The Confessions of St. Augustine

BOOK XII

My heart, O Lord, touched with the words of Thy Holy Scrip­ture, is much bus­ied, amid this pover­ty of my life. And there­fore most times, is the pover­ty of hu­man un­der­stand­ing co­pi­ous in words, be­cause en­quir­ing hath more to say than dis­cov­er­ing, and de­mand­ing is longer than ob­tain­ing, and our hand that knocks, hath more work to do, than our hand that re­ceives. We hold the promise, who shall make it null? If God be for us, who can be against us? Ask, and ye shall have; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened un­to you. For ev­ery one that as­keth, re­ceiveth; and he that seeketh, find­eth; and to him that knock­eth, shall it be opened. These be Thine own promis­es: and who need fear to be de­ceived, when the Truth promiseth?

The low­li­ness of my tongue con­fes­seth un­to Thy High­ness, that Thou madest heav­en and earth; this heav­en which I see, and this earth that I tread up­on, whence is this earth that I bear about me; Thou madest it. But where is that heav­en of heav­ens, O Lord, which we hear of in the words of the Psalm. The heav­en of heav­ens are the Lord’s; but the earth hath He giv­en to the chil­dren of men? Where is that heav­en which we see not, to which all this which we see is earth? For this cor­po­re­al whole, not be­ing whol­ly ev­ery where, hath in such wise re­ceived its por­tion of beau­ty in these low­er parts, where­of the low­est is this our earth; but to that heav­en of heav­ens, even the heav­en of our earth, is but earth: yea both these great bod­ies, may not ab­surd­ly be called earth, to that un­known heav­en, which is the Lord’s, not the sons’ of men.

And now this earth was in­vis­ible and with­out form, and there was I know not what depth of abyss, up­on which there was no light, be­cause it had no shape. There­fore didst Thou com­mand it to be writ­ten, that dark­ness was up­on the face of the deep; what else than the ab­sence of light? For had there been light, where should it have been but by be­ing over all, aloft, and en­light­en­ing? Where then light was not, what was the pres­ence of dark­ness, but the ab­sence of light? Dark­ness there­fore was up­on it, be­cause light was not up­on it; as where sound is not, there is si­lence. And what is it to have si­lence there, but to have no sound there? Hast not Thou, O Lord, taught his soul, which con­fes­seth un­to Thee? Hast not Thou taught me, Lord, that be­fore Thou formedst and di­ver­si­fiedst this form­less mat­ter, there was noth­ing, nei­ther colour, nor fig­ure, nor body, nor spir­it? and yet not al­to­geth­er noth­ing; for there was a cer­tain form­less­ness, with­out any beau­ty.

How then should it be called, that it might be in some mea­sure con­veyed to those of duller mind, but by some or­di­nary word? And what, among all parts of the world can be found near­er to an ab­so­lute form­less­ness, than earth and deep? For, oc­cu­py­ing the low­est stage, they are less beau­ti­ful than the oth­er high­er parts are, trans­par­ent all and shin­ing. Where­fore then may I not con­ceive the form­less­ness of mat­ter (which Thou hadst cre­at­ed with­out beau­ty, where­of to make this beau­ti­ful world) to be suit­ably in­ti­mat­ed un­to men, by the name of earth in­vis­ible and with­out form.

So that when thought seeketh what the sense may con­ceive un­der this, and saith to it­self, “It is no in­tel­lec­tu­al form, as life, or jus­tice; be­cause it is the mat­ter of bod­ies; nor ob­ject of sense, be­cause be­ing in­vis­ible, and with­out form, there was in it no ob­ject of sight or sense”;- while man’s thought thus saith to it­self, it may en­deav­our ei­ther to know it, by be­ing ig­no­rant of it; or to be ig­no­rant, by know­ing it.

But I, Lord, if I would, by my tongue and my pen, con­fess un­to Thee the whole, what­ev­er Thy­self hath taught me of that mat­ter, -the name where­of hear­ing be­fore, and not un­der­stand­ing, when they who un­der­stood it not, told me of it, so I con­ceived of it as hav­ing in­nu­mer­able forms and di­verse, and there­fore did not con­ceive it at all, my mind tossed up and down foul and hor­ri­ble “forms” out of all or­der, but yet “forms” and I called it with­out form not that it want­ed all form, but be­cause it had such as my mind would, if pre­sent­ed to it, turn from, as un­wont­ed and jar­ring, and hu­man frail­ness would be trou­bled at. And still that which I con­ceived, was with­out form, not as be­ing de­prived of all form, but in com­par­ison of more beau­ti­ful forms; and true rea­son did per­suade me, that I must ut­ter­ly un­case it of all rem­nants of form what­so­ev­er, if I would con­ceive mat­ter ab­so­lute­ly with­out form; and I could not; for soon­er could I imag­ine that not to be at all, which should be de­prived of all form, than con­ceive a thing be­twixt form and noth­ing, nei­ther formed, nor noth­ing, a form­less al­most noth­ing. So my mind gave over to ques­tion there­upon with my spir­it, it be­ing filled with the im­ages of formed bod­ies, and chang­ing and vary­ing them, as it willed; and I bent my­self to the bod­ies them­selves, and looked more deeply in­to their change­able­ness, by which they cease to be what they have been, and be­gin to be what they were not; and this same shift­ing from form to form, I sus­pect­ed to be through a cer­tain form­less state, not through a mere noth­ing; yet this I longed to know, not to sus­pect on­ly.-If then my voice and pen would con­fess un­to Thee the whole, what­so­ev­er knots Thou didst open for me in this ques­tion, what read­er would hold out to take in the whole? Nor shall my heart for all this cease to give Thee hon­our, and a song of praise, for those things which it is not able to ex­press. For the change­able­ness of change­able things, is it­self ca­pa­ble of all those forms, in­to which these change­able things are changed. And this change­able­ness, what is it? Is it soul? Is it body? Is it that which con­sti­tuteth soul or body? Might one say, “a noth­ing some­thing”, an “is, is not,” I would say, this were it: and yet in some way was it even then, as be­ing ca­pa­ble of re­ceiv­ing these vis­ible and com­pound fig­ures.

But whence had it this de­gree of be­ing, but from Thee, from Whom are all things, so far forth as they are? But so much the fur­ther from Thee, as the un­lik­er Thee; for it is not far­ness of place. Thou there­fore, Lord, Who art not one in one place, and oth­er­wise in an­oth­er, but the Self-​same, and the Self-​same, and the Self-​same, Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty, didst in the Be­gin­ning, which is of Thee, in Thy Wis­dom, which was born of Thine own Sub­stance, cre­ate some­thing, and that out of noth­ing. For Thou cre­at­edst heav­en and earth; not out of Thy­self, for so should they have been equal to Thine On­ly Be­got­ten Son, and there­by to Thee al­so; where­as no way were it right that aught should be equal to Thee, which was not of Thee. And aught else be­sides Thee was there not, where­of Thou might­est cre­ate them, O God, One Trin­ity, and Trine Uni­ty; and there­fore out of noth­ing didst Thou cre­ate heav­en and earth; a great thing, and a small thing; for Thou art Almighty and Good, to make all things good, even the great heav­en, and the pet­ty earth. Thou wert, and noth­ing was there be­sides, out of which Thou cre­at­edst heav­en and earth; things of two sorts; one near Thee, the oth­er near to noth­ing; one to which Thou alone shouldest be su­pe­ri­or; the oth­er, to which noth­ing should be in­fe­ri­or.

