Book V
Let My Soul Praise You
Accept the sacrifice of my confessions from the ministry of my tongue, which You have formed and stirred up to confess to Your name. Heal all my bones, and let them say, "O Lord, who is like You?" For he who confesses to You does not teach You what takes place within him; since a closed heart does not shut out Your eye, nor can man's hardness of heart push back Your hand — for You dissolve it at Your will, in pity or in justice, and nothing can hide itself from Your warmth. But let my soul praise You, that it may love You; and let it confess Your own mercies to You, that it may praise You.
Let the restless, the godless, depart and flee from You; yet You see them, and divide the darkness. And behold, the universe with them is beautiful, though they are foul. But they fled, that they might not see You seeing them, and — blinded — might stumble against You. But You alone are near, even to those who remove far from You. Let them then be turned and seek You; because though they have forsaken their Creator, You have not forsaken Your creation. Let them be turned and seek You; and behold, You are there in their heart, in the heart of those who confess to You, and cast themselves upon You, and weep on Your chest after all their rough ways. Then You gently wipe away their tears, and they weep the more, and rejoice in weeping; for it is You, Lord — not any man of flesh and blood, but You, Lord, who made them — who remake and comfort them.
But where was I when I was seeking You? And You were before me, but I had gone away from You; nor did I find myself, how much less You!
Faustus the Manichaean
I would lay open before my God that twenty-ninth year of my life. There had come to Carthage a certain bishop of the Manichees, Faustus by name — a great snare of the devil, and many were entangled by him through the lure of his smooth speech. Though I commended his eloquence, I could separate it from the truth of the things I was eager to learn; I did not care so much about the elegance of his language as about the knowledge which this Faustus, so praised among them, set before me to feast upon.
For with their understanding and intelligence, which You bestowed on them, the natural philosophers have discovered much and foretold eclipses of the sun and moon many years in advance — and it came to pass as they foretold. At these things, people who do not know the science marvel and are astonished, and those who do know it exult and are puffed up; and by an ungodly pride departing from You, and failing of Your light, they foresee a failure of the sun's light long before it happens, but do not see their own — which is already upon them.
But they did not know the Way — Your Word, by whom You made these things which they count, and themselves who count, and the sense by which they perceive, and the understanding by which they reason. Of Your wisdom there is no number. But the Only Begotten is Himself "made to us wisdom and righteousness and sanctification" (1 Corinthians 1:30), and was numbered among us, and paid tribute to Caesar. They did not know this Way by which to descend to Him from themselves, and by Him ascend to Him.
Does then, O Lord God of truth, whoever knows these natural things therefore please You? Surely unhappy is he who knows all these and does not know You; but happy is he who knows You, even if he does not know these. And whoever knows both You and them is not the happier for them, but for You only.
Faustus Arrives — and Disappoints
For almost all those nine years in which, with unsettled mind, I had been a Manichaean disciple, I had longed intensely for the coming of this Faustus. The rest of the sect, when unable to answer my questions, kept pointing me to the coming of Faustus, by conversation with whom all my difficulties would be readily cleared.
When then he came, I found him a man of pleasing speech, who could talk fluently and in better terms — yet still saying the self-same things they always said. But what good was the finest cup-bearer to my thirst for a more precious drink? My ears were already full of such things, nor did they seem better because better said; nor true because eloquent; nor the soul wise because the face was attractive and the speech graceful. But those who had recommended him to me were poor judges, and to them he seemed wise simply because his words were pleasing.
But You, O my God, had already taught me by wonderful and secret ways — and therefore I believe it was You who taught me, because it is truth, and there is no other teacher of truth but You, wherever it may shine upon us. From You, then, I had already learned this: that nothing should seem to be spoken truly because spoken eloquently; nor falsely because the words are clumsy; nor again true because crudely delivered; nor false because the language is fine. But that wisdom and folly are like wholesome and unwholesome food — and fine or plain words are like elegant or simple dishes: either kind of food may be served in either kind of vessel.
