consumed by my lustful acts while You remained silent, O my delayed joy! In Your silence, I strayed ever further, stumbling through increasingly barren fields of sorrow, filled with proud despair and restless exhaustion.
Oh! that some one had then attempered my disorder, and turned to account the fleeting beauties of these, the extreme points of Thy creation! had put a bound to their pleasureableness, that so the tides of my youth might have cast themselves upon the marriage shore, if they could not be calmed, and kept within the object of a family, as Thy law prescribes, O Lord: who this way formest the offspring of this our death, being able with a gentle hand to blunt the thorns which were excluded from Thy paradise? For Thy omnipotency is not far from us, even when we be far from Thee. Else ought I more watchfully to have heeded the voice from the clouds: Nevertheless such shall have trouble in the flesh, but I spare you. And it is good for a man not to touch a woman. And, he that is unmarried thinketh of the things of the Lord, how he may please the Lord; but he that is married careth for the things of this world, how he may please his wife.
If only someone had helped temper my unruly desires and channel these fleeting pleasures, which are the furthest reaches of Your creation! If only they had set limits on these indulgences, so my youthful passions might have found harbor in marriage—if they couldn't be completely calmed—and been contained within family life, as Your law commands, Lord. You who shapes the offspring born of our mortality, You can gently dull the thorns that were banished from Your paradise. Your power reaches us even when we stray far from You. I should have paid more attention to the warning from above: "Yet those who marry will face many troubles in this life, and I want to spare you this." And "It is good for a man not to marry." And "An unmarried man concerns himself with the Lord's work—how he can please the Lord. But a married man concerns himself with worldly matters—how he can please his wife."
To these words I should have listened more attentively, and being severed for the kingdom of heaven's sake, had more happily awaited Thy embraces; but I, poor wretch, foamed like a troubled sea, following the rushing of my own tide, forsaking Thee, and exceeded all Thy limits; yet I escaped not Thy scourges. For what mortal can? For Thou wert ever with me mercifully rigorous, and besprinkling with most bitter alloy all my unlawful pleasures: that I might seek pleasures without alloy. But where to find such, I could not discover, save in Thee, O Lord, who teachest by sorrow, and woundest us, to heal; and killest us, lest we die from Thee. Where was I, and how far was I exiled from the delights of Thy house, in that sixteenth year of the age of my flesh, when the madness of lust (to which human shamelessness giveth free licence, though unlicensed by Thy laws) took the rule over me, and I resigned myself wholly to it? My friends meanwhile took no care by marriage to save my fall; their only care was that I should learn to speak excellently, and be a persuasive orator.
I should have paid more attention to those words. By separating myself for heaven's sake, I could have more joyfully awaited Your embrace. Instead, I was like a turbulent sea, following my own destructive course and abandoning You, breaking all Your boundaries. Yet I couldn't escape Your discipline—what mortal can? You were always there, strictly merciful, making all my forbidden pleasures bitter so I would seek pure ones instead. But I could find such pure pleasure only in You, Lord, who teaches through pain, who wounds to heal, and kills to prevent our eternal death. How lost I was, how far from the joy of Your house in my sixteenth year, when lustful madness took control of me—that human vice which society freely permits but Your laws forbid. I gave myself completely to it. My friends, meanwhile, never tried to protect me through marriage. Their only concern was that I should become an excellent speaker and persuasive orator.
For that year were my studies intermitted: whilst after my return from Madaura (a neighbour city, whither I had journeyed to learn grammar and rhetoric), the expenses for a further journey to Carthage were being provided for me; and that rather by the resolution than the means of my father, who was but a poor freeman of Thagaste. To whom tell I this? not to Thee, my God; but before Thee to mine own kind, even to that small portion of mankind as may light upon these writings of mine. And to what purpose? that whosoever reads this, may think out of what depths we are to cry unto Thee. For what is nearer to Thine ears than a confessing heart, and a life of faith? Who did not extol my father, for that beyond the ability of his means, he would furnish his son with all necessaries for a far journey for his studies' sake? For many far abler citizens did no such thing for their children. But yet this same father had no concern how I grew towards Thee, or how chaste I were; so that I were but copious in speech, however barren I were to Thy culture, O God, who art the only true and good Lord of Thy field, my heart.