But that heav­en of heav­ens was for Thy­self, O Lord; but the earth which Thou gavest to the sons of men, to be seen and felt, was not such as we now see and feel. For it was in­vis­ible, with­out form, and there was a deep, up­on which there was no light; or, dark­ness was above the deep, that is, more than in the deep. Be­cause this deep of wa­ters, vis­ible now, hath even in his depths, a light prop­er for its na­ture; per­ceiv­able in what­ev­er de­gree un­to the fish­es, and creep­ing things in the bot­tom of it. But that whole deep was al­most noth­ing, be­cause hith­er­to it was al­to­geth­er with­out form; yet there was al­ready that which could be formed. For Thou, Lord, madest the world of a mat­ter with­out form, which out of noth­ing, Thou madest next to noth­ing, there­of to make those great things, which we sons of men won­der at. For very won­der­ful is this cor­po­re­al heav­en; of which fir­ma­ment be­tween wa­ter and wa­ter, the sec­ond day, af­ter the cre­ation of light, Thou saidst, Let it be made, and it was made. Which fir­ma­ment Thou calledst heav­en; the heav­en, that is, to this earth and sea, which Thou madest the third day, by giv­ing a vis­ible fig­ure to the form­less mat­ter, which Thou madest be­fore all days. For al­ready hadst Thou made both an heav­en, be­fore all days; but that was the heav­en of this heav­en; be­cause In the be­gin­ning Thou hadst made heav­en and earth. But this same earth which Thou madest was form­less mat­ter, be­cause it was in­vis­ible and with­out form, and dark­ness was up­on the deep, of which in­vis­ible earth and with­out form, of which form­less­ness, of which al­most noth­ing, Thou might­est make all these things of which this change­able world con­sists, but sub­sists not; whose very change­able­ness ap­pears there­in, that times can be ob­served and num­bered in it. For times are made by the al­ter­ations of things, while the fig­ures, the mat­ter where­of is the in­vis­ible earth afore­said, are var­ied and turned.

And there­fore the Spir­it, the Teach­er of Thy ser­vant, when It re­counts Thee to have In the Be­gin­ning cre­at­ed heav­en and earth, speaks noth­ing of times, noth­ing of days. For ver­ily that heav­en of heav­ens which Thou cre­at­edst in the Be­gin­ning, is some in­tel­lec­tu­al crea­ture, which, al­though no ways co­eter­nal un­to Thee, the Trin­ity, yet par­taketh of Thy eter­ni­ty, and doth through the sweet­ness of that most hap­py con­tem­pla­tion of Thy­self, strong­ly re­strain its own change­able­ness; and with­out any fall since its first cre­ation, cleav­ing close un­to Thee, is placed be­yond all the rolling vi­cis­si­tude of times. Yea, nei­ther is this very form­less­ness of the earth, in­vis­ible, and with­out form, num­bered among the days. For where no fig­ure nor or­der is, there does noth­ing come, or go; and where this is not, there plain­ly are no days, nor any vi­cis­si­tude of spaces of times.

O let the Light, the Truth, the Light of my heart, not mine own dark­ness, speak un­to me. I fell off in­to that, and be­came dark­ened; but even thence, even thence I loved Thee. I went astray, and re­mem­bered Thee. I heard Thy voice be­hind me, call­ing to me to re­turn, and scarce­ly heard it, through the tu­mul­tuous­ness of the en­emies of peace. And now, be­hold, I re­turn in dis­tress and pant­ing af­ter Thy foun­tain. Let no man for­bid me! of this will I drink, and so live. Let me not be mine own life; from my­self I lived ill, death was I to my­self; and I re­vive in Thee. Do Thou speak un­to me, do Thou dis­course un­to me. I have be­lieved Thy Books, and their words be most full of mys­tery.

Al­ready Thou hast told me with a strong voice, O Lord, in my in­ner ear, that Thou art eter­nal, Who on­ly hast im­mor­tal­ity; since Thou canst not be changed as to fig­ure or mo­tion, nor is Thy will al­tered by times: see­ing no will which varies is im­mor­tal. This is in Thy sight clear to me, and let it be more and more cleared to me, I be­seech Thee; and in the man­ifes­ta­tion there­of, let me with so­bri­ety abide un­der Thy wings. Thou hast told me al­so with a strong voice, O Lord, in my in­ner ear, that Thou hast made all na­tures and sub­stances, which are not what Thy­self is, and yet are; and that on­ly is not from Thee, which is not, and the mo­tion of the will from Thee who art, un­to that which in a less de­gree is, be­cause such mo­tion is trans­gres­sion and sin; and that no man’s sin doth ei­ther hurt Thee, or dis­turb the or­der of Thy gov­ern­ment, first or last. This is in Thy sight clear un­to me, and let it be more and more cleared to me, I be­seech Thee: and in the man­ifes­ta­tion there­of, let me with so­bri­ety abide un­der Thy wings.

Thou hast told me al­so with a strong voice, in my in­ner ear, that nei­ther is that crea­ture co­eter­nal un­to Thy­self, whose hap­pi­ness Thou on­ly art, and which with a most per­se­ver­ing pu­ri­ty, draw­ing its nour­ish­ment from Thee, doth in no place and at no time put forth its nat­ural mu­ta­bil­ity; and, Thy­self be­ing ev­er present with it, un­to Whom with its whole af­fec­tion it keeps it­self, hav­ing nei­ther fu­ture to ex­pect, nor con­vey­ing in­to the past what it re­mem­bereth, is nei­ther al­tered by any change, nor dis­tract­ed in­to any times. O blessed crea­ture, if such there be, for cleav­ing un­to Thy Blessed­ness; blest in Thee, its eter­nal In­hab­itant and its En­light­en­er! Nor do I find by what name I may the rather call the heav­en of heav­ens which is the Lord’s, than Thine house, which con­tem­plateth Thy de­lights with­out any de­fec­tion of go­ing forth to an­oth­er; one pure mind, most har­mo­nious­ly one, by that set­tled es­tate of peace of holy spir­its, the cit­izens of Thy city in heav­en­ly places; far above those heav­en­ly places that we see.

By this may the soul, whose pil­grim­age is made long and far away, by this may she un­der­stand, if she now thirsts for Thee, if her tears be now be­come her bread, while they dai­ly say un­to her, Where is Thy God? if she now seeks of Thee one thing, and de­sireth it, that she may dwell in Thy house all the days of her life (and what is her life, but Thou? and what Thy days, but Thy eter­ni­ty, as Thy years which fail not, be­cause Thou art ev­er the same?); by this then may the soul that is able, un­der­stand how far Thou art, above all times, eter­nal; see­ing Thy house which at no time went in­to a far coun­try, al­though it be not co­eter­nal with Thee, yet by con­tin­ual­ly and un­fail­ing­ly cleav­ing un­to Thee, suf­fers no change­able­ness of times. This is in Thy sight clear un­to me, and let it be more and more cleared un­to me, I be­seech Thee, and in the man­ifes­ta­tion there­of, let me with so­bri­ety abide un­der Thy wings.

There is, be­hold, I know not what form­less­ness in those changes of these last and low­est crea­tures; and who shall tell me (un­less such a one as through the empti­ness of his own heart, won­ders and toss­es him­self up and down amid his own fan­cies?), who but such a one would tell me, that if all fig­ure be so wast­ed and con­sumed away, that there should on­ly re­main that form­less­ness, through which the thing was changed and turned from one fig­ure to an­oth­er, that that could ex­hib­it the vi­cis­si­tudes of times? For plain­ly it could not, be­cause, with­out the va­ri­ety of mo­tions, there are no times: and no va­ri­ety, where there is no fig­ure.

