Front Page Titles (by Subject) BOOK IX.: HE SPEAKS OF HIS DESIGN OF FORSAKING THE PROFESSION OF RHETORIC; OF THE DEATH OF HIS FRIENDS, NEBRIDIUS AND VERECUNDUS; OF HAVING RECEIVED BAPTISM IN THE THIRTY-THIRD YEAR OF HIS AGE; AND OF THE VIRTUES AND DEATH OF HIS MOTHER, MONICA. - A Select Library of the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, Vol. 1 (The Confessions and Letters of St. Augustine)
Return to Title Page for A Select Library of the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, Vol. 1 (The Confessions and Letters of St. Augustine)
The Online Library of Liberty
A project of Liberty Fund, Inc.
Search this Title:
Also in the Library:
BOOK IX.: HE SPEAKS OF HIS DESIGN OF FORSAKING THE PROFESSION OF RHETORIC; OF THE DEATH OF HIS FRIENDS, NEBRIDIUS AND VERECUNDUS; OF HAVING RECEIVED BAPTISM IN THE THIRTY-THIRD YEAR OF HIS AGE; AND OF THE VIRTUES AND DEATH OF HIS MOTHER, MONICA. - Philip Schaff, A Select Library of the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, Vol. 1 (The Confessions and Letters of St. Augustine) 
A Select Library of the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, ed. Philip Schaff, LL.D. (Buffalo: The Christian Literature Co., 1886). Vol. 1 The Confessions and Letters of St. Augustin, with a Sketch of his Life and Work.
About Liberty Fund:
Liberty Fund, Inc. is a private, educational foundation established to encourage the study of the ideal of a society of free and responsible individuals.
The text is in the public domain.
Fair use statement:
This material is put online to further the educational goals of Liberty Fund, Inc. Unless otherwise stated in the Copyright Information section above, this material may be used freely for educational and academic purposes. It may not be used in any way for profit.
HE SPEAKS OF HIS DESIGN OF FORSAKING THE PROFESSION OF RHETORIC; OF THE DEATH OF HIS FRIENDS, NEBRIDIUS AND VERECUNDUS; OF HAVING RECEIVED BAPTISM IN THE THIRTY-THIRD YEAR OF HIS AGE; AND OF THE VIRTUES AND DEATH OF HIS MOTHER, MONICA.
HE PRAISES GOD, THE AUTHOR OF SAFETY, AND JESUS CHRIST, THE REDEEMER, ACKNOWLEDGING HIS OWN WICKEDNESS.
1. “O Lord, truly I am Thy servant; I am Thy servant, and the son of Thine handmaid: Thou hast loosed my bonds. I will offer to Thee the sacrifice of thanksgiving.”1 Let my heart and my tongue praise Thee, and let all my bones say, “Lord, who is like unto Thee?”2 Let them so say, and answer Thou me, and “say unto my soul, I am Thy salvation.”3 Who am I, and what is my nature? How evil have not my deeds been; or if not my deeds, my words; or if not my words, my will? But Thou, O Lord, art good and merciful, and Thy right hand had respect unto the profoundness of my death, and removed from the bottom of my heart that abyss of corruption. And this was the result, that I willed not to do what I willed, and willed to do what thou willedst.4 But where, during all those years, and out of what deep and secret retreat was my free will summoned forth in a moment, whereby I gave my neck to Thy “easy yoke,” and my shoulders to Thy “light burden,”5 O Christ Jesus, “my strength and my Redeemer”?6 How sweet did it suddenly become to me to be without the delights of trifles! And what at one time I feared to lose, it was now a joy to me to put away.7 For Thou didst cast them away from me, Thou true and highest sweetness. Thou didst cast them away, and instead of them didst enter in Thyself,8 —sweeter than all pleasure, though not to flesh and blood; brighter than all light, but more veiled than all mysteries; more exalted than all honour, but not to the exalted in their own conceits. Now was my soul free from the gnawing cares of seeking and getting, and of wallowing and exciting the itch of lust. And I babbled unto Thee my brightness, my riches, and my health, the Lord my God.
AS HIS LUNGS WERE AFFECTED, HE MEDITATES WITHDRAWING HIMSELF FROM PUBLIC FAVOUR.
