IV

The luminous judgment, the calm faith, and

the single-minded devotion which this letter

exhibits, were fully maintained in the conduct of

the far-famed writer, in the events which 15

followed. It was written on the first entrance of

the Vandals into Africa, about two years before

they laid siege to Hippo; and during this

interval of dreadful suspense and excitement, as well

as of actual suffering, amid the desolation of the 20

Church around him, with the prospect of his own

personal trials, we find this unwearied teacher

carrying on his works of love by pen, and word

of mouth,--eagerly, as knowing his time was

short, but tranquilly, as if it were a season of 25

prosperity....

His life had been for many years one of great

anxiety and discomfort, the life of one dissatisfied

with himself, and despairing of finding the truth.

Men of ordinary minds are not so circumstanced 30

as to feel the misery of irreligion. That misery

consists in the perverted and discordant action

of the various faculties and functions of the soul,

which have lost their legitimate governing power,

and are unable to regain it, except at the hands 5

of their Maker. Now the run of irreligious men

do not suffer in any great degree from this

disorder, and are not miserable; they have neither

great talents nor strong passions; they have not

within them the materials of rebellion in such 10

measure as to threaten their peace. They follow

their own wishes, they yield to the bent of the

moment, they act on inclination, not on principle,

but their motive powers are neither strong nor

various enough to be troublesome. Their minds 15

are in no sense under rule; but anarchy is not in

their case a state of confusion, but of deadness;

not unlike the internal condition as it is reported

of eastern cities and provinces at present, in

which, though the government is weak or null, 20

the body politic goes on without any great

embarrassment or collision of its members one with

another, by the force of inveterate habit. It is

very different when the moral and intellectual

principles are vigorous, active, and developed. 25

Then, if the governing power be feeble, all the

subordinates are in the position of rebels in arms;

and what the state of a mind is under such

circumstances, the analogy of a civil community will

suggest to us. Then we have before us the 30

melancholy spectacle of high aspirations without

an aim, a hunger of the soul unsatisfied, and a

never ending restlessness and inward warfare of

its various faculties. Gifted minds, if not

submitted to the rightful authority of religion,

become the most unhappy and the most mischievous. 5

They need both an object to feed upon, and the

power of self-mastery; and the love of their

Maker, and nothing but it, supplies both the one

and the other. We have seen in our own day, in

the case of a popular poet, an impressive instance 10

of a great genius throwing off the fear of God,

seeking for happiness in the creature, roaming

unsatisfied from one object to another, breaking

his soul upon itself, and bitterly confessing and

imparting his wretchedness to all around him. 15

I have no wish at all to compare him to St.

Augustine; indeed, if we may say it without

presumption, the very different termination of their trial

seems to indicate some great difference in their

respective modes of encountering it. The one 20

dies of premature decay, to all appearance, a

hardened infidel; and if he is still to have a name,

will live in the mouths of men by writings at once

blasphemous and immoral: the other is a Saint

and Doctor of the Church. Each makes 25

confessions, the one to the saints, the other to the

powers of evil. And does not the difference of

the two discover itself in some measure, even to

our eyes, in the very history of their wanderings

and pinings? At least, there is no appearance in 30

St. Augustine's case of that dreadful haughtiness,

sullenness, love of singularity, vanity, irritability,

and misanthropy, which were too certainly the

characteristics of our own countryman.

Augustine was, as his early history shows, a man of

affectionate and tender feelings, and open and 5

amiable temper; and, above all, he sought for some

excellence external to his own mind, instead of

concentrating all his contemplations on himself.

But let us consider what his misery was; it

was that of a mind imprisoned, solitary, and wild 10

with spiritual thirst; and forced to betake itself

to the strongest excitements, by way of relieving

itself of the rush and violence of feelings, of which

the knowledge of the Divine Perfections was the

true and sole sustenance. He ran into excess, 15

not from love of it, but from this fierce fever of

mind. "I sought what I might love,"[28] he says

in his Confessions, "in love with loving, and safety

I hated, and a way without snares. For within

me was a famine of that inward food, Thyself, 20

my God; yet throughout that famine I was not

hungered, but was without any longing for

incorruptible sustenance, not because filled therewith,

but the more empty, the more I loathed it. For

this cause my soul was sickly and full of sores; it 25

miserably cast itself forth, desiring to be scraped

by the touch of objects of sense."--iii. I.

[28] Most of these translations are from the Oxford edition of 1838.