These things con­sid­ered, as much as Thou givest, O my God, as much as Thou stir­rest me up to knock, and as much as Thou open­est to me knock­ing, two things I find that Thou hast made, not with­in the com­pass of time, nei­ther of which is co­eter­nal with Thee. One, which is so formed, that with­out any ceas­ing of con­tem­pla­tion, with­out any in­ter­val of change, though change­able, yet not changed, it may thor­ough­ly en­joy Thy eter­ni­ty and un­change­able­ness; the oth­er which was so form­less, that it had not that, which could be changed from one form in­to an­oth­er, whether of mo­tion, or of re­pose, so as to be­come sub­ject un­to time. But this Thou didst not leave thus form­less, be­cause be­fore all days, Thou in the Be­gin­ning didst cre­ate Heav­en and Earth; the two things that I spake of. But the Earth was in­vis­ible and with­out form, and dark­ness was up­on the deep. In which words, is the form­less­ness con­veyed un­to us (that such ca­pac­ities may here­by be drawn on by de­grees, as are not able to con­ceive an ut­ter pri­va­tion of all form, with­out yet com­ing to noth­ing), out of which an­oth­er Heav­en might be cre­at­ed, to­geth­er with a vis­ible and well-​formed earth: and the wa­ters di­ver­sly or­dered, and what­so­ev­er fur­ther is in the for­ma­tion of the world, record­ed to have been, not with­out days, cre­at­ed; and that, as be­ing of such na­ture, that the suc­ces­sive changes of times may take place in them, as be­ing sub­ject to ap­point­ed al­ter­ations of mo­tions and of forms.

This then is what I con­ceive, O my God, when I hear Thy Scrip­ture say­ing, In the be­gin­ning God made Heav­en and Earth: and the Earth was in­vis­ible and with­out form, and dark­ness was up­on the deep, and not men­tion­ing what day Thou cre­at­edst them; this is what I con­ceive, that be­cause of the Heav­en of heav­ens, -that in­tel­lec­tu­al Heav­en, whose In­tel­li­gences know all at once, not in part, not dark­ly, not through a glass, but as a whole, in man­ifes­ta­tion, face to face; not, this thing now, and that thing anon; but (as I said) know all at once, with­out any suc­ces­sion of times; -and be­cause of the earth in­vis­ible and with­out form, with­out any suc­ces­sion of times, which suc­ces­sion presents “this thing now, that thing anon”; be­cause where is no form, there is no dis­tinc­tion of things: -it is, then, on ac­count of these two, a prim­itive formed, and a prim­itive form­less; the one, heav­en but the Heav­en of heav­en, the oth­er earth but the earth in­vis­ible and with­out form; be­cause of these two do I con­ceive, did Thy Scrip­ture say with­out men­tion of days, In the Be­gin­ning God cre­at­ed Heav­en and Earth. For forth­with it sub­joined what earth it spake of; and al­so, in that the Fir­ma­ment is record­ed to be cre­at­ed the sec­ond day, and called Heav­en, it con­veys to us of which Heav­en He be­fore spake, with­out men­tion of days.

Won­drous depth of Thy words! whose sur­face, be­hold! is be­fore us, invit­ing to lit­tle ones; yet are they a won­drous depth. O my God, a won­drous depth! It is aw­ful to look there­in; an aw­ful­ness of hon­our, and a trem­bling of love. The en­emies there­of I hate ve­he­ment­ly; oh that Thou wouldest slay them with Thy two-​edged sword, that they might no longer be en­emies un­to it: for so do I love to have them slain un­to them­selves, that they may live un­to Thee. But be­hold oth­ers not fault­find­ers, but ex­tollers of the book of Gen­esis; “The Spir­it of God,” say they, “Who by His ser­vant Moses wrote these things, would not have those words thus un­der­stood; He would not have it un­der­stood, as thou sayest, but oth­er­wise, as we say.” Un­to Whom Thy­self, O Thou God all, be­ing judge, do I thus an­swer.

“Will you af­firm that to be false, which with a strong voice Truth tells me in my in­ner ear, con­cern­ing the Eter­ni­ty of the Cre­ator, that His sub­stance is no ways changed by time, nor His will sep­arate from His sub­stance? Where­fore He wil­leth not one thing now, an­oth­er anon, but once, and at once, and al­ways, He wil­leth all things that He wil­leth; not again and again, nor now this, now that; nor wil­leth af­ter­wards, what be­fore He willed not, nor wil­leth not, what be­fore He willed; be­cause such a will is and no mu­ta­ble thing is eter­nal: but our God is eter­nal. Again, what He tells me in my in­ner ear, the ex­pec­ta­tion of things to come be­comes sight, when they are come, and this same sight be­comes mem­ory, when they be past. Now all thought which thus varies is mu­ta­ble; and is eter­nal: but our God is eter­nal.” These things I in­fer, and put to­geth­er, and find that my God, the eter­nal God, hath not up­on any new will made any crea­ture, nor doth His knowl­edge ad­mit of any thing tran­si­to­ry. “What will ye say then, O ye gain­say­ers? Are these things false?” “No,” they say; “What then? Is it false, that ev­ery na­ture al­ready formed, or mat­ter ca­pa­ble of form, is not, but from Him Who is supreme­ly good, be­cause He is supreme­ly?” “Nei­ther do we de­ny this,” say they. “What then? do you de­ny this, that there is a cer­tain sub­lime crea­ture, with so chaste a love cleav­ing un­to the true and tru­ly eter­nal God, that al­though not co­eter­nal with Him, yet is it not de­tached from Him, nor dis­solved in­to the va­ri­ety and vi­cis­si­tude of times, but re­poseth in the most true con­tem­pla­tion of Him on­ly?” Be­cause Thou, O God, un­to him that loveth Thee so much as Thou com­man­dest, dost show Thy­self, and suf­ficest him; and there­fore doth he not de­cline from Thee, nor to­ward him­self. This is the house of God, not of earth­ly mould, nor of ce­les­tial bulk cor­po­re­al but spir­itu­al, and par­tak­er of Thy eter­ni­ty, be­cause with­out de­fec­tion for ev­er. For Thou hast made it fast for ev­er and ev­er, Thou hast giv­en it a law which it shall not pass. Nor yet is it co­eter­nal with Thee, O God, be­cause not with­out be­gin­ning; for it was made.

For al­though we find no time be­fore it, for wis­dom was cre­at­ed be­fore all things; not that Wis­dom which is al­to­geth­er equal and co­eter­nal un­to Thee, our God, His Fa­ther, and by Whom all things were cre­at­ed, and in Whom, as the Be­gin­ning, Thou cre­at­edst heav­en and earth; but that wis­dom which is cre­at­ed, that is, the in­tel­lec­tu­al na­ture, which by con­tem­plat­ing the light, is light. For this, though cre­at­ed, is al­so called wis­dom. But what dif­fer­ence there is be­twixt the Light which en­light­eneth, and which is en­light­ened, so much is there be­twixt the Wis­dom that cre­ateth, and that cre­at­ed; as be­twixt the Righ­teous­ness which jus­ti­fi­eth, and the righ­teous­ness which is made by jus­ti­fi­ca­tion. For we al­so are called Thy righ­teous­ness; for so saith a cer­tain ser­vant of Thine, That we might be made the righ­teous­ness of God in Him. There­fore since a cer­tain cre­at­ed wis­dom was cre­at­ed be­fore all things, the ra­tio­nal and in­tel­lec­tu­al mind of that chaste city of Thine, our moth­er which is above, and is free and eter­nal in the heav­ens (in what heav­ens, if not in those that praise Thee, the Heav­en of heav­ens? Be­cause this is al­so the Heav­en of heav­ens for the Lord); -though we find no time be­fore it (be­cause that which hath been cre­at­ed be­fore all things, pre­cedeth al­so the crea­ture of time), yet is the Eter­ni­ty of the Cre­ator Him­self be­fore it, from Whom, be­ing cre­at­ed, it took the be­gin­ning, not in­deed of time (for time it­self was not yet), but of its cre­ation.