That year I had to pause my studies after returning from Madaura, a nearby city where I had gone to study grammar and rhetoric. My father was arranging funds for my further education in Carthage, despite being just a poor freeman of Thagaste and stretching beyond his means to do so. To whom am I telling this? Not to You, my God, but rather to my fellow humans who might come across these words. And why? So that whoever reads this might understand the depths from which we must call out to You. For what is closer to Your ears than a heart that confesses and a life lived in faith? Everyone praised my father for providing everything needed for my distant studies, despite his limited resources. Many wealthier citizens didn't do the same for their children. Yet this same father paid no attention to my spiritual growth or moral character. As long as I was eloquent in speech, he didn't care how barren I was in Your cultivation, O God, the only true and good Lord of my heart's field.
But while in that my sixteenth year I lived with my parents, leaving all school for a while (a season of idleness being interposed through the narrowness of my parents' fortunes), the briers of unclean desires grew rank over my head, and there was no hand to root them out. When that my father saw me at the baths, now growing towards manhood, and endued with a restless youthfulness, he, as already hence anticipating his descendants, gladly told it to my mother; rejoicing in that tumult of the senses wherein the world forgetteth Thee its Creator, and becometh enamoured of Thy creature, instead of Thyself, through the fumes of that invisible wine of its self-will, turning aside and bowing down to the very basest things. But in my mother's breast Thou hadst already begun Thy temple, and the foundation of Thy holy habitation, whereas my father was as yet but a Catechumen, and that but recently. She then was startled with a holy fear and trembling; and though I was not as yet baptised, feared for me those crooked ways in which they walk who turn their back to Thee, and not their face.
During my sixteenth year, I lived with my parents and left school due to our financial struggles. In this idle time, impure desires grew unchecked within me, with no guidance to curb them. When my father saw me at the baths, noticing my emerging manhood and restless youth, he proudly shared his observations with my mother. He delighted in these signs of masculinity, forgetting You, our Creator, as the world often does—becoming infatuated with Your creation rather than You. Like wine clouding judgment, self-will leads people to worship the lowest things. But You had already established Your temple in my mother's heart, while my father was only a recent Catechumen. She trembled with holy fear, and though I wasn't yet baptized, she worried I would follow the wayward path of those who turn from You.
Woe is me! and dare I say that Thou heldest Thy peace, O my God, while I wandered further from Thee? Didst Thou then indeed hold Thy peace to me? And whose but Thine were these words which by my mother, Thy faithful one, Thou sangest in my ears? Nothing whereof sunk into my heart, so as to do it. For she wished, and I remember in private with great anxiety warned me, "not to commit fornication; but especially never to defile another man's wife." These seemed to me womanish advices, which I should blush to obey. But they were Thine, and I knew it not: and I thought Thou wert silent and that it was she who spake; by whom Thou wert not silent unto me; and in her wast despised by me, her son, the son of Thy handmaid, Thy servant. But I knew it not; and ran headlong with such blindness, that amongst my equals I was ashamed of a less shamelessness, when I heard them boast of their flagitiousness, yea, and the more boasting, the more they were degraded: and I took pleasure, not only in the pleasure of the deed, but in the praise. What is worthy of dispraise but vice? But I made myself worse than I was, that I might not be dispraised; and when in any thing I had not sinned as the abandoned ones, I would say that I had done what I had not done, that I might not seem contemptible in proportion as I was innocent; or of less account, the more chaste.
God, how I suffer! How could you remain silent while I strayed further from you? But were you truly silent? Weren't those your words that my faithful mother sang into my ears? Yet nothing penetrated my heart enough to change my actions. She would pull me aside, anxiously warning me "not to engage in casual sex, and above all, never to sleep with another man's wife." At the time, I dismissed these as feminine concerns that I would be embarrassed to heed. But they were your words, though I didn't realize it. I thought you were silent and that only she was speaking. Through her, you were speaking to me, yet I, her son—your handmaid's son, your servant—disrespected you by dismissing her. I was blind to all this and rushed headlong into sin. Among my peers, I was ashamed to be less shameless than they were. When they boasted of their depravity, becoming more degraded the more they bragged, I enjoyed not just the acts themselves but also the praise they brought. What deserves criticism except vice? Yet I made myself appear worse than I was to avoid criticism. When I hadn't sinned as badly as the most depraved, I would claim I had done things I hadn't, fearing I would seem contemptible for my innocence or less worthy for my chastity.