2. And it seemed good to me, as before Thee, not tumultuously to snatch away, but gently to withdraw the service of my tongue from the talker’s trade; that the young, who thought not on Thy law, nor on Thy peace, but on mendacious follies and forensic strifes, might no longer purchase at my mouth equipments for their vehemence. And opportunely there wanted but a few days unto the Vacation of the Vintage;9 and I determined to endure them, in order to leave in the usual way, and, being redeemed by Thee, no more to return for sale. Our intention then was known to Thee; but to men—excepting our own friends—was it not known. For we had determined among ourselves not to let it get abroad to any; although Thou hadst given to us, ascending from the valley of tears,10 and singing the song of degrees, “sharp arrows,” and destroying coals, against the “deceitful tongue,”11 which in giving counsel opposes, and in showing love consumes, as it is wont to do with its food.
3. Thou hadst penetrated our hearts with Thy charity, and we carried Thy words fixed, as it were, in our bowels; and the examples of Thy servant, whom of black Thou hadst made bright, and of dead, alive, crowded in the bosom of our thoughts, burned and consumed our heavy torpor, that we might not topple into the abyss; and they enkindled us exceedingly, that every breath of the deceitful tongue of the gainsayer might inflame us the more, not extinguish us. Nevertheless, because for Thy name’s sake which Thou hast sanctified throughout the earth, this, our vow and purpose, might also find commenders, it looked like a vaunting of oneself not to wait for the vacation, now so near, but to leave beforehand a public profession, and one, too, under general observation; so that all who looked on this act of mine, and saw how near was the vintage-time I desired to anticipate, would talk of me a great deal as if I were trying to appear to be a great person. And what purpose would it serve that people should consider and dispute about my intention, and that our good should be evil spoken of?1
4. Furthermore, this very summer, from too great literary labour, my lungs2 began to be weak, and with difficulty to draw deep breaths; showing by the pains in my chest that they were affected, and refusing too loud or prolonged speaking. This had at first been a trial to me, for it compelled me almost of necessity to lay down that burden of teaching; or, if I could be cured and become strong again, at least to leave it off for a while. But when the full desire for leisure, that I might see that Thou art the Lord,3 arose, and was confirmed in me, my God, Thou knowest I even began to rejoice that I had this excuse ready,—and that not a feigned one,—which might somewhat temper the offence taken by those who for their sons’ good wished me never to have the freedom of sons. Full, therefore, with such joy, I bore it till that period of time had passed,—perhaps it was some twenty days,—yet they were bravely borne; for the cupidity which was wont to sustain part of this weighty business had departed, and I had remained overwhelmed had not its place been supplied by patience. Some of Thy servants, my brethren, may perchance say that I sinned in this, in that having once fully, and from my heart, entered on Thy warfare, I permitted myself to sit a single hour in the seat of falsehood. I will not contend. But hast not Thou, O most merciful Lord, pardoned and remitted this sin also, with my others, so horrible and deadly, in the holy water?
HE RETIRES TO THE VILLA OF HIS FRIEND VERECUNDUS, WHO WAS NOT YET A CHRISTIAN, AND REFERS TO HIS CONVERSION AND DEATH, AS WELL AS THAT OF NEBRIDIUS.
5. Verecundus was wasted with anxiety at that our happiness, since he, being most firmly held by his bonds, saw that he would lose our fellowship. For he was not yet a Christian, though his wife was one of the faithful;4 and yet hereby, being more firmly enchained than by anything else, was he held back from that journey which we had commenced. Nor, he declared, did he wish to be a Christian on any other terms than those that were impossible. However, he invited us most courteously to make use of his country house so long as we should stay there. Thou, O Lord, wilt “recompense” him for this “at the resurrection of the just,”5 seeing that Thou hast already given him “the lot of the righteous.”6 For although, when we were absent at Rome, he, being overtaken with bodily sickness, and therein being made a Christian, and one of the faithful, departed this life, yet hadst Thou mercy on him, and not on him only, but on us also;7 lest, thinking on the exceeding kindness of our friend to us, and unable to count him in Thy flock, we should be tortured with intolerable grief. Thanks be unto Thee, our God, we are Thine. Thy exhortations, consolations, and faithful promises assure us that Thou now repayest Verecundus for that country house at Cassiacum, where from the fever of the world we found rest in Thee, with the perpetual freshness of Thy Paradise, in that Thou hast forgiven him his earthly sins, in that mountain flowing with milk,8 that fruitful mountain,—Thine own.