Hence it is so of Thee, our God, as to be al­to­geth­er oth­er than Thou, and not the Self-​same: be­cause though we find time nei­ther be­fore it, nor even in it (it be­ing meet ev­er to be­hold Thy face, nor is ev­er drawn away from it, where­fore it is not var­ied by any change), yet is there in it a li­abil­ity to change, whence it would wax dark, and chill, but that by a strong af­fec­tion cleav­ing un­to Thee, like per­pet­ual noon, it shineth and gloweth from Thee. O house most light­some and de­light­some! I have loved thy beau­ty, and the place of the habi­ta­tion of the glo­ry of my Lord, thy builder and pos­ses­sor. Let my way­far­ing sigh af­ter thee, and I say to Him that made thee, let Him take pos­ses­sion of me al­so in thee, see­ing He hath made me like­wise. I have gone astray like a lost sheep: yet up­on the shoul­ders of my Shep­herd, thy builder, hope I to be brought back to thee.

“What say ye to me, O ye gain­say­ers that I was speak­ing un­to, who yet be­lieve Moses to have been the holy ser­vant of God, and his books the or­acles of the Holy Ghost? Is not this house of God, not co­eter­nal in­deed with God, yet af­ter its mea­sure, eter­nal in the heav­ens, when you seek for changes of times in vain, be­cause you will not find them? For that, to which it is ev­er good to cleave fast to God, sur­pass­es all ex­ten­sion, and all re­volv­ing pe­ri­ods of time.” “It is,” say they. “What then of all that which my heart loud­ly ut­tered un­to my God, when in­ward­ly it heard the voice of His praise, what part there­of do you af­firm to be false? Is it that the mat­ter was with­out form, in which be­cause there was no form, there was no or­der? But where no or­der was, there could be no vi­cis­si­tude of times: and yet this al­most noth­ing,’ inas­much as it was not al­to­geth­er noth­ing, was from Him cer­tain­ly, from Whom is what­so­ev­er is, in what de­gree so­ev­er it is.” “This al­so,” say they, “do we not de­ny.”

With these I now par­ley a lit­tle in Thy pres­ence, O my God, who grant all these things to be true, which Thy Truth whis­pers un­to my soul. For those who de­ny these things, let them bark and deaf­en them­selves as much as they please; I will es­say to per­suade them to qui­et, and to open in them a way for Thy word. But if they refuse, and re­pel me; I be­seech, O my God, be not Thou silent to me. Speak Thou tru­ly in my heart; for on­ly Thou so speak­est: and I will let them alone blow­ing up­on the dust with­out, and rais­ing it up in­to their own eyes: and my­self will en­ter my cham­ber, and sing there a song of loves un­to Thee; groan­ing with groan­ings un­ut­ter­able, in my way­far­ing, and re­mem­ber­ing Jerusalem, with heart lift­ed up to­wards it, Jerusalem my coun­try, Jerusalem my moth­er, and Thy­self that rulest over it, the En­light­en­er, Fa­ther, Guardian, Hus­band, the pure and strong de­light, and sol­id joy, and all good things un­speak­able, yea all at once, be­cause the One Sovereign and true Good. Nor will I be turned away, un­til Thou gath­er all that I am, from this dis­persed and dis­or­dered es­tate, in­to the peace of that our most dear moth­er, where the first-​fruits of my spir­it be al­ready (whence I am as­cer­tained of these things), and Thou con­form and con­firm it for ev­er, O my God, my Mer­cy. But those who do not af­firm all these truths to be false, who hon­our Thy holy Scrip­ture, set forth by holy Moses, plac­ing it, as we, on the sum­mit of au­thor­ity to be fol­lowed, and do yet con­tra­dict me in some thing, I an­swer thus; By Thy­self judge, O our God, be­tween my Con­fes­sions and these men’s con­tra­dic­tions.

For they say, “Though these things be true, yet did not Moses in­tend those two, when, by rev­ela­tion of the Spir­it, he said, In the be­gin­ning God cre­at­ed heav­en and earth. He did not un­der the name of heav­en, sig­ni­fy that spir­itu­al or in­tel­lec­tu­al crea­ture which al­ways be­holds the face of God; nor un­der the name of earth, that form­less mat­ter.” “What then?” “That man of God,” say they, “meant as we say, this de­clared he by those words.” “What?” “By the name of heav­en and earth would he first sig­ni­fy,” say they, “uni­ver­sal­ly and com­pen­dious­ly, all this vis­ible world; so as af­ter­wards by the enu­mer­ation of the sev­er­al days, to ar­range in de­tail, and, as it were, piece by piece, all those things, which it pleased the Holy Ghost thus to enounce. For such were that rude and car­nal peo­ple to which he spake, that he thought them fit to be en­trust­ed with the knowl­edge of such works of God on­ly as were vis­ible.” They agree, how­ev­er, that un­der the words earth in­vis­ible and with­out form, and that dark­some deep (out of which it is sub­se­quent­ly shown, that all these vis­ible things which we all know, were made and ar­ranged dur­ing those “days”) may, not in­con­gru­ous­ly, be un­der­stood of this form­less first mat­ter.

What now if an­oth­er should say that “this same form­less­ness and con­fused­ness of mat­ter, was for this rea­son first con­veyed un­der the name of heav­en and earth, be­cause out of it was this vis­ible world with all those na­tures which most man­ifest­ly ap­pear in it, which is oft­times called by the name of heav­en and earth, cre­at­ed and per­fect­ed?” What again if an­oth­er say that “in­vis­ible and vis­ible na­ture is not in­deed in­ap­pro­pri­ate­ly called heav­en and earth; and so, that the uni­ver­sal cre­ation, which God made in His Wis­dom, that is, in the Be­gin­ning, was com­pre­hend­ed un­der those two words? Notwith­stand­ing, since all things be made not of the sub­stance of God, but out of noth­ing (be­cause they are not the same that God is, and there is a mu­ta­ble na­ture in them all, whether they abide, as doth the eter­nal house of God, or be changed, as the soul and body of man are): there­fore the com­mon mat­ter of all things vis­ible and in­vis­ible (as yet un­formed though ca­pa­ble of form), out of which was to be cre­at­ed both heav­en and earth (i. the in­vis­ible and vis­ible crea­ture when formed), was en­ti­tled by the same names giv­en to the earth in­vis­ible and with­out form and the dark­ness up­on the deep, but with this dis­tinc­tion, that by the earth in­vis­ible and with­out form is un­der­stood cor­po­re­al mat­ter, an­tecedent to its be­ing qual­ified by any form; and by the dark­ness up­on the deep, spir­itu­al mat­ter, be­fore it un­der­went any re­straint of its un­lim­it­ed flu­id­ness, or re­ceived any light from Wis­dom?”