Behold with what companions I walked the streets of Babylon, and wallowed in the mire thereof, as if in a bed of spices and precious ointments. And that I might cleave the faster to its very centre, the invisible enemy trod me down, and seduced me, for that I was easy to be seduced. Neither did the mother of my flesh (who had now fled out of the centre of Babylon, yet went more slowly in the skirts thereof as she advised me to chastity, so heed what she had heard of me from her husband, as to restrain within the bounds of conjugal affection, if it could not be pared away to the quick) what she felt to be pestilent at present and for the future dangerous. She heeded not this, for she feared lest a wife should prove a clog and hindrance to my hopes. Not those hopes of the world to come, which my mother reposed in Thee; but the hope of learning, which both my parents were too desirous I should attain; my father, because he had next to no thought of Thee, and of me but vain conceits; my mother, because she accounted that those usual courses of learning would not only be no hindrance, but even some furtherance towards attaining Thee. For thus I conjecture, recalling, as well as I may, the disposition of my parents. The reins, meantime, were slackened to me, beyond all temper of due severity, to spend my time in sport, yea, even unto dissoluteness in whatsoever I affected. And in all was a mist, intercepting from me, O my God, the brightness of Thy truth; and mine iniquity burst out as from very fatness.
Look at the company I kept while walking the streets of Babylon, reveling in its corruption as if it were a bed of luxury and perfume. To sink deeper into its depths, I was easily led astray by invisible temptations. Even my mother, who had moved away from the city center but still lived in its outskirts, couldn't fully protect me. Though she advised me about chastity, having heard concerning reports about me from my father, she hoped to at least contain my desires within marriage if they couldn't be eliminated entirely. She worried about this situation, seeing it as both an immediate problem and a future risk. Yet she didn't press too hard, fearing a wife would derail my potential. She wasn't concerned about my spiritual future, which she entrusted to You, but rather my education, which both my parents desperately wanted me to pursue. My father's motivation came from his worldly ambitions for me, having little thought of You. My mother believed formal education would actually help, not hinder, my path to You. This is my best reconstruction of their mindsets from memory. Meanwhile, I was given far too much freedom, allowed to waste time in entertainment and excess, pursuing whatever caught my fancy. Through it all, a fog obscured Your truth from me, God, and my sins multiplied like weeds in fertile soil.
Theft is punished by Thy law, O Lord, and the law written in the hearts of men, which iniquity itself effaces not. For what thief will abide a thief? not even a rich thief, one stealing through want. Yet I lusted to thieve, and did it, compelled by no hunger, nor poverty, but through a cloyedness of well-doing, and a pamperedness of iniquity. For I stole that, of which I had enough, and much better. Nor cared I to enjoy what I stole, but joyed in the theft and sin itself. A pear tree there was near our vineyard, laden with fruit, tempting neither for colour nor taste. To shake and rob this, some lewd young fellows of us went, late one night (having according to our pestilent custom prolonged our sports in the streets till then), and took huge loads, not for our eating, but to fling to the very hogs, having only tasted them. And this, but to do what we liked only, because it was misliked. Behold my heart, O God, behold my heart, which Thou hadst pity upon in the bottom of the bottomless pit. Now, behold, let my heart tell Thee what it sought there, that I should be gratuitously evil, having no temptation to ill, but the ill itself. It was foul, and I loved it; I loved to perish, I loved mine own fault, not that for which I was faulty, but my fault itself. Foul soul, falling from Thy firmament to utter destruction; not seeking aught through the shame, but the shame itself!