"O foolish man that I then was," he says elsewhere,

"enduring impatiently the lot of man! So I fretted,

sighed, wept, was distracted; had neither rest nor

counsel. For I bore about a shattered and bleeding

soul, impatient of being borne by me, yet where to repose

it I found not; not in calm groves, nor in games and

music, nor in fragrant spots, nor in curious banquetings, 5

nor in indulgence of the bed and the couch, nor, finally, in

books or poetry found it repose. All things looked ghastly,

yea, the very light. In groaning and tears alone found

I a little refreshment. But when my soul was withdrawn

from them, a huge load of misery weighed me down. 10

To Thee, O Lord, it ought to have been raised, for Thee

to lighten; I knew it, but neither could, nor would;

the more, since when I thought of Thee, Thou wast not

to me any solid or substantial thing. For Thou wert not

Thyself, but a mere phantom, and my error was my God. 15

If I offered to discharge my load thereon, that it might

rest, it glided through the void, and came rushing down

against me; and I had remained to myself a hapless

spot, where I could neither be, nor be from thence. For

whither should my heart flee from my heart? whither 20

should I flee from myself? whither not follow myself?

And yet I fled out of my country; for so should mine

eyes look less for _him_, where they were not wont to see

him."--iv. 12.

He is speaking in this last sentence of a friend he 25

had lost, whose death-bed was very remarkable,

and whose dear familiar name he apparently has

not courage to mention. "He had grown from a

child with me," he says, "and we had been both

schoolfellows and playfellows." Augustine had 30

misled him into the heresy which he had adopted

himself, and when he grew to have more and more

sympathy in Augustine's pursuits, the latter united

himself to him in a closer intimacy. Scarcely had

he thus given him his heart, when God took him. 35

"Thou tookest him," he says, "out of this life, when he

had scarce completed one whole year of my friendship,

sweet to me above all sweetness in that life of mine.

A long while, sore sick of a fever, he lay senseless in the

dews of death, and being given over, he was baptized 5

unwitting; I, meanwhile little regarding, or presuming

that his soul would retain rather what it had received

of me than what was wrought on his unconscious body."

The Manichees, it should be observed, rejected

baptism. He proceeds: 10

"But it proved far otherwise; for he was refreshed

and restored. Forthwith, as soon as I could speak with

him (and I could as soon as he was able, for I never left

him, and we hung but too much upon each other), I

essayed to jest with him, as though he would jest with 15

me at that baptism, which he had received, when

utterly absent in mind and feeling, but had now understood

that he had received. But he shrunk from me, as from

an enemy; and with a wonderful and sudden freedom

bade me, if I would continue his friend, forbear such 20

language to him. I, all astonished and amazed,

suppressed all my emotions till he should grow well, and his

health were strong enough for me to deal with him as I

would. But he was taken away from my madness, that

with Thee he might be preserved for my comfort: a few 25

days after, in my absence, he was attacked again by

fever, and so departed."--iv. 8.

V

From distress of mind Augustine left his native

place, Thagaste, and came to Carthage, where he

became a teacher in rhetoric. Here he fell in 30

with Faustus, an eminent Manichean bishop and

disputant, in whom, however, he was

disappointed; and the disappointment abated his

attachment to his sect, and disposed him to look

for truth elsewhere. Disgusted with the license

which prevailed among the students at Carthage, 5

he determined to proceed to Rome, and

disregarding and eluding the entreaties of his mother,

Monica, who dreaded his removal from his own

country, he went thither. At Rome he resumed

his professions; but inconveniences as great, 10

though of another kind, encountered him in that

city; and upon the people of Milan sending for a

rhetoric reader, he made application for the

appointment, and obtained it. To Milan then he

came, the city of St. Ambrose, in the year of our 15

Lord 385.

Ambrose, though weak in voice, had the

reputation of eloquence; and Augustine, who seems

to have gone with introductions to him, and was

won by his kindness of manner, attended his 20

sermons with curiosity and interest. "I listened,"

he says, "not in the frame of mind which became

me, but in order to see whether his eloquence

answered what was reported of it: I hung on his

words attentively, but of the matter I was but an 25

unconcerned and contemptuous hearer."--v. 23.