It yet re­mains for a man to say, if he will, that “the al­ready per­fect­ed and formed na­tures, vis­ible and in­vis­ible, are not sig­ni­fied un­der the name of heav­en and earth, when we read, In the be­gin­ning God made heav­en and earth, but that the yet un­formed com­mence­ment of things, the stuff apt to re­ceive form and mak­ing, was called by these names, be­cause there­in were con­fus­ed­ly con­tained, not as yet dis­tin­guished by their qual­ities and forms, all those things which be­ing now di­gest­ed in­to or­der, are called Heav­en and Earth, the one be­ing the spir­itu­al, the oth­er the cor­po­re­al, cre­ation.”

All which things be­ing heard and well con­sid­ered, I will not strive about words: for that is prof­itable to noth­ing, but the sub­ver­sion of the hear­ers. But the law is good to ed­ify, if a man use it law­ful­ly: for that the end of it is char­ity, out of a pure heart and good con­science, and faith un­feigned. And well did our Mas­ter know, up­on which two com­mand­ments He hung all the Law and the Prophets. And what doth it prej­udice me, O my God, Thou light of my eyes in se­cret, zeal­ous­ly con­fess­ing these things, since divers things may be un­der­stood un­der these words which yet are all true, -what, I say, doth it prej­udice me, if I think oth­er­wise than an­oth­er thin­keth the writ­er thought? All we read­ers ver­ily strive to trace out and to un­der­stand his mean­ing whom we read; and see­ing we be­lieve him to speak tru­ly, we dare not imag­ine him to have said any thing, which our­selves ei­ther know or think to be false. While ev­ery man en­deav­ours then to un­der­stand in the Holy Scrip­tures, the same as the writ­er un­der­stood, what hurt is it, if a man un­der­stand what Thou, the light of all true-​speak­ing minds, dost show him to be true, al­though he whom he reads, un­der­stood not this, see­ing he al­so un­der­stood a Truth, though not this truth?

For true it is, O Lord, that Thou madest heav­en and earth; and it is true too, that the Be­gin­ning is Thy Wis­dom, in Which Thou cre­at­est all: and true again, that this vis­ible world hath for its greater part the heav­en and the earth, which briefly com­prise all made and cre­at­ed na­tures. And true too, that what­so­ev­er is mu­ta­ble, gives us to un­der­stand a cer­tain want of form, where­by it re­ceiveth a form, or is changed, or turned. It is true, that that is sub­ject to no times, which so cleaveth to the un­change­able Form, as though sub­ject to change, nev­er to be changed. It is true, that that form­less­ness which is al­most noth­ing, can­not be sub­ject to the al­ter­ation of times. It is true, that that where­of a thing is made, may by a cer­tain mode of speech, be called by the name of the thing made of it; whence that form­less­ness, where­of heav­en and earth were made, might be called heav­en and earth. It is true, that of things hav­ing form, there is not any near­er to hav­ing no form, than the earth and the deep. It is true, that not on­ly ev­ery cre­at­ed and formed thing, but what­so­ev­er is ca­pa­ble of be­ing cre­at­ed and formed, Thou madest, of Whom are all things. It is true, that what­so­ev­er is formed out of that which had no form, was un­formed be­fore it was formed.

Out of these truths, of which they doubt not whose in­ward eye Thou hast en­abled to see such things, and who un­shak­en­ly be­lieve Thy ser­vant Moses to have spo­ken in the Spir­it of truth; -of all these then, he taketh one, who saith, In the Be­gin­ning God made the heav­en and the earth; that is, “in His Word co­eter­nal with Him­self, God made the in­tel­li­gi­ble and the sen­si­ble, or the spir­itu­al and the cor­po­re­al crea­ture.” He an­oth­er, that saith, In the Be­gin­ning God made heav­en and earth; that is, “in His Word co­eter­nal with Him­self, did God make the uni­ver­sal bulk of this cor­po­re­al world, to­geth­er with all those ap­par­ent and known crea­tures, which it con­taineth.” He an­oth­er, that saith, In the Be­gin­ning God made heav­en and earth; that is, “in His Word co­eter­nal with Him­self, did God make the form­less mat­ter of crea­tures spir­itu­al and cor­po­re­al.” He an­oth­er, that saith, In the Be­gin­ning God cre­at­ed heav­en and earth; that is, “in His Word co­eter­nal with Him­self, did God cre­ate the form­less mat­ter of the crea­ture cor­po­re­al, where­in heav­en and earth lay as yet con­fused, which, be­ing now dis­tin­guished and formed, we at this day see in the bulk of this world.” He an­oth­er, who saith, In the Be­gin­ning God made heav­en and earth; that is, “in the very be­gin­ning of cre­at­ing and work­ing, did God make that form­less mat­ter, con­fus­ed­ly con­tain­ing in it­self both heav­en and earth; out of which, be­ing formed, do they now stand out, and are ap­par­ent, with all that is in them.”

And with re­gard to the un­der­stand­ing of the words fol­low­ing, out of all those truths, he choos­es one to him­self, who saith, But the earth was in­vis­ible, and with­out form, and dark­ness was up­on the deep; that is, “that cor­po­re­al thing that God made, was as yet a form­less mat­ter of cor­po­re­al things, with­out or­der, with­out light. ” An­oth­er he who says, The earth was in­vis­ible and with­out form, and dark­ness was up­on the deep; that is, “this all, which is called heav­en and earth, was still a form­less and dark­some mat­ter, of which the cor­po­re­al heav­en and the cor­po­re­al earth were to be made, with all things in them, which are known to our cor­po­re­al sens­es.” An­oth­er he who says, The earth was in­vis­ible and with­out form, and dark­ness was up­on the deep; that is, “this all, which is called heav­en and earth, was still a form­less and a dark­some mat­ter; out of which was to be made, both that in­tel­li­gi­ble heav­en, oth­er­where called the Heav­en of heav­ens, and the earth, that is, the whole cor­po­re­al na­ture, un­der which name is com­prised this cor­po­re­al heav­en al­so; in a word, out of which ev­ery vis­ible and in­vis­ible crea­ture was to be cre­at­ed.” An­oth­er he who says, The earth was in­vis­ible and with­out form, and dark­ness was up­on the deep, “the Scrip­ture did not call that form­less­ness by the name of heav­en and earth; but that form­less­ness, saith he, al­ready was, which he called the earth in­vis­ible with­out form, and dark­ness up­on the deep; of which he had be­fore said, that God had made heav­en and earth, name­ly, the spir­itu­al and cor­po­re­al crea­ture.” An­oth­er he who says, The earth was in­vis­ible and with­out form, and dark­ness was up­on the deep; that is, “there al­ready was a cer­tain form­less mat­ter, of which the Scrip­ture said be­fore, that God made heav­en and earth; name­ly, the whole cor­po­re­al bulk of the world, di­vid­ed in­to two great parts, up­per and low­er, with all the com­mon and known crea­tures in them.”