6. He then was at that time full of grief; but Nebridius was joyous. Although he also, not being yet a Christian, had fallen into the pit of that most pernicious error of believing Thy Son to be a phantasm,9 yet, coming out thence, he held the same belief that we did; not as yet initiated in any of the sacraments of Thy Church, but a most earnest inquirer after truth.1 Whom, not long after our conversion and regeneration by Thy baptism, he being also a faithful member of the Catholic Church, and serving Thee in perfect chastity and continency amongst his own people in Africa, when his whole household had been brought to Christianity through him, didst Thou release from the flesh; and now he lives in Abraham’s bosom. Whatever that may be which is signified by that bosom,2 there lives my Nebridius, my sweet friend, Thy son, O Lord, adopted of a freedman; there he liveth. For what other place could there be for such a soul? There liveth he, concerning which he used to ask me much,—me, an inexperienced, feeble one. Now he puts not his ear unto my mouth, but his spiritual mouth unto Thy fountain, and drinketh as much as he is able, wisdom according to his desire,—happy without end. Nor do I believe that he is so inebriated with it as to forget me,3 seeing Thou, O Lord, whom he drinketh, art mindful of us. Thus, then, were we comforting the sorrowing Verecundus (our friendship being untouched, concerning our conversion, and exhorting him to a faith according to his condition, I mean, his married state. And tarrying for Nebridius to follow us, which, being so near, he was just about to do, when, behold, those days passed over at last; for long and many they seemed, on account of my love of easeful liberty, that I might sing unto Thee from my very marrow. My heart said unto Thee,—I have sought Thy face; “Thy face, Lord, will I seek.”4
IN THE COUNTRY HE GIVES HIS ATTENTION TO LITERATURE, AND EXPLAINS THE FOURTH PSALM IN CONNECTION WITH THE HAPPY CONVERSION OF ALYPIUS. HE IS TROUBLED WITH TOOTHACHE.
7. And the day arrived on which, in very deed, I was to be released from the Professorship of Rhetoric, from which in intention I had been already released. And done it was; and Thou didst deliver my tongue whence Thou hadst already delivered my heart; and full of joy I blessed Thee for it, and retired with all mine to the villa.5 What I accomplished here in writing, which was now wholly devoted to Thy service, though still, in this pause as it were, panting from the school of pride, my books testify,6 —those in which I disputed with my friends, and those with myself alone7 before Thee; and what with the absent Nebridius, my letters8 testify. And when can I find time to recount all Thy great benefits which Thou bestowedst upon us at that time, especially as I am hasting on to still greater mercies? For my memory calls upon me, and pleasant it is to me, O Lord, to confess unto Thee, by what inward goads Thou didst subdue me, and how Thou didst make me low, bringing down the mountains and hills of my imaginations, and didst straighten my crookedness, and smooth my rough ways;9 and by what means Thou also didst subdue that brother of my heart, Alypius, unto the name of Thy only-begotten, our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, which he at first refused to have inserted in our writings. For he rather desired that they should savour of the “cedars” of the schools, which the Lord hath now broken down,10 than of the wholesome herbs of the Church, hostile to serpents.
8. What utterances sent I up unto Thee, my God, when I read the Psalms of David,11 those faithful songs and sounds of devotion which exclude all swelling of spirit, when new to Thy true love, at rest in the villa with Alypius, a catechumen like myself, my mother cleaving unto us,—in woman’s garb truly, but with a man’s faith, with the peacefulness of age, full of motherly love and Christian piety! What utterances used I to send up unto Thee in those Psalms, and how was I inflamed towards Thee by them, and burned to rehearse them, if it were possible, throughout the whole world, against the pride of the human race! And yet they are sung throughout the whole world, and none can hide himself from Thy heat.1 With what vehement and bitter sorrow was I indignant at the Manichæans; whom yet again I pitied, for that they were ignorant of those sacraments, those medicaments, and were mad against the antidote which might have made them sane! I wished that they had been somewhere near me then, and, without my being aware of their presence, could have beheld my face, and heard my words, when I read the fourth Psalm in that time of my leisure,—how that Psalm wrought upon me. When I called upon Thee, Thou didst hear me, O God of my righteousness; Thou hast enlarged me when I was in distress; have mercy upon me, and hear my prayer.2 Oh that they might have heard what I uttered on these words, without my knowing whether they heard or no, lest they should think that I spake it because of them! For, of a truth, neither should I have said the same things, nor in the way I said them, if I had perceived that I was heard and seen by them; and had I spoken them, they would not so have received them as when I spake by and for myself before Thee, out of the private feelings of my soul.