Theft is forbidden by Your law, Lord, and by the moral law written in human hearts—a law that even wrongdoing cannot erase. For what thief tolerates being robbed? Not even a wealthy thief who steals from desperation. Yet I stole not from need or hunger, but from boredom with good behavior and an appetite for wrongdoing. I stole things I already had in abundance and better quality. I didn't even want to enjoy what I stole—I simply delighted in the act of stealing itself. There was a pear tree near our vineyard, full of fruit that wasn't particularly attractive or tasty. One night, after spending too long playing in the streets as was our bad habit, some of us troublemakers went to shake that tree and steal its fruit. We took huge amounts, not to eat but to throw to the pigs, barely tasting them ourselves. We did this simply because we knew it was wrong and we enjoyed that fact. Look into my heart, God, look into my heart, which You took pity on even in its darkest state. Let my heart tell You what it sought then—to be evil for no reason, with no temptation except the evil itself. It was despicable, and I loved it. I loved destroying myself, loved my own corruption—not what I gained from the wrongdoing, but the wrongdoing itself. What a wretched soul, falling from Your heaven toward complete ruin, seeking nothing but shame for shame's sake!
For there is an attractiveness in beautiful bodies, in gold and silver, and all things; and in bodily touch, sympathy hath much influence, and each other sense hath his proper object answerably tempered. Worldy honour hath also its grace, and the power of overcoming, and of mastery; whence springs also the thirst of revenge. But yet, to obtain all these, we may not depart from Thee, O Lord, nor decline from Thy law. The life also which here we live hath its own enchantment, through a certain proportion of its own, and a correspondence with all things beautiful here below. Human friendship also is endeared with a sweet tie, by reason of the unity formed of many souls. Upon occasion of all these, and the like, is sin committed, while through an immoderate inclination towards these goods of the lowest order, the better and higher are forsaken,—Thou, our Lord God, Thy truth, and Thy law. For these lower things have their delights, but not like my God, who made all things; for in Him doth the righteous delight, and He is the joy of the upright in heart.
Beautiful things have their allure—be it physical beauty, precious metals, or sensual pleasures. Each of our senses finds satisfaction in what appeals to it. Worldly status has its charm too, as does the power to triumph and dominate, which can fuel desires for vengeance. Yet in pursuing these things, we must not stray from You, Lord, or violate Your law. Even our earthly existence has its enchantments, reflecting a natural harmony with all that is beautiful here. Human bonds of friendship are sweetened by the unity of kindred spirits. It is in excessive attachment to these lesser goods that sin takes root, causing us to abandon what is truly higher and better—You, Lord God, Your truth, and Your law. These earthly pleasures may satisfy, but they pale beside my God, creator of all things, in whom the righteous find delight and the pure in heart find joy.
When, then, we ask why a crime was done, we believe it not, unless it appear that there might have been some desire of obtaining some of those which we called lower goods, or a fear of losing them. For they are beautiful and comely; although compared with those higher and beatific goods, they be abject and low. A man hath murdered another; why? he loved his wife or his estate; or would rob for his own livelihood; or feared to lose some such things by him; or, wronged, was on fire to be revenged. Would any commit murder upon no cause, delighted simply in murdering? who would believe it? for as for that furious and savage man, of whom it is said that he was gratuitously evil and cruel, yet is the cause assigned; "lest" (saith he) "through idleness hand or heart should grow inactive." And to what end? that, through that practice of guilt, he might, having taken the city, attain to honours, empire, riches, and be freed from fear of the laws, and his embarrassments from domestic needs, and consciousness of villainies. So then, not even Catiline himself loved his own villainies, but something else, for whose sake he did them.
When we ask why a crime was committed, we don't believe the explanation unless there's evidence of wanting to gain or fear of losing material possessions. These possessions may be attractive and desirable, but compared to higher, more spiritual rewards, they're worthless. Consider murder: Why does someone kill? Perhaps they coveted another's wife or property, needed money to survive, feared losing something to the victim, or sought revenge for a perceived wrong. Would anyone kill without reason, simply for pleasure? It's hard to believe. Even that notoriously violent and cruel man who was said to be evil without cause had his reasons: "Otherwise," he claimed, "my skills might get rusty through inaction." But what was his true purpose? Through these criminal acts, he hoped to conquer the city, gain power and wealth, escape legal consequences, solve his financial troubles, and silence his guilty conscience. So even Catiline himself didn't love his crimes—he loved what he thought they would bring him.