For should any at­tempt to dis­pute against these two last opin­ions, thus, “If you will not al­low, that this form­less­ness of mat­ter seems to be called by the name of heav­en and earth; Er­go, there was some­thing which God had not made, out of which to make heav­en and earth; for nei­ther hath Scrip­ture told us, that God made this mat­ter, un­less we un­der­stand it to be sig­ni­fied by the name of heav­en and earth, or of earth alone, when it is said, In the Be­gin­ning God made the heav­en and earth; that so in what fol­lows, and the earth was in­vis­ible and with­out form (al­though it pleased Him so to call the form­less mat­ter), we are to un­der­stand no oth­er mat­ter, but that which God made, where­of is writ­ten above, God made heav­en and earth.” The main­tain­ers of ei­ther of those two lat­ter opin­ions will, up­on hear­ing this, re­turn for an­swer, “we do not de­ny this form­less mat­ter to be in­deed cre­at­ed by God, that God of Whom are all things, very good; for as we af­firm that to be a greater good, which is cre­at­ed and formed, so we con­fess that to be a less­er good which is made ca­pa­ble of cre­ation and form, yet still good. We say how­ev­er that Scrip­ture hath not set down, that God made this form­less­ness, as al­so it hath not many oth­ers; as the Cheru­bim, and Seraphim, and those which the Apos­tle dis­tinct­ly speaks of, Thrones, Do­min­ions, Prin­ci­pal­ities, Pow­ers. All which that God made, is most ap­par­ent. Or if in that which is said, He made heav­en and earth, all things be com­pre­hend­ed, what shall we say of the wa­ters, up­on which the Spir­it of God moved? For if they be com­prised in this word earth; how then can form­less mat­ter be meant in that name of earth, when we see the wa­ters so beau­ti­ful? Or if it be so tak­en; why then is it writ­ten, that out of the same form­less­ness, the fir­ma­ment was made, and called heav­en; and that the wa­ters were made, is not writ­ten? For the wa­ters re­main not form­less and in­vis­ible, see­ing we be­hold them flow­ing in so come­ly a man­ner. But if they then re­ceived that beau­ty, when God said, Let the wa­ters un­der the fir­ma­ment be gath­ered to­geth­er, that so the gath­er­ing to­geth­er be it­self the form­ing of them; what will be said as to those wa­ters above the fir­ma­ment? See­ing nei­ther if form­less would they have been wor­thy of so hon­ourable a seat, nor is it writ­ten, by what word they were formed. If then Gen­esis is silent as to God’s mak­ing of any thing, which yet that God did make nei­ther sound faith nor well-​ground­ed un­der­stand­ing doubteth, nor again will any sober teach­ing dare to af­firm these wa­ters to be co­eter­nal with God, on the ground that we find them to be men­tioned in the hook of Gen­esis, but when they were cre­at­ed, we do not find; why (see­ing truth teach­es us) should we not un­der­stand that form­less mat­ter (which this Scrip­ture calls the earth in­vis­ible and with­out form, and dark­some deep) to have been cre­at­ed of God out of noth­ing, and there­fore not to be co­eter­nal to Him; notwith­stand­ing this his­to­ry hath omit­ted to show when it was cre­at­ed?”

These things then be­ing heard and per­ceived, ac­cord­ing to the weak­ness of my ca­pac­ity (which I con­fess un­to Thee, O Lord, that know­est it), two sorts of dis­agree­ments I see may arise, when a thing is in words re­lat­ed by true re­porters; one, con­cern­ing the truth of the things, the oth­er, con­cern­ing the mean­ing of the re­later. For we en­quire one way about the mak­ing of the crea­ture, what is true; an­oth­er way, what Moses, that ex­cel­lent min­is­ter of Thy Faith, would have his read­er and hear­er un­der­stand by those words. For the first sort, away with all those who imag­ine them­selves to know as a truth, what is false; and for this oth­er, away with all them too, which imag­ine Moses to have writ­ten things that be false. But let me be unit­ed in Thee, O Lord, with those and de­light my­self in Thee, with them that feed on Thy truth, in the large­ness of char­ity, and let us ap­proach to­geth­er un­to the words of Thy book, and seek in them for Thy mean­ing, through the mean­ing of Thy ser­vant, by whose pen Thou hast dis­pensed them.

But which of us shall, among those so many truths, which oc­cur to en­quir­ers in those words, as they are dif­fer­ent­ly un­der­stood, so dis­cov­er that one mean­ing, as to af­firm, “this Moses thought,” and “this would he have un­der­stood in that his­to­ry”; with the same con­fi­dence as he would, “this is true,” whether Moses thought this or that? For be­hold, O my God, I Thy ser­vant, who have in this book vowed a sac­ri­fice of con­fes­sion un­to Thee, and pray, that by Thy mer­cy I may pay my vows un­to Thee, can I, with the same con­fi­dence where­with I af­firm, that in Thy in­com­mutable world Thou cre­at­edst all things vis­ible and in­vis­ible, af­firm al­so, that Moses meant no oth­er than this, when he wrote, In the Be­gin­ning God made heav­en and earth? No. Be­cause I see not in his mind, that he thought of this when he wrote these things, as I do see it in Thy truth to be cer­tain. For he might have his thoughts up­on God’s com­mence­ment of cre­at­ing, when he said In the be­gin­ning; and by heav­en and earth, in this place he might in­tend no formed and per­fect­ed na­ture whether spir­itu­al or cor­po­re­al, but both of them in­choate and as yet form­less. For I per­ceive, that which­so­ev­er of the two had been said, it might have been tru­ly said; but which of the two he thought of in these words, I do not so per­ceive. Al­though, whether it were ei­ther of these, or any sense be­side (that I have not here men­tioned), which this so great man saw in his mind, when he ut­tered these words, I doubt not but that he saw it tru­ly, and ex­pressed it apt­ly.

Let no man ha­rass me then, by say­ing, Moses thought not as you say, but as I say: for if he should ask me, “How know you that Moses thought that which you in­fer out of his words?” I ought to take it in good part, and would an­swer per­chance as I have above, or some­thing more at large, if he were un­yield­ing. But when he saith, “Moses meant not what you say, but what I say,” yet de­ni­eth not that what each of us say, may both be true, O my God, life of the poor, in Whose bo­som is no con­tra­dic­tion, pour down a soft­en­ing dew in­to my heart, that I may pa­tient­ly bear with such as say this to me, not be­cause they have a di­vine Spir­it, and have seen in the heart of Thy ser­vant what they speak, but be­cause they be proud; not know­ing Moses’ opin­ion, but lov­ing their own, not be­cause it is truth, but be­cause it is theirs. Oth­er­wise they would equal­ly love an­oth­er true opin­ion, as I love what they say, when they say true: not be­cause it is theirs, but be­cause it is true; and on that very ground not theirs be­cause it is true. But if they there­fore love it, be­cause it is true, then is it both theirs, and mine; as be­ing in com­mon to all lovers of truth. But where­as they con­tend that Moses did not mean what I say, but what they say, this I like not, love not: for though it were so, yet that their rash­ness be­longs not to knowl­edge, but to over­bold­ness, and not in­sight but van­ity was its par­ent. And there­fore, O Lord, are Thy judge­ments ter­ri­ble; see­ing Thy truth is nei­ther mine, nor his, nor an­oth­er’s; but be­long­ing to us all, whom Thou callest pub­licly to par­take of it, warn­ing us ter­ri­bly, not to ac­count it pri­vate to our­selves, lest we he de­prived of it. For whoso­ev­er chal­lenges that as prop­er to him­self, which Thou pro­pound­est to all to en­joy, and would have that his own which be­longs to all, is driv­en from what is in com­mon to his own; that is, from truth, to a lie. For he that speaketh a lie, speaketh it of his own.