When it became clear that Faustus was ignorant of those subjects in which I had thought he excelled, I began to despair of his resolving the questions that troubled me. He at least — and I liked him better for this — was not altogether ignorant of his own ignorance, and would not rashly entangle himself in a dispute from which he could not gracefully escape. For the modesty of a candid mind is better than the knowledge of those things I wished to know.
My enthusiasm for the writings of Mani was thus blunted. All my efforts to advance in that sect, upon acquaintance with Faustus, came utterly to an end; not that I separated myself from them altogether, but as one finding nothing better, I settled to be content with what I had, unless something more worthy should appear. And so that Faustus, who had been a snare of death to so many, had now — without willing or knowing it — begun to loosen the snare in which I was caught. For Your hands, O my God, in the secret purpose of Your providence, did not forsake my soul; and out of my mother's lifeblood, through her tears poured out night and day, a sacrifice was offered for me to You; and You dealt with me by wondrous ways.
I Lied to My Mother, and Such a Mother
You brought it about that I should be persuaded to go to Rome, and to teach there rather than at Carthage. My chief reason was that I heard young men there studied more peacefully under stricter discipline, not rudely bursting into lectures uninvited as they did at Carthage.
But why I went from Carthage, and why I went to Rome — You knew, O God, yet showed it neither to me nor to my mother, who grievously mourned my journey, and followed me as far as the sea. But I deceived her, as she held me back by force, either to keep me or to go with me. I pretended that I had a friend whom I could not leave until he had a fair wind to sail.
And I lied to my mother — and such a mother — and escaped.1 For this also You have mercifully forgiven me, preserving me, full of abominable defilements, from the waters of the sea, for the water of Your grace — by which, when I was cleansed, the streams of my mother's eyes would be dried, with which she daily watered the ground wherever she prayed.
And yet refusing to go back without me, I scarcely persuaded her to stay that night in a place near the ship, where there was a chapel in memory of the blessed Cyprian. That night I secretly departed. But she was not left behind in weeping and prayer. And what, O Lord, was she with so many tears asking of You, but that You would not let me sail? But You, in the depth of Your counsels, hearing the central point of her desire, did not grant what she then asked — so that You might give her what she always asked.
The wind blew and filled our sails, and the shore disappeared from our sight. And she the next morning was there, frantic with sorrow, filling Your ears with complaints and groans, which You then seemed to disregard — while through my desires You were hurrying me to the end of all desire, and the earthly part of her love for me was being chastened by the appointed pain of sorrow. For she loved my being with her, as mothers do, but much more than many; and she did not know how great a joy You were about to work for her out of my absence. She did not know; therefore she wept and wailed. And yet, after accusing my treachery and hard-heartedness, she turned herself again to intercede for me before You — went to her usual place of prayer, and I went on to Rome.
Illness in Rome, Monica Praying from Africa
And there in Rome I was struck down by bodily sickness, and I was going down to death, carrying all the sins I had committed against You, against myself, and against others — many and grievous, over and above that bond of original sin by which we all die in Adam. For You had not yet forgiven me any of these in Christ, nor had He abolished by His cross the enmity which my sins had built up between You and me.
And now the fever heightened, and I was slipping away, departing forever. For had I then departed, where would I have gone but into fire and torment, as my deeds deserved in the truth of Your judgment? And this my mother did not know, yet in her absence she prayed for me. But You, everywhere present, heard her where she was, and where I was had compassion on me — that I should recover the health of my body, though I was still frenzied in my sacrilegious heart.
I cannot express the love she bore me, and with how much more intense anguish she was now in labor for me in the spirit than she had been in the flesh at my birth. Would You, O God of mercies, despise the contrite and humbled heart of that pure and sober widow — so faithful in acts of charity, so devoted in service to Your saints, never missing a day at Your altar, coming twice daily, morning and evening, to Your church — not for idle gossip but to hear You in Your Word and You to hear her in her prayers? Could You despise the tears of such a woman, with which she begged of You not gold or silver or any passing good, but the salvation of her son's soul? Never, Lord. You were at hand, and were hearing, and were acting — in that order which You had determined before it should come to pass.
You recovered me then from that sickness, and healed the son of Your handmaid — for the time, in body — that he might live, so that You could give him a better and more lasting health.