His impression of his style of preaching is worth

noticing: "I was delighted with the sweetness

of his discourse, more full of knowledge, yet in

manner less pleasurable and soothing, than that 30

of Faustus." Augustine was insensibly moved:

he determined on leaving the Manichees, and

returning to the state of a catechumen in the

Catholic Church, into which he had been admitted

by his parents. He began to eye and muse upon

the great bishop of Milan more and more, and tried 5

in vain to penetrate his secret heart, and to

ascertain the thoughts and feelings which swayed him.

He felt he did not understand him. If the

respect and intimacy of the great could make

a man happy, these advantages he perceived 10

Ambrose to possess; yet he was not satisfied that

he was a happy man. His celibacy seemed a

drawback: what constituted his hidden life? or

was he cold at heart? or was he of a famished

and restless spirit? He felt his own malady, and 15

longed to ask him some questions about it. But

Ambrose could not easily be spoken with. Though

accessible to all, yet that very circumstance

made it difficult for an individual, especially one

who was not of his flock, to get a private 20

interview with him. When he was not taken up with

the Christian people who surrounded him, he

was either at his meals or engaged in private

reading. Augustine used to enter, as all persons

might, without being announced; but after 25

staying awhile, afraid of interrupting him, he

departed again. However, he heard his expositions

of Scripture every Sunday, and gradually made

progress.

He was now in his thirtieth year, and since he 30

was a youth of eighteen had been searching after

truth; yet he was still "in the same mire, greedy of

things present," but finding nothing stable.

"To-morrow," he said to himself, "I shall find it; it

will appear manifestly, and I shall grasp it: lo, Faustus

the Manichee will come and clear everything! O you 5

great men, ye academics, is it true, then, that no

certainty can be attained for the ordering of life? Nay,

let us search diligently, and despair not. Lo, things in

the ecclesiastical books are not absurd to us now, which

sometimes seemed absurd, and may be otherwise taken 10

and in a good sense. I will take my stand where, as a

child, my parents placed me, until the clear truth be

found out. But where shall it be sought, or when?

Ambrose has no leisure; we have no leisure to read;

where shall we find even the books? where, or when, 15

procure them? Let set times be appointed, and

certain hours be ordered for the health of our soul. Great

hope has dawned; the Catholic faith teaches not what

we thought; and do we doubt to knock, that the rest

may be opened? The forenoons, indeed, our scholars 20

take up; what do we during the rest of our time? why

not this? But if so, when pay we court to our great

friend, whose favors we need? when compose what we

may sell to scholars? when refresh ourselves, unbending

our minds from this intenseness of care? 25

"Perish everything: dismiss we these empty

vanities; and betake ourselves to the one search for truth!

Life is a poor thing, death is uncertain; if it surprises

us, in what state shall we depart hence? and when shall

we learn what here we have neglected? and shall we not 30

rather suffer the punishment of this negligence? What

if death itself cut off and end all care and feeling?

Then must this be ascertained. But God forbid this!

It is no vain and empty thing, that the excellent dignity

of the Christian faith has overspread the whole world. 35

Never would such and so great things be wrought for

us by God, if with the body the soul also came to an

end. Wherefore delay then to abandon worldly hopes,

and give ourselves wholly to seek after God and the

blessed life?..."

Finding Ambrose, though kind and accessible, 5

yet reserved, he went to an aged man named

Simplician, who, as some say, baptized St.

Ambrose, and eventually succeeded him in his

see. He opened his mind to him, and

happening in the course of his communications to 10

mention Victorinus's translation of some Platonic

works, Simplician asked him if he knew that

person's history. It seems he was a professor of

rhetoric at Rome, was well versed in literature and

philosophy, had been tutor to many of the 15

senators, and had received the high honor of a statue

in the Forum. Up to his old age he had

professed, and defended with his eloquence, the old

pagan worship. He was led to read the Holy

Scriptures, and was brought, in consequence, to 20

a belief in their divinity. For a while he did not

feel the necessity of changing his profession; he

looked upon Christianity as a philosophy, he

embraced it as such, but did not propose to join

what he considered the Christian sect, or, as 25

Christians would call it, the Catholic Church.

He let Simplician into his secret; but whenever

the latter pressed him to take the step, he was

accustomed to ask, "whether walls made a

Christian." However, such a state could not 30

continue with a man of earnest mind: the leaven

worked; at length he unexpectedly called upon

Simplician to lead him to church. He was

admitted a catechumen, and in due time baptized,

"Rome wondering, the Church rejoicing." It

was customary at Rome for the candidates for 5

baptism to profess their faith from a raised place

in the church, in a set form of words. An offer

was made to Victorinus, which was not unusual

in the case of bashful and timid persons, to make

his profession in private. But he preferred to 10

make it in the ordinary way. "I was public

enough," he made answer, "in my profession of

rhetoric, and ought not to be frightened when

professing salvation." He continued the school

which he had before he became a Christian, till 15

the edict of Julian forced him to close it. This

story went to Augustine's heart, but it did not

melt it. There was still the struggle of two wills,

the high aspiration and the habitual inertness.