Hear­ken, O God, Thou best judge; Truth It­self, hear­ken to what I shall say to this gain­say­er, hear­ken, for be­fore Thee do I speak, and be­fore my brethren, who em­ploy Thy law law­ful­ly, to the end of char­ity: hear­ken and be­hold, if it please Thee, what I shall say to him. For this broth­er­ly and peace­ful word do I re­turn un­to Him: “If we both see that to be true that Thou sayest, and both see that to be true that I say, where, I pray Thee, do we see it? Nei­ther I in thee, nor thou in me; but both in the un­change­able Truth it­self, which is above our souls.” See­ing then we strive not about the very light of the Lord God, why strive we about the thoughts of our neigh­bour which we can­not so see, as the un­change­able Truth is seen: for that, if Moses him­self had ap­peared to us and said, “This I meant”; nei­ther so should we see it, but should be­lieve it. Let us not then be puffed up for one against an­oth­er, above that which is writ­ten: let us love the Lord our God with all our heart, with all our soul, and with all our mind: and our neigh­bour as our­self. With a view to which two pre­cepts of char­ity, un­less we be­lieve that Moses meant, what­so­ev­er in those books he did mean, we shall make God a liar, imag­in­ing oth­er­wise of our fel­low ser­vant’s mind, than he hath taught us. Be­hold now, how fool­ish it is, in such abun­dance of most true mean­ings, as may be ex­tract­ed out of those words, rash­ly to af­firm, which of them Moses prin­ci­pal­ly meant; and with per­ni­cious con­tentions to of­fend char­ity it­self, for whose sake he spake ev­ery thing, whose words we go about to ex­pound.

And yet I, O my God, Thou lifter up of my hu­mil­ity, and rest of my labour, Who hear­est my con­fes­sions, and for­givest my sins: see­ing Thou com­man­dest me to love my neigh­bour as my­self, I can­not be­lieve that Thou gavest a less gift un­to Moses Thy faith­ful ser­vant, than I would wish or de­sire Thee to have giv­en me, had I been born in the time he was, and hadst Thou set me in that of­fice, that by the ser­vice of my heart and tongue those books might be dis­pensed, which for so long af­ter were to prof­it all na­tions, and through the whole world from such an em­inence of au­thor­ity, were to sur­mount all say­ings of false and proud teach­ings. I should have de­sired ver­ily, had I then been Moses (for we all come from the same lump, and what is man, sav­ing that Thou art mind­ful of him?), I would then, had I been then what he was, and been en­joined by Thee to write the book of Gen­esis, have de­sired such a pow­er of ex­pres­sion and such a style to be giv­en me, that nei­ther they who can­not yet un­der­stand how God cre­at­ed, might re­ject the say­ings, as be­yond their ca­pac­ity; and they who had at­tained there­to, might find what true opin­ion so­ev­er they had by thought ar­rived at, not passed over in those few words of that Thy ser­vant: and should an­oth­er man by the light of truth have dis­cov­ered an­oth­er, nei­ther should that fail of be­ing dis­cov­er­able in those same words.

For as a foun­tain with­in a nar­row com­pass, is more plen­ti­ful, and sup­plies a tide for more streams over larg­er spaces, than any one of those streams, which, af­ter a wide in­ter­val, is de­rived from the same foun­tain; so the re­la­tion of that dis­penser of Thine, which was to ben­efit many who were to dis­course there­on, does out of a nar­row scant­ling of lan­guage, over­flow in­to streams of clear­est truth, whence ev­ery man may draw out for him­self such truth as he can up­on these sub­jects, one, one truth, an­oth­er, an­oth­er, by larg­er cir­cum­lo­cu­tions of dis­course. For some, when they read, or hear these words, con­ceive that God like a man or some mass en­dued with un­bound­ed pow­er, by some new and sud­den res­olu­tion, did, ex­te­ri­or to it­self, as it were at a cer­tain dis­tance, cre­ate heav­en and earth, two great bod­ies above and be­low, where­in all things were to be con­tained. And when they hear, God said, Let it be made, and it was made; they con­ceive of words be­gun and end­ed, sound­ing in time, and pass­ing away; af­ter whose de­par­ture, that came in­to be­ing, which was com­mand­ed so to do; and what­ev­er of the like sort, men’s ac­quain­tance with the ma­te­ri­al world would sug­gest. In whom, be­ing yet lit­tle ones and car­nal, while their weak­ness is by this hum­ble kind of speech, car­ried on, as in a moth­er’s bo­som, their faith is whole­some­ly built up, where­by they hold as­sured, that God made all na­tures, which in ad­mirable va­ri­ety their eye be­hold­eth around. Which words, if any de­spis­ing, as too sim­ple, with a proud weak­ness, shall stretch him­self be­yond the guardian nest; he will, alas, fall mis­er­ably. Have pity, O Lord God, lest they who go by the way tram­ple on the un­fledged bird, and send Thine an­gel to re­place it in­to the nest, that it may live, till it can fly.

But oth­ers, un­to whom these words are no longer a nest, but deep shady fruit-​bow­ers, see the fruits con­cealed there­in, fly joy­ous­ly around, and with cheer­ful notes seek out, and pluck them. For read­ing or hear­ing these words, they see that all times past and to come, are sur­passed by Thy eter­nal and sta­ble abid­ing; and yet that there is no crea­ture formed in time, not of Thy mak­ing. Whose will, be­cause it is the same that Thou art, Thou madest all things, not by any change of will, nor by a will, which be­fore was not, and that these things were not out of Thy­self, in Thine own like­ness, which is the form of all things; but out of noth­ing, a form­less un­like­ness, which should be formed by Thy like­ness (re­cur­ring to Thy Uni­ty, ac­cord­ing to their ap­point­ed ca­pac­ity, so far as is giv­en to each thing in his kind), and might all be made very good; whether they abide around Thee, or be­ing in gra­da­tion re­moved in time and place, made or un­der­go the beau­ti­ful vari­ations of the Uni­verse. These things they see, and re­joice, in the lit­tle de­gree they here may, in the light of Thy truth.

An­oth­er bends his mind on that which is said, In the Be­gin­ning God made heav­en and earth; and be­hold­eth there­in Wis­dom, the Be­gin­ning be­cause It al­so speaketh un­to us. An­oth­er like­wise bends his mind on the same words, and by Be­gin­ning un­der­stands the com­mence­ment of things cre­at­ed; In the be­gin­ning He made, as if it were said, He at first made. And among them that un­der­stand In the Be­gin­ning to mean, “In Thy Wis­dom Thou cre­at­edst heav­en and earth,” one be­lieves the mat­ter out of which the heav­en and earth were to be cre­at­ed, to be there called heav­en and earth; an­oth­er, na­tures al­ready formed and dis­tin­guished; an­oth­er, one formed na­ture, and that a spir­itu­al, un­der the name Heav­en, the oth­er form­less, a cor­po­re­al mat­ter, un­der the name Earth. They again who by the names heav­en and earth, un­der­stand mat­ter as yet form­less, out of which heav­en and earth were to be formed, nei­ther do they un­der­stand it in one way; but the one, that mat­ter out of which both the in­tel­li­gi­ble and the sen­si­ble crea­ture were to be per­fect­ed; an­oth­er, that on­ly, out of which this sen­si­ble cor­po­re­al mass was to he made, con­tain­ing in its vast bo­som these vis­ible and or­di­nary na­tures. Nei­ther do they, who be­lieve the crea­tures al­ready or­dered and ar­ranged, to be in this place called heav­en and earth, un­der­stand the same; but the one, both the in­vis­ible and vis­ible, the oth­er, the vis­ible on­ly, in which we be­hold this light­some heav­en, and dark­some earth, with the things in them con­tained.