What then did wretched I so love in thee, thou theft of mine, thou deed of darkness, in that sixteenth year of my age? Lovely thou wert not, because thou wert theft. But art thou any thing, that thus I speak to thee? Fair were the pears we stole, because they were Thy creation, Thou fairest of all, Creator of all, Thou good God; God, the sovereign good and my true good. Fair were those pears, but not them did my wretched soul desire; for I had store of better, and those I gathered, only that I might steal. For, when gathered, I flung them away, my only feast therein being my own sin, which I was pleased to enjoy. For if aught of those pears came within my mouth, what sweetened it was the sin. And now, O Lord my God, I enquire what in that theft delighted me; and behold it hath no loveliness; I mean not such loveliness as in justice and wisdom; nor such as is in the mind and memory, and senses, and animal life of man; nor yet as the stars are glorious and beautiful in their orbs; or the earth, or sea, full of embryo-life, replacing by its birth that which decayeth; nay, nor even that false and shadowy beauty which belongeth to deceiving vices.
What was it that I, in my misery, loved about you—this petty theft, this act of darkness, when I was sixteen? You weren't beautiful, being theft. But what are you really, that I address you this way? The pears we stole were beautiful because they were Your creation, most beautiful Creator of all, good God—God, the highest good and my true good. Those pears were beautiful, but my troubled soul didn't want them—I had better ones at home. I took them only to steal. After picking them, I threw them away, feasting only on my sin, which I enjoyed. If I tasted any of those pears, the sin was what made them sweet. Now, Lord my God, I wonder what pleased me about that theft. I see no beauty in it—not the beauty of justice and wisdom, nor the beauty found in human consciousness, memory, senses, and life. Not the glory of stars in their orbits, nor Earth's splendor, nor the sea teeming with life that replaces what dies. Not even the false, hollow beauty that makes vices attractive.
For so doth pride imitate exaltedness; whereas Thou alone art God exalted over all. Ambition, what seeks it, but honours and glory? whereas Thou alone art to be honoured above all, and glorious for evermore. The cruelty of the great would fain be feared; but who is to be feared but God alone, out of whose power what can be wrested or withdrawn? when, or where, or whither, or by whom? The tendernesses of the wanton would fain be counted love: yet is nothing more tender than Thy charity; nor is aught loved more healthfully than that Thy truth, bright and beautiful above all. Curiosity makes semblance of a desire of knowledge; whereas Thou supremely knowest all. Yea, ignorance and foolishness itself is cloaked under the name of simplicity and uninjuriousness; because nothing is found more single than Thee: and what less injurious, since they are his own works which injure the sinner? Yea, sloth would fain be at rest; but what stable rest besides the Lord? Luxury affects to be called plenty and abundance; but Thou art the fulness and never-failing plenteousness of incorruptible pleasures. Prodigality presents a shadow of liberality: but Thou art the most overflowing Giver of all good. Covetousness would possess many things; and Thou possessest all things. Envy disputes for excellency: what more excellent than Thou? Anger seeks revenge: who revenges more justly than Thou? Fear startles at things unwonted and sudden, which endangers things beloved, and takes forethought for their safety; but to Thee what unwonted or sudden, or who separateth from Thee what Thou lovest? Or where but with Thee is unshaken safety? Grief pines away for things lost, the delight of its desires; because it would have nothing taken from it, as nothing can from Thee.
Pride imitates greatness, yet You alone are God, supreme above all. Ambition seeks only honors and glory, while You alone deserve all honor and eternal glory. The powerful desire to be feared, but only God should be feared, for nothing can escape His power—when, where, or by whom could it be taken? Those seeking pleasure want their desires to be seen as love, yet nothing is more loving than Your charity, and nothing is more worthy of love than Your truth, which shines more beautifully than all else. Curiosity pretends to seek knowledge, though You already know everything perfectly. Even ignorance and foolishness hide behind claims of simplicity and harmlessness, yet nothing is more pure than You—and what could be less harmful, since sinners only harm themselves through their own actions? Laziness craves rest, but what rest exists outside the Lord? Excess calls itself abundance, but You are the source of endless, pure pleasure. Wastefulness masks itself as generosity, but You are the ultimate giver of all good things. Greed wants to own many things, while You already own everything. Envy competes for superiority, but what could be superior to You? Anger demands vengeance, but who delivers justice more fairly than You? Fear trembles at the unexpected and sudden, threatening what we love and making us protective, but what surprises You, and what could separate from You what You love? Where else but with You can true safety be found? Grief wastes away over lost pleasures, wanting nothing taken away, while nothing can be taken from You.