Still with the Manichees, but Loosening
And even then, at Rome, I still attached myself to those deceiving and deceived "holy ones." For I still thought that it was not we who sin, but some other unknown nature that sinned in us; and it pleased my pride to be free from blame. When I had done evil, I refused to confess that I had done it, so that You might heal my soul because it had sinned against You. Instead I loved to excuse myself and accuse some other thing, which was with me but was not truly me. But in truth it was wholly I, and my wickedness had divided me against myself. And that sin was all the more incurable because I did not judge myself a sinner.
But now, despairing of making progress in that false teaching, I held their doctrines more loosely and carelessly. For there arose in me the thought that those philosophers called the Academics were perhaps wiser than the rest, in that they held that everything should be doubted, and declared that no truth can be comprehended by man.
Sent to Milan — Ambrose
When therefore the people of Milan sent to Rome for a rhetoric professor for their city, to be appointed at public expense, I applied — through the very people intoxicated with Manichaean vanity, from whom I was about to be freed, though neither they nor I knew it. The prefect Symmachus tested me by setting me a subject, and then sent me.
To Milan I came — to Ambrose the Bishop, known to the whole world as among the best of men, Your devoted servant, whose eloquent preaching richly dispensed to Your people the nourishment of Your Word. To him I was unknowingly led by You, that by him I might knowingly be led to You.2
That man of God received me as a father, and showed me a bishop's kindness at my arrival. I began to love him — at first not as a teacher of the truth (for I utterly despaired of finding that in Your Church), but simply as a person kind to me. And I listened carefully to him preaching to the people — not with the right intent, but as if testing his eloquence, to see whether it matched its reputation. And I hung on his words attentively; but of the content I was a careless and scornful observer.
Yet I was delighted with the sweetness of his speech — more learned, though less lively and entertaining, than that of Faustus. But in substance there was no comparison: the one was wandering amid Manichaean delusions, the other teaching salvation most soundly. But salvation is far from sinners, such as I then was. And yet I was drawing nearer, little by little, and without knowing it.
For though I took no trouble to learn what he said, but only to hear how he said it (for that empty interest alone was left to me, since I despaired of any way being open for man to reach You), yet together with the words I chose to enjoy, there came into my mind also the truths I chose to ignore. For I could not separate them. And while I opened my heart to receive how eloquently he spoke, there also entered how truly he spoke — but this by degrees.
For first, these things also began to appear defensible to me; and the Catholic faith, for which I had thought nothing could be said against the Manichaean objections, I now thought could be maintained without embarrassment — especially after I heard one or two passages of the Old Testament explained allegorically, which, when I had understood them literally, had been spiritually deadly to me.
A Catechumen, Waiting
I could not yet conceive of a spiritual substance — and that was the Manichees' chief stronghold over me, which would have been demolished if I could have grasped it. Nevertheless, as I more and more compared things, I judged the views of most of the philosophers to be far more probable than those of the Manichees. So — after the manner of the Academics, doubting everything and wavering between all positions — I settled at least on this: that the Manichees were to be abandoned. Even in my doubting, I could not remain in a sect to which I already preferred some of these philosophers. Yet those philosophers, because they were without the saving Name of Christ, I utterly refused to entrust with the cure of my sick soul.
I decided therefore to remain a catechumen in the Catholic Church — the church to which my parents had commended me — until something certain should dawn upon me, toward which I might steer my course.
Footnotes
1 "And I lied to my mother — and such a mother — and escaped." Among the most devastating half-sentences Augustine ever wrote. Six words of self-indictment: and such a mother. He does not need to say more. He knows she is reading over his shoulder from heaven. The original: "Et mentitus sum matri — et illi matri."
2 "To him I was unknowingly led by You, that by him I might knowingly be led to You." The Latin is even more beautiful: ad eum ducebar abs te nesciens, ut per eum ad te sciens ducerer. Augustine didn't go to Milan to find God. He went to advance his career. He didn't go to Ambrose to learn truth. He went to evaluate his style. But God was steering the whole time — using Augustine's vanity as the vehicle of his salvation. The Father Joe James of the fourth century, one might say.