9. I alternately quaked with fear, and warmed with hope, and with rejoicing in Thy mercy, O Father. And all these passed forth, both by mine eyes and voice, when Thy good Spirit, turning unto us, said, O ye sons of men, how long will ye be slow of heart? “How long will ye love vanity, and seek after leasing?”3 For I had loved vanity, and sought after leasing. And Thou, O Lord, hadst already magnified Thy Holy One, raising Him from the dead, and setting Him at Thy right hand,4 whence from on high He should send His promise,5 the Paraclete, “the Spirit of Truth.”6 And He had already sent Him,7 but I knew it not; He had sent Him, because He was now magnified, rising again from the dead, and ascending into heaven. For till then “the Holy Ghost was not yet given, because that Jesus was not yet glorified.”8 And the prophet cries out, How long will ye be slow of heart? How long will ye love vanity, and seek after leasing? Know this, that the Lord hath magnified His Holy One. He cries out, “How long?” He cries out, “Know this,” and I, so long ignorant, “loved vanity, and sought after leasing.” And therefore I heard and trembled, because these words were spoken unto such as I remembered that I myself had been. For in those phantasms which I once held for truths was there “vanity” and “leasing.” And I spake many things loudly and earnestly, in the sorrow of my remembrance, which, would that they who yet “love vanity and seek after leasing” had heard! They would perchance have been troubled, and have vomited it forth, and Thou wouldest hear them when they cried unto Thee;9 for by a true10 death in the flesh He died for us, who now maketh intercession for us11 with Thee.
10. I read further, “Be ye angry, and sin not.”12 And how was I moved, O my God, who had now learned to “be angry” with myself for the things past, so that in the future I might not sin! Yea, to be justly angry; for that it was not another nature of the race of darkness13 which sinned for me, as they affirm it to be who are not angry with themselves, and who treasure up to themselves wrath against the day of wrath, and of the revelation of Thy righteous judgment.14 Nor were my good things15 now without, nor were they sought after with eyes of flesh in that sun;16 for they that would have joy from without easily sink into oblivion, and are wasted upon those things which are seen and temporal, and in their starving thoughts do lick their very shadows. Oh, if only they were wearied out with their fasting, and said, “Who will show us any good?”17 And we would answer, and they hear, O Lord. The light of Thy countenance is lifted up upon us.18 For we are not that Light, which lighteth every man,19 but we are enlightened by Thee, that we, who were sometimes darkness, may be light in Thee.20 Oh that they could behold the internal Eternal,21 which having tasted I gnashed my teeth that I could not show It to them, while they brought me their heart in their eyes, roaming abroad from Thee, and said, “Who will show us any good?” But there, where I was angry with myself in my chamber, where I was inwardly pricked, where I had offered my “sacrifice,” slaying my old man, and beginning the resolution of a new life, putting my trust in Thee,22 —there hadst Thou begun to grow sweet unto me, and to “put gladness in my heart.”1 And I cried out as I read this outwardly, and felt it inwardly. Nor would I be increased2 with worldly goods, wasting time and being wasted by time; whereas I possessed in Thy eternal simplicity other corn, and wine, and oil.3
11. And with a loud cry from my heart, I called out in the following verse, “Oh, in peace!” and “the self-same!”4 Oh, what said he, “I will lay me down and sleep!”5 For who shall hinder us, when “shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory?”6 And Thou art in the highest degree “the self-same,” who changest not; and in Thee is the rest which forgetteth all labour, for there is no other beside Thee, nor ought we to seek after those many other things which are not what Thou art; but Thou, Lord, only makest me to dwell in hope.7 These things I read, and was inflamed; but discovered not what to do with those deaf and dead, of whom I had been a pestilent member,—a bitter and a blind declaimer against the writings be-honied with the honey of heaven and luminous with Thine own light; and I was consumed on account of the enemies of this Scripture.