Thus doth the soul commit fornication, when she turns from Thee, seeking without Thee, what she findeth not pure and untainted, till she returns to Thee. Thus all pervertedly imitate Thee, who remove far from Thee, and lift themselves up against Thee. But even by thus imitating Thee, they imply Thee to be the Creator of all nature; whence there is no place whither altogether to retire from Thee. What then did I love in that theft? and wherein did I even corruptly and pervertedly imitate my Lord? Did I wish even by stealth to do contrary to Thy law, because by power I could not, so that being a prisoner, I might mimic a maimed liberty by doing with impunity things unpermitted me, a darkened likeness of Thy Omnipotency? Behold, Thy servant, fleeing from his Lord, and obtaining a shadow. O rottenness, O monstrousness of life, and depth of death! could I like what I might not, only because I might not?
The soul betrays itself when it turns away from You, seeking elsewhere what can only be found pure and untainted upon returning to You. All who distance themselves from You and rebel against You are still, ironically, imitating You in a distorted way. Even in their rebellion, they acknowledge You as the Creator of all nature, leaving them nowhere to truly hide from You. What was it I loved about my transgression? How was I corrupting and twisting my imitation of You? Was I trying to defy Your law through secrecy because I lacked the power to do so openly? Like a prisoner, was I mocking true freedom by doing forbidden things without consequence—a twisted parody of Your omnipotence? Look at Your servant now, running from his Lord and grasping at shadows. What corruption, what monstrosity of life, what depths of death! Could I really have wanted something simply because it was forbidden?
What shall I render unto the Lord, that, whilst my memory recalls these things, my soul is not affrighted at them? I will love Thee, O Lord, and thank Thee, and confess unto Thy name; because Thou hast forgiven me these so great and heinous deeds of mine. To Thy grace I ascribe it, and to Thy mercy, that Thou hast melted away my sins as it were ice. To Thy grace I ascribe also whatsoever I have not done of evil; for what might I not have done, who even loved a sin for its own sake? Yea, all I confess to have been forgiven me; both what evils I committed by my own wilfulness, and what by Thy guidance I committed not. What man is he, who, weighing his own infirmity, dares to ascribe his purity and innocency to his own strength; that so he should love Thee the less, as if he had less needed Thy mercy, whereby Thou remittest sins to those that turn to Thee? For whosoever, called by Thee, followed Thy voice, and avoided those things which he reads me recalling and confessing of myself, let him not scorn me, who being sick, was cured by that Physician, through whose aid it was that he was not, or rather was less, sick: and for this let him love Thee as much, yea and more; since by whom he sees me to have been recovered from such deep consumption of sin, by Him he sees himself to have been from the like consumption of sin preserved.
How can I repay the Lord when these memories should terrify my soul? I will love You, Lord, thank You, and praise Your name, for You have forgiven my terrible misdeeds. I credit Your grace and mercy for dissolving my sins like ice. I also thank Your grace for preventing me from committing more evil—for what wouldn't I have done, having loved sin purely for its own sake? I acknowledge that You have forgiven everything: both the wrongs I willfully committed and those I was guided not to commit. Who would dare credit their own strength for their purity and innocence, knowing human weakness? Such a person would love You less, thinking they needed less of Your mercy that forgives those who turn to You. Anyone who heard Your call, followed Your voice, and avoided the sins I'm now confessing shouldn't look down on me. I was sick and healed by the Physician—through whose help they either stayed healthy or suffered less severely. Let them love You as much or more than I do, seeing how You rescued me from the depths of sin while preserving them from similar corruption.