But he that no oth­er­wise un­der­stands In the Be­gin­ning He made, than if it were said, At first He made, can on­ly tru­ly un­der­stand heav­en and earth of the mat­ter of heav­en and earth, that is, of the uni­ver­sal in­tel­li­gi­ble and cor­po­re­al cre­ation. For if he would un­der­stand there­by the uni­verse, as al­ready formed, it may be right­ly de­mand­ed of him, “If God made this first, what made He af­ter­wards?” and af­ter the uni­verse, he will find noth­ing; where­upon must he against his will hear an­oth­er ques­tion; “How did God make this first, if noth­ing af­ter?” But when he says, God made mat­ter first form­less, then formed, there is no ab­sur­di­ty, if he be but qual­ified to dis­cern, what pre­cedes by eter­ni­ty, what by time, what by choice, and what in orig­inal. By eter­ni­ty, as God is be­fore all things; by time, as the flow­er be­fore the fruit; by choice, as the fruit be­fore the flow­er; by orig­inal, as the sound be­fore the tune. Of these four, the first and last men­tioned, are with ex­treme dif­fi­cul­ty un­der­stood, the two mid­dle, eas­ily. For a rare and too lofty a vi­sion is it, to be­hold Thy Eter­ni­ty, O Lord, un­change­ably mak­ing things change­able; and there­by be­fore them. And who, again, is of so sharp­sight­ed un­der­stand­ing, as to be able with­out great pains to dis­cern, how the sound is there­fore be­fore the tune; be­cause a tune is a formed sound; and a thing not formed, may ex­ist; where­as that which ex­is­teth not, can­not be formed. Thus is the mat­ter be­fore the thing made; not be­cause it maketh it, see­ing it­self is rather made; nor is it be­fore by in­ter­val of time; for we do not first in time ut­ter form­less sounds with­out singing, and sub­se­quent­ly adapt or fash­ion them in­to the form of a chant, as wood or sil­ver, where­of a chest or ves­sel is fash­ioned. For such ma­te­ri­als do by time al­so pre­cede the forms of the things made of them, but in singing it is not so; for when it is sung, its sound is heard; for there is not first a form­less sound, which is af­ter­wards formed in­to a chant. For each sound, so soon as made, pas­seth away, nor canst thou find ought to re­call and by art to com­pose. So then the chant is con­cen­trat­ed in its sound, which sound of his is his mat­ter. And this in­deed is formed, that it may be a tune; and there­fore (as I said) the mat­ter of the sound is be­fore the form of the tune; not be­fore, through any pow­er it hath to make it a tune; for a sound is no way the work­mas­ter of the tune; but is some­thing cor­po­re­al, sub­ject­ed to the soul which singeth, where­of to make a tune. Nor is it first in time; for it is giv­en forth to­geth­er with the tune; nor first in choice, for a sound is not bet­ter than a tune, a tune be­ing not on­ly a sound, but a beau­ti­ful sound. But it is first in orig­inal, be­cause a tune re­ceives not form to be­come a sound, but a sound re­ceives a form to be­come a tune. By this ex­am­ple, let him that is able, un­der­stand how the mat­ter of things was first made, and called heav­en and earth, be­cause heav­en and earth were made out of it. Yet was it not made first in time; be­cause the forms of things give rise to time; but that was with­out form, but now is, in time, an ob­ject of sense to­geth­er with its form. And yet noth­ing can be re­lat­ed of that mat­ter, but as though pri­or in time, where­as in val­ue it is last (be­cause things formed are su­pe­ri­or to things with­out form) and is pre­ced­ed by the Eter­ni­ty of the Cre­ator: that so there might be out of noth­ing, where­of some­what might be cre­at­ed.

In this di­ver­si­ty of the true opin­ions, let Truth her­self pro­duce con­cord. And our God have mer­cy up­on us, that we may use the law law­ful­ly, the end of the com­mand­ment, pure char­ity. By this if man de­mands of me, “which of these was the mean­ing of Thy ser­vant Moses”; this were not the lan­guage of my Con­fes­sions, should I not con­fess un­to Thee, “I know not”; and yet I know that those sens­es are true, those car­nal ones ex­cept­ed, of which I have spo­ken what seemed nec­es­sary. And even those hope­ful lit­tle ones who so think, have this ben­efit, that the words of Thy Book af­fright them not, de­liv­er­ing high things lowlily, and with few words a co­pi­ous mean­ing. And all we who, I con­fess, see and ex­press the truth de­liv­ered in those words, let us love one an­oth­er, and joint­ly love Thee our God, the foun­tain of truth, if we are athirst for it, and not for van­ities; yea, let us so hon­our this Thy ser­vant, the dis­penser of this Scrip­ture, full of Thy Spir­it, as to be­lieve that, when by Thy rev­ela­tion he wrote these things, he in­tend­ed that, which among them chiefly ex­cels both for light of truth, and fruit­ful­ness of prof­it.

So when one says, “Moses meant as I do”; and an­oth­er, “Nay, but as I do,” I sup­pose that I speak more rev­er­ent­ly, “Why not rather as both, if both be true?” And if there be a third, or a fourth, yea if any oth­er seeth any oth­er truth in those words, why may not he be be­lieved to have seen all these, through whom the One God hath tem­pered the holy Scrip­tures to the sens­es of many, who should see there­in things true but divers? For I cer­tain­ly (and fear­less­ly I speak it from my heart), that were I to in­dite any thing to have supreme au­thor­ity, I should pre­fer so to write, that what­ev­er truth any could ap­pre­hend on those mat­ters, might he con­veyed in my words, rather than set down my own mean­ing so clear­ly as to ex­clude the rest, which not be­ing false, could not of­fend me. I will not there­fore, O my God, be so rash, as not to be­lieve, that Thou vouch­safedst as much to that great man. He with­out doubt, when he wrote those words, per­ceived and thought on what truth so­ev­er we have been able to find, yea and what­so­ev­er we have not been able, nor yet are, but which may be found in them.

Last­ly, O Lord, who art God and not flesh and blood, if man did see less, could any thing be con­cealed from Thy good Spir­it (who shall lead me in­to the land of up­right­ness), which Thou Thy­self by those words wert about to re­veal to read­ers in times to come, though he through whom they were spo­ken, per­haps among many true mean­ings, thought on some one? which if so it be, let that which he thought on be of all the high­est. But to us, O Lord, do Thou, ei­ther re­veal that same, or any oth­er true one which Thou pleas­est; that so, whether Thou dis­cover­est the same to us, as to that Thy ser­vant, or some oth­er by oc­ca­sion of those words, yet Thou mayest feed us, not er­ror de­ceive us. Be­hold, O Lord my God, how much we have writ­ten up­on a few words, how much I be­seech Thee! What strength of ours, yea what ages would suf­fice for all Thy books in this man­ner? Per­mit me then in these more briefly to con­fess un­to Thee, and to choose some one true, cer­tain, and good sense that Thou shalt in­spire me, al­though many should oc­cur, where many may oc­cur; this be­ing the law my con­fes­sion, that if I should say that which Thy min­is­ter in­tend­ed, that is right and best; for this should I en­deav­our, which if I should not at­tain, yet I should say that, which Thy Truth willed by his words to tell me, which re­vealed al­so un­to him, what It willed.