51. Conf. 9.5.13–6.14 (CCL 27:140–41); trans. Bourke, FOTC 21:239–41. (continued)
Confessions 31 come into being, both those that have been and those that will be. Yet it is not made, but is as it was, and thus will be forever; or, rather, to have been in the past or to be in the future does not belong to it. It simply is, for it is eternal. "Having been" or "going to be" is not to be eternal. And while we were speaking of it and panting for it, we did touch it a little with this sudden upsurge of our hearts. We then sighed and left behind "the first fruits of the Spirit" (Rom 8:23) bound to it and came back to the clattering of our mouths, where spoken words have their beginnings and their endings. How is it like Your Word, our Lord, "remaining ageless in Itself and renewing all things" (Wis 7:27)?
(10.25) We were talking then: "Suppose that for someone the tumult of the flesh were silenced; silenced too, any images of earth and water and air; silenced as well, the heavens; if the soul itself grew silent and, not thinking of itself, passed beyond itself; if dreams and visions within the imagination grew silent, and every tongue and every sign and whatever is transient (for if one listens to them, all these things are saying: 'We did not make ourselves, but the One who endures forever made us' [Ps 99:3, 32:11, 116:2])— and if, having said this, these things too became quiet after having lifted up our ears to the One who made them, and He alone spoke not through them but through Himself so that we might hear His Word not through a tongue of flesh nor through the voice of angel nor through the crash of thunder or through the obscurity of parable, but heard the One Himself whom we love in these things—and if we heard Him without these things—that is how it was when at that moment we reached out and in a flash of mind touched eternal Wisdom abiding above all things, and if this could have continued and other visions of a much lower type were taken away, and if this one vision were to enrapture, absorb, and enclose its beholder in inner joys so that life might forever be like that one instant of understanding for which we had sighed, then surely this is the meaning of 'Enter into the joy of Your Lord' (Mt 25:21). And when will this be? When else but when 'we shall all rise but shall not all be changed' (1 Cor 15:51)?" (10.26) Such things I was saying, though not in this way nor in these words.53
Memory
Book 9 ends with the death of Monnica in 387. Book 10 shifts from autobiography to a book-length meditation on memory and the mysterious depths of human consciousness. Augustine himself had a prodigious memory. He knew much of the Bible and many of the Latin classics by heart. Such feats of memory were essential to ancient oratory, which
53. Conf. 9.10.23–10.25 (CCL 27:147–48); my trans., based on Bourke, FOTC 21:250–53.
required that one memorize hour-long speeches by heart (much as modern concert pianists can play hour-long concertos from memory). The following passage, one of the most famous in Western literature, powerfully influenced Petrarch, the founder of Renaissance humanism. From Confessions, Book 10:
(8.12) So I shall pass above this power of my nature, ascending by steps toward the One who made me, and I come into the fields and broad palaces of memory where there are treasures of innumerable images of all sorts of objects brought in by the senses. There is stored away whatever we ponder over, too, either by adding to or taking away from or changing in any way the things which sense perception has contacted, and anything else kept or put back there, which forgetfulness has not yet engrossed and buried. When I am in this storehouse, I can request whatever I want be brought forward. Some things come forth immediately. Others are hunted for a longer time, yet they are dug out, as it were, from some more concealed containers. Still others rush out in a mob when something else is sought and looked for, jumping out into the middle as if to say: "Would we do, perhaps?" These I drive away from the face of my memory with the hand of my heart until what I want emerges and enters into view from the secret places. Other things come up as they are required in easy and uninterrupted sequence. The first ones give way to those which follow and, in leaving, are stored up to come forth again whenever I desire it. All of this goes on when I recite something memorized.
(8.13) In [the memory] all things are kept distinct and classified. They are carried in, each by its own channel—light, for instance, and all colors and shapes of bodies through the eyes; all kinds of sounds through the ears; all smells through the channel of the nostrils; all flavors through the channel of the mouth; and then by the sensitivity of the whole body, whatever is hard or soft, hot or cold, smooth or rough, heavy or light, whether outside or inside the body. All these the great recesses of memory and its indescribably hidden and mysterious chasms take in to be called up to mind and reviewed when need arises. All these things go in, each by its own gateway and are there stored away. The things themselves do not go in, of course, but the images of sensory things are ready there for the understanding which calls them up. Just how they are fashioned, who can say?—though it is evident by which senses they are caught up and stored away within. For even while I dwell in darkness and silence, I can, if I wish, produce colors in my memory and distinguish between white and black and between any others as I wish. Nor do sounds rush in and disturb the object drawn in through the eyes when I am considering it. Yet they are there, also, and lie hidden in separation, as it were. I can summon these too if it pleases me, and they are present at once. With tongue at rest and the throat silent, I can sing as much as I want. The