12. When shall I call to mind all that took place in those holidays? Yet neither have I forgotten, nor will I be silent about the severity of Thy scourge, and the amazing quickness of Thy mercy.8 Thou didst at that time torture me with toothache;9 and when it had become so exceeding great that I was not able to speak, it came into my heart to urge all my friends who were present to pray for me to Thee, the God of all manner of health. And I wrote it down on wax,10 and gave it to them to read. Presently, as with submissive desire we bowed our knees, that pain departed. But what pain? Or how did it depart? I confess to being much afraid, my Lord my God, seeing that from my earliest years I had not experienced such pain. And Thy purposes were profoundly impressed upon me; and, rejoicing in faith, I praised Thy name. And that faith suffered me not to be at rest in regard to my past sins, which were not yet forgiven me by Thy baptism.
AT THE RECOMMENDATION OF AMBROSE, HE READS THE PROPHECIES OF ISAIAH, BUT DOES NOT UNDERSTAND THEM.
13. The vintage vacation being ended, I gave the citizens of Milan notice that they might provide their scholars with another seller of words; because both of my election to serve Thee, and my inability, by reason of the difficulty of breathing and the pain in my chest, to continue the Professorship. And by letters I notified to Thy bishop,11 the holy man Ambrose, my former errors and present resolutions, with a view to his advising me which of Thy books it was best for me to read, so that I might be readier and fitter for the reception of such great grace. He recommended Isaiah the Prophet;12 I believe, because he foreshows more clearly than others the gospel, and the calling of the Gentiles. But I, not understanding the first portion of the book, and imagining the whole to be like it, laid it aside, intending to take it up hereafter, when better practised in our Lord’s words.
HE IS BAPTIZED AT MILAN WITH ALYPIUS AND HIS SON ADEODATUS. THE BOOK “DE MAGISTRO.”
14. Thence, when the time had arrived at which I was to give in my name,13 having left the country, we returned to Milan. Alypius also was pleased to be born again with me in Thee, being now clothed with the humility appropriate to Thy sacraments, and being so brave a tamer of the body, as with unusual fortitude to tread the frozen soil of Italy with his naked feet. We took into our company the boy Adeodatus, born of me carnally, of my sin. Well hadst Thou made him. He was barely fifteen years, yet in wit excelled many grave and learned men.1 I confess unto Thee Thy gifts, O Lord my God, Creator of all, and of exceeding power to reform our deformities; for of me was there naught in that boy but the sin. For that we fostered him in Thy discipline, Thou inspiredst us, none other,—Thy gifts I confess unto Thee. There is a book of ours, which is entitled The Master.2 It is a dialogue between him and me. Thou knowest that all things there put into the mouth of the person in argument with me were his thoughts in his sixteenth year. Many others more wonderful did I find in him. That talent was a source of awe to me. And who but Thou could be the worker of such marvels? Quickly didst Thou remove his life from the earth; and now I recall him to mind with a sense of security, in that I fear nothing for his childhood or youth, or for his whole self. We took him coeval with us in Thy grace, to be educated in Thy discipline; and we were baptized,3 and solicitude about our past life left us. Nor was I satiated in those days with the wondrous sweetness of considering the depth of Thy counsels concerning the salvation of the human race. How greatly did I weep in Thy hymns and canticles, deeply moved by the voices of Thy sweet-speaking Church! The voices flowed into mine ears, and the truth was poured forth into my heart, whence the agitation of my piety overflowed, and my tears ran over, and blessed was I therein.
OF THE CHURCH HYMNS INSTITUTED AT MILAN; OF THE AMBROSIAN PERSECUTION RAISED BY JUSTINA; AND OF THE DISCOVERY OF THE BODIES OF TWO MARTYRS.
15. Not long had the Church of Milan begun to employ this kind of consolation and exhortation, the brethren singing together with great earnestness of voice and heart. For it was about a year, or not much more, since Justina, the mother of the boy-Emperor Valentinian, persecuted4 Thy servant Ambrose in the interest of her heresy, to which she had been seduced by the Arians. The pious people kept guard in the church, prepared to die with their bishop, Thy servant. There my mother, Thy handmaid, bearing a chief part of those cares and watchings, lived in prayer. We, still unmelted by the heat of Thy Spirit, were yet moved by the astonished and disturbed city. At this time it was instituted that, after the manner of the Eastern Church, hymns and psalms should be sung, lest the people should pine away in the tediousness of sorrow; which custom, retained from then till now, is imitated by many, yea, by almost all of Thy congregations throughout the rest of the world.
