29. What did all this profit me, since it actually hindered
me when I imagined that whatever existed was comprehended within
those ten categories? I tried to interpret them, O my God, so
that even thy wonderful and unchangeable unity could be understood
as subjected to thy own magnitude or beauty, as if they existed in
thee as their Subject -- as they do in corporeal bodies -- whereas
thou art thyself thy own magnitude and beauty. A body is not
great or fair because it is a body, because, even if it were less
great or less beautiful, it would still be a body. But my
conception of thee was falsity, not truth. It was a figment of my
own misery, not the stable ground of thy blessedness. For thou
hadst commanded, and it was carried out in me, that the earth
should bring forth briars and thorns for me, and that with heavy
labor I should gain my bread.[117]
30. And what did it profit me that I could read and
understand for myself all the books I could get in the so-called
"liberal arts," when I was actually a worthless slave of wicked
lust? I took delight in them, not knowing the real source of what
it was in them that was true and certain.
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