His conversion took place in the summer of 386. 20

* * * * *

He gives an account of the termination of the

conflict he underwent:

"At length burst forth a mighty storm, bringing

a mighty flood of tears; and to indulge it to the full

even unto cries, in solitude, I rose up from Alypius, ... 25

who perceived from my choked voice how it was with

me. He remained where we had been sitting, in deep

astonishment. I threw myself down under a fig tree, I

know not how, and allowing my tears full vent, offered

up to Thee the acceptable sacrifice of my streaming eyes. 30

"And I cried out to this effect: 'And Thou, O Lord,

how long, how long, Lord, wilt Thou be angry?

Forever? Remember not our old sins!' for I felt that they

were my tyrants. I cried out, piteously, 'How long?

how long? to-morrow and to-morrow? why not _now_? 5

why not in this very hour put an end to this my vileness?'

While I thus spoke, with tears, in the bitter contrition

of my heart, suddenly I heard a voice, as if from a house

near me, of a boy or girl chanting forth again and again,

'TAKE UP AND READ, TAKE UP AND READ!' Changing 10

countenance at these words, I began intently to think

whether boys used them in any game, but could not

recollect that I had ever heard them. I left weeping and

rose up, considering it a divine intimation to open the

Scriptures and read what first presented itself. I had 15

heard that Antony had come in during the reading of the

Gospel, and had taken to himself the admonition, 'Go,

sell all that thou hast,' etc., and had turned to Thee at

once, in consequence of that oracle. I had left St.

Paul's volume where Alypius was sitting, when I rose 20

thence. I returned thither, seized it, opened, and read

in silence the following passage, which first met my eyes,

'_Not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and

impurities, not in contention and envy, but put ye on the

Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh in 25

its concupiscences_.' I had neither desire nor need to

read farther. As I finished the sentence, as though the

light of peace had been poured into my heart, all the

shadows of doubt dispersed. Thus hast Thou converted

me to Thee, so as no longer to seek either for wife or 30

other hope of this world, standing fast in that rule of

faith in which Thou so many years before hadst revealed

me to my mother."--viii. 26-30.

The last words of this extract relate to a dream

which his mother had had some years before, 35

concerning his conversion. On his first turning

Manichee, abhorring his opinions, she would not

for a while even eat with him, when she had this

dream, in which she had an intimation that where

she stood, there Augustine should one day be

with her. At another time she derived great 5

comfort from the casual words of a bishop, who,

when importuned by her to converse with her

son, said at length with some impatience, "Go

thy ways, and God bless thee, for it is not possible

that the son of these tears should perish!" 10

would be out of place, and is perhaps unnecessary,

to enter here into the affecting and well-known

history of her tender anxieties and persevering

prayers for Augustine. Suffice it to say, she saw

the accomplishment of them; she lived till 15

Augustine became a Catholic; and she died on her way

back to Africa with him. Her last words were,

"Lay this body anywhere; let not the care of it

in any way distress you; this only I ask, that

wherever you be, you remember me at the Altar 20

of the Lord."

"May she," says her son, in dutiful remembrance of

her words, "rest in peace with her husband, before and

after whom she never had any; whom she obeyed, with

patience bringing forth fruit unto Thee, that she might 25

win him also unto Thee. And inspire, O Lord my God,

inspire Thy servants, my brethren,--Thy sons, my

masters,--whom, in heart, voice, and writing I serve,

that so many as read these confessions, may at Thy altar

remember Monica, Thy handmaid, with Patricius, her 30

sometime husband, from whom Thou broughtest me into

this life; how, I know not. May they with pious affection

remember those who were my parents in this

transitory light,--my brethren under Thee, our Father,

in our Catholic Mother,--my fellow-citizens in the

eternal Jerusalem, after which Thy pilgrim people sigh

from their going forth unto their return: that so, her 5

last request of me may in the prayers of many receive

a fulfillment, through my confessions, more abundant

than through my prayers."--ix. 37.

* * * * *