16. Then didst Thou by a vision make known to Thy renowned bishop5 the spot where lay the bodies of Gervasius and Protasius, the martyrs (whom Thou hadst in Thy secret storehouse preserved uncorrupted for so many years), whence Thou mightest at the fitting time produce them to repress the feminine but royal fury. For when they were revealed and dug up and with due honour transferred to the Ambrosian Basilica, not only they who were troubled with unclean spirits (the devils confessing themselves) were healed, but a certain man also, who had been blind6 many years, a well-known citizen of that city, having asked and been told the reason of the people’s tumultuous joy, rushed forth, asking his guide to lead him thither. Arrived there, he begged to be permitted to touch with his handkerchief the bier of Thy saints, whose death is precious in Thy sight.7 When he had done this, and put it to his eyes, they were forthwith opened. Thence did the fame spread; thence did Thy praises burn,—shine; thence was the mind of that enemy, though not yet enlarged to the wholeness of believing, restrained from the fury of persecuting. Thanks be to Thee, O my God. Whence and whither hast Thou thus led my remembrance, that I should confess these things also unto Thee,—great, though I, forgetful, had passed them over? And yet then, when the “savour” of Thy “ointments” was so fragrant, did we not “run after Thee.”1 And so I did the more abundantly weep at the singing of Thy hymns, formerly panting for Thee, and at last breathing in Thee, as far as the air can play in this house of grass.
OF THE CONVERSION OF EVODIUS, AND THE DEATH OF HIS MOTHER WHEN RETURNING WITH HIM TO AFRICA; AND WHOSE EDUCATION HE TENDERLY RELATES.
17. Thou, who makest men to dwell of one mind in a house,2 didst associate with us Evodius also, a young man of our city, who, when serving as an agent for Public Affairs,3 was converted unto Thee and baptized prior to us; and relinquishing his secular service, prepared himself for Thine. We were together,4 and together were we about to dwell with a holy purpose. We sought for some place where we might be most useful in our service to Thee, and were going back together to Africa. And when we were at the Tiberine Ostia my mother died. Much I omit, having much to hasten. Receive my confessions and thanksgivings, O my God, for innumerable things concerning which I am silent. But I will not omit aught that my soul has brought forth as to that Thy handmaid who brought me forth,—in her flesh, that I might be born to this temporal light, and in her heart, that I might be born to life eternal.5 I will speak not of her gifts, but Thine in her; for she neither made herself nor educated herself. Thou createdst her, nor did her father nor her mother know what a being was to proceed from them. And it was the rod of Thy Christ, the discipline of Thine only Son, that trained her in Thy fear, in the house of one of Thy faithful ones, who was a sound member of Thy Church. Yet this good discipline did she not so much attribute to the diligence of her mother, as that of a certain decrepid maid-servant, who had carried about her father when an infant, as little ones are wont to be carried on the backs of elder girls. For which reason, and on account of her extreme age and very good character, was she much respected by the heads of that Christian house. Whence also was committed to her the care of her master’s daughters, which she with diligence performed, and was earnest in restraining them when necessary, with a holy severity, and instructing them with a sober sagacity. For, excepting at the hours in which they were very temperately fed at their parents’ table, she used not to permit them, though parched with thirst, to drink even water; thereby taking precautions against an evil custom, and adding the wholesome advice, “You drink water only because you have not control of wine; but when you have come to be married, and made mistresses of storeroom and cellar, you will despise water, but the habit of drinking will remain.” By this method of instruction, and power of command, she restrained the longing of their tender age, and regulated the very thirst of the girls to such a becoming limit, as that what was not seemly they did not long for.