What fruit had I then (wretched man!) in those things, of the remembrance whereof I am now ashamed? Especially, in that theft which I loved for the theft's sake; and it too was nothing, and therefore the more miserable I, who loved it. Yet alone I had not done it: such was I then, I remember, alone I had never done it. I loved then in it also the company of the accomplices, with whom I did it? I did not then love nothing else but the theft, yea rather I did love nothing else; for that circumstance of the company was also nothing. What is, in truth? who can teach me, save He that enlighteneth my heart, and discovereth its dark corners? What is it which hath come into my mind to enquire, and discuss, and consider? For had I then loved the pears I stole, and wished to enjoy them, I might have done it alone, had the bare commission of the theft sufficed to attain my pleasure; nor needed I have inflamed the itching of my desires by the excitement of accomplices. But since my pleasure was not in those pears, it was in the offence itself, which the company of fellow-sinners occasioned.
What satisfaction did I find (wretch that I was!) in those acts that now fill me with shame? Particularly that theft, which I committed simply for the thrill of stealing—it was meaningless, making my love for it even more pathetic. I wouldn't have done it alone—I remember that clearly. I was drawn to the companionship of my accomplices. Did I truly love the theft itself, or was it something else? No—there was nothing else; even the fellowship of partners was meaningless. What is the truth here? Who can reveal it except the One who illuminates my heart and exposes its shadows? Why am I driven to question and examine this now? If I had actually wanted those stolen pears for enjoyment, I could have taken them alone—the simple act of theft would have satisfied my desire without needing accomplices to fuel my excitement. But my pleasure wasn't in the pears themselves; it was in the sinful act, made sweeter by the presence of fellow wrongdoers.
What then was this feeling? For of a truth it was too foul: and woe was me, who had it. But yet what was it? Who can understand his errors? It was the sport, which as it were tickled our hearts, that we beguiled those who little thought what we were doing, and much disliked it. Why then was my delight of such sort that I did it not alone? Because none doth ordinarily laugh alone? ordinarily no one; yet laughter sometimes masters men alone and singly when no one whatever is with them, if anything very ludicrous presents itself to their senses or mind. Yet I had not done this alone; alone I had never done it. Behold my God, before Thee, the vivid remembrance of my soul; alone, I had never committed that theft wherein what I stole pleased me not, but that I stole; nor had it alone liked me to do it, nor had I done it. O friendship too unfriendly! thou incomprehensible inveigler of the soul, thou greediness to do mischief out of mirth and wantonness, thou thirst of others' loss, without lust of my own gain or revenge: but when it is said, "Let's go, let's do it," we are ashamed not to be shameless.
What was this feeling? Truthfully, it was despicable, and I was miserable because of it. But what exactly was it? Who can truly understand their own flaws? It was like a game that tickled our hearts as we deceived those who would have disapproved, had they known what we were doing. Why did I only find pleasure in doing it with others? Is it because no one laughs alone? Generally not, though sometimes people laugh by themselves when something ridiculous catches their eye or mind. Yet I wouldn't have done this alone; I never would have. Here before You, my God, in my soul's clear memory: I would never have committed that theft where the stolen item itself gave me no pleasure—only the act of stealing did. I wouldn't have enjoyed it alone, nor would I have done it. Oh, what toxic friendship! You're an inexplicable seducer of the soul, a desire to cause trouble for fun, a thirst for others' misfortune without seeking personal gain or revenge. But when someone says, "Come on, let's do it," we become ashamed of not being shameless.
Who can disentangle that twisted and intricate knottiness? Foul is it: I hate to think on it, to look on it. But Thee I long for, O Righteousness and Innocency, beautiful and comely to all pure eyes, and of a satisfaction unsating. With Thee is rest entire, and life imperturbable. Whoso enters into Thee, enters into the joy of his Lord: and shall not fear, and shall do excellently in the All-Excellent. I sank away from Thee, and I wandered, O my God, too much astray from Thee my stay, in these days of my youth, and I became to myself a barren land.
Who can untangle such complex confusion? It's repulsive—I hate to dwell on it or even look at it. But I yearn for You, O Righteousness and Innocence, beautiful and graceful to pure eyes, bringing endless satisfaction. In You lies complete peace and unshakeable life. Whoever finds You enters into their Lord's joy, free from fear, excelling in the presence of Excellence itself. I drifted away from You, my God, wandering far from Your protection in my youth, until I became an empty wasteland.