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16. Such was the story of Pontitianus. But Thou, O Lord,
whilst he was speaking, didst turn me towards myself, taking me from
behind my back, where I had placed myself while unwilling to exercise
self-scrutiny; and Thou didst set me face to face with myself, that
I might behold how foul I was, and how crooked and sordid, bespotted
and ulcerous. And I beheld and loathed myself; and whither to fly
from myself I discovered not. And if I sought to turn my gaze away
from myself, he continued his narrative, and Thou again opposedst me
unto myself, ' and thrustedst me before my own eyes, that I might
discover my iniquity, and hate it.' I had known it, but acted as
though I knew it not, winked at it, and forgot it.
17. But now, the more ardently I loved those whose healthful
affections I heard tell of, that they had given up themselves wholly
to Thee to be cured, the more did I abhor myself when compared with
them. For man), of my years (perhaps twelve) had passed away since
my nineteenth, when, on the reading of Cicero's Hartensius, I was
roused to a desire for wisdom; and still I was delaying to reject mere
worldly happiness, and to devote myself to search out that whereof not
the finding alone, but the bare search, ought to have been pre ferred
before the treasures and kingdoms of this world, though already found,
and before the pleasures of the body, though encompassing me at my
will. But I, miserable young man, supremely miserable even in the
very outset of my youth, had entreated chastity of Thee, and said,
"Grant me chastity and continency, but not yet." For I was afraid
lest Thou shouldest hear me soon, and soon deliver me from the disease
of concupiscence, which I desired to have satisfied rather than
extinguished. And I had wandered through perverse ways in a
sacrilegious superstition; not indeed assured thereof, but preferring
that to the others, which I did not seek religiously, but opposed
maliciously.
18. And I had thought that I delayed from day to day to reject
worldly hopes and follow Thee only, because there did not appear
anything certain whereunto to direct my course. And now had the day
arrived in which I was to be laid bare to myself, and my conscience
was to chide me. "Where art thou, O my tongue? Thou saidst,
verily, that for an uncertain truth thou wert not willing to cast off
the baggage of vanity. Behold, now it is certain, and yet doth that
burden still oppress thee; whereas they who neither have so worn
themselves out with searching after it, nor yet have spent ten years
and more in thinking thereon, have had their shoulders unburdened, and
gotten wings to fly away." Thus was I inwardly consumed and mightily
confounded with an horrible shame, while Pontitianus was relating
these things. And he, having finished his story, and the business he
came for, went his way. And unto myself, what said I not within
myself? With what scourges of rebuke lashed I not my soul to make it
follow me, struggling to go after Thee! Yet it drew back; it
refused, and exercised not itself. All its arguments were exhausted
and confuted. There remained a silent trembling; and it feared, as
it would death, to be restrained from the flow of that custom whereby
it was [wasting away even to death.
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