18. And yet—as Thine handmaid related to me, her son—there had stolen upon her a love of wine. For when she, as being a sober maiden, was as usual bidden by her parents to draw wine from the cask, the vessel being held under the opening, before she poured the wine into the bottle, she would wet the tips of her lips with a little, for more than that her inclination refused. For this she did not from any craving for drink, but out of the overflowing buoyancy of her time of life, which bubbles up with sportiveness, and is, in youthful spirits, wont to be repressed by the gravity of elders. And so unto that little, adding daily littles (for “he that contemneth small things shall fall by little and little”),6 she contracted such a habit as to drink off eagerly her little cup nearly full of wine. Where, then, was the sagacious old woman with her earnest restraint? Could anything prevail against a secret disease if Thy medicine, O Lord, did not watch over us? Father, mother, and nurturers absent, Thou present, who hast created, who callest, who also by those who are set over us workest some good for the salvation of our souls, what didst Thou at that time, O my God? How didst Thou heal her? How didst Thou make her whole? Didst Thou not out of another woman’s soul evoke a hard and bitter insult, as a surgeon’s knife from Thy secret store, and with one thrust remove all that putrefaction?1 For the maidservant who used to accompany her to the cellar, falling out, as it happens, with her little mistress, when she was alone with her, cast in her teeth this vice, with very bitter insult, calling her a “wine-bibber.” Stung by this taunt, she perceived her foulness, and immediately condemned and renounced it. Even as friends by their flattery pervert, so do enemies by their taunts often correct us. Yet Thou renderest not unto them what Thou dost by them, but what was proposed by them. For she, being angry, desired to irritate her young mistress, not to cure her; and did it in secret, either because the time and place of the dispute found them thus, or perhaps lest she herself should be exposed to danger for disclosing it so late. But Thou, Lord, Governor of heavenly and earthly things, who convertest to Thy purposes the deepest torrents, and disposest the turbulent current of the ages,2 healest one soul by the unsoundness of another; lest any man, when he remarks this, should attribute it unto his own power if another, whom he wishes to be reformed, is so through a word of his.
HE DESCRIBES THE PRAISEWORTHY HABITS OF HIS MOTHER; HER KINDNESS TOWARDS HER HUSBAND AND HER SONS.
19. Being thus modestly and soberly trained, and rather made subject by Thee to her parents, than by her parents to Thee, when she had arrived at a marriageable age, she was given to a husband whom she served as her lord. And she busied herself to gain him to Thee, preaching Thee unto him by her behaviour; by which Thou madest her fair, and reverently amiable, and admirable unto her husband. For she so bore the wronging of her bed as never to have any dissension with her husband on account of it. For she waited for Thy mercy upon him, that by believing in Thee he might become chaste. And besides this, as he was earnest in friendship, so was he violent in anger; but she had learned that an angry husband should not be resisted, neither in deed, nor even in word. But so soon as he was grown calm and tranquil, and she saw a fitting moment, she would give him a reason for her conduct, should he have been excited without cause. In short, while many matrons, whose husbands were more gentle, carried the marks of blows on their dishonoured faces, and would in private conversation blame the lives of their husbands, she would blame their tongues, monishing them gravely, as if in jest: “That from the hour they heard what are called the matrimonial tablets3 read to them, they should think of them as instruments whereby they were made servants; so, being always mindful of their condition, they ought not to set themselves in opposition to their lords.” And when they, knowing what a furious husband she endured, marvelled that it had never been reported, nor appeared by any indication, that Patricius had beaten his wife, or that there had been any domestic strife between them, even for a day, and asked her in confidence the reason of this, she taught them her rule, which I have mentioned above. They who observed it experienced the wisdom of it, and rejoiced; those who observed it not were kept in subjection, and suffered.
20. Her mother-in-law, also, being at first prejudiced against her by the whisperings of evil-disposed servants, she so conquered by submission, persevering in it with patience and meekness, that she voluntarily disclosed to her son the tongues of the meddling servants, whereby the domestic peace between herself and her daughter-in-law had been agitated, begging him to punish them for it. When, therefore, he had—in conformity with his mother’s wish, and with a view to the discipline of his family, and to ensure the future harmony of its members—corrected with stripes those discovered, according to the will of her who had discovered them, she promised a similar reward to any who, to please her, should say anything evil to her of her daughter-in-law. And, none now daring to do so, they lived together with a wonderful sweetness of mutual good-will.
