Now
that I have finished this work, I see that I must return to myself, for our
mind is much fragmented and scattered beyond itself, even when it tries to
speak rightly. While we think of words and how to bring them out, those
very words diminish the soul's integrity by plundering it from inside. So I
must return from the forum of speech to the senate house of the heart, to
call together the thoughts of the mind for a kind of council to deliberate
how best I may watch over myself, to see to it that in my heart I speak no
heedless evil nor speak poorly any good. The good is well spoken when the
speaker seeks with his words to please only the one from whom he has
received the good he has. And indeed even if I do not find for sure that
have spoken any evil, still I will not claim that I have spoken no evil at
all. But if I have received some good from God and spoken it, I freely
admit that I have spoken it less well than I should (through my own fault,
to be sure). When I turn inward to myself, pushing aside the leafy
verbiage, pushing aside the branching arguments, and examine my intentions
at the very root, I know it really was my intention to please God, but some
little appetite for the praise of men crept in, I know not how, and intruded
on my simple desire to please God. And when later, too much later, I
realize this, I find that I have in fact done other than what I know I set
out to do. It is often thus, that when we begin with good intentions in the
eyes of God, a secret tagalong yen for the praise of our fellow men comes
along, taking hold of our intentions from the side of the road. We take
food, for example, out of necessity, but while we are eating, a gluttonous
spirit creeps in and we begin to take delight in the eating for its own
sake; so often it happens that what began as nourishment to protect our
health ends by becoming a pretext for our pleasures. We must admit
therefore that our intention, which seeks to please God alone, is sometimes
treacherously accompanied by a less-righteous intention that seeks to please
other men by exploiting the gifts of God. But if we are examined strictly
by God in these matters, what refuge will remain in the midst of all this?
For we see that our evil is always evil pure and simple, but the good that
we think we have cannot be really good, pure and simple. But I think it
worthwhile for me to reveal unhesitatingly here to the ears of my brothers
everything I secretly revile in myself. As commentator, I have not hidden
what I felt, and as confessor, I have not hidden what I suffer. In my
commentary I reveal the gifts of God, and in my confession I uncover my
wounds. In this vast human race there are always little ones who need to be
instructed by my words, and there are always great ones who can take pity on
my weakness once they know of it: thus with commentary and confession I
offer my help to some of my brethren (as much as I can), and I seek the help
of others. To the first I speak to explain what they should do, to the
others I open my heart to admit what they should forgive. I have not
withheld medicine from the ones, but I have not hidden my wounds and
lacerations from the others. So I ask that whoever reads this should pour
out the consolation of prayer before the strict judge for me, so that he may
wash away with tears every sordid thing he finds in me. When I balance the
power of my commentary and the power of prayer, I see that my reader will
have more than paid me back if for what he hears from me, he offers his
tears for me."