21. This great gift Thou bestowedst also, my God, my mercy, upon that good handmaid of Thine, out of whose womb Thou createdst me, even that, whenever she could, she showed herself such a peacemaker between any differing and discordant spirits, that when she had heard on both sides most bitter things, such as swelling and undigested discord is wont to give vent to, when the crudities of enmities are breathed out in bitter speeches to a present friend against an absent enemy, she would disclose nothing about the one unto the other, save what might avail to their reconcilement. A small good this might seem to me, did I not know to my sorrow countless persons, who, through some horrible and far-spreading infection of sin, not only disclose to enemies mutually enraged the things said in passion against each other, but add some things that were never spoken at all; whereas, to a generous man, it ought to seem a small thing not to incite or increase the enmities of men by ill-speaking, unless he endeavour likewise by kind words to extinguish them. Such a one was she,—Thou, her most intimate Instructor, teaching her in the school of her heart.
22. Finally, her own husband, now towards the end of his earthly existence, did she gain over unto Thee; and she had not to complain of that in him, as one of the faithful, which, before he became so, she had endured. She was also the servant of Thy servants. Whosoever of them knew her, did in her much magnify, honour, and love Thee; for that through the testimony of the fruits of a holy conversation, they perceived Thee to be present in her heart. For she had “been the wife of one man,” had requited her parents, had guided her house piously, was “well-reported of for good works,” had “brought up children,”1 as often travailing in birth of them2 as she saw them swerving from Thee. Lastly, to all of us, O Lord (since of Thy favour Thou sufferest Thy servants to speak), who, before her sleeping in Thee,3 lived associated together, having received the grace of Thy baptism, did she devote care such as she might if she had been mother of us all; served us as if she had been child of all.
A CONVERSATION HE HAD WITH HIS MOTHER CONCERNING THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN.
23. As the day now approached on which she was to depart this life (which day Thou knewest, we did not), it fell out—Thou, as I believe, by Thy secret ways arranging it—that she and I stood alone, leaning in a certain window, from which the garden of the house we occupied at Ostia could be seen; at which place, removed from the crowd, we were resting ourselves for the voyage, after the fatigues of a long journey. We then were conversing alone very pleasantly; and, “forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before,”4 we were seeking between ourselves in the presence of the Truth, which Thou art, of what nature the eternal life of the saints would be, which eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath entered into the heart of man.5 But yet we opened wide the mouth of our heart, after those supernal streams of Thy fountain, “the fountain of life,” which is “with Thee;”6 that being sprinkled with it according to our capacity, we might in some measure weigh so high a mystery.
24. And when our conversation had arrived at that point, that the very highest pleasure of the carnal senses, and that in the very brightest material light, seemed by reason of the sweetness of that life not only not worthy of comparison, but not even of mention, we, lifting ourselves with a more ardent affection towards “the Self-same,”7 did gradually pass through all corporeal things, and even the heaven itself, whence sun, and moon, and stars shine upon the earth; yea, we soared higher yet by inward musing, and discoursing, and admiring Thy works; and we came to our own minds, and went beyond them, that we might advance as high as that region of unfailing plenty, where Thou feedest Israel8 for ever with the food of truth, and where life is that Wisdom by whom all these things are made, both which have been, and which are to come; and she is not made, but is as she hath been, and so shall ever be; yea, rather, to “have been,” and “to be hereafter,” are not in her, but only “to be,” seeing she is eternal, for to “have been” and “to be hereafter” are not eternal. And while we were thus speaking, and straining after her, we slightly touched her with the whole effort of our heart; and we sighed, and there left bound “the first-fruits of the Spirit;”9 and returned to the noise of our own mouth, where the word uttered has both beginning and end. And what is like unto Thy Word, our Lord, who remaineth in Himself without becoming old, and “maketh all things new”?10
25. We were saying, then, If to any man the tumult of the flesh were silenced,—silenced the phantasies of earth, waters, and air,—silenced, too, the poles; yea, the very soul be silenced to herself, and go beyond herself by not thinking of herself,—silenced fancies and imaginary revelations, every tongue, and every sign, and whatsoever exists by passing away, since, if any could hearken, all these say, “We created not ourselves, but were created by Him who abideth for ever:” If, having uttered this, they now should be silenced, having only quickened our ears to Him who created them, and He alone speak not by them, but by Himself, that we may hear His word, not by fleshly tongue, nor angelic voice, nor sound of thunder, nor the obscurity of a similitude, but might hear Him—Him whom in these we love—without these, like as we two now strained ourselves, and with rapid thought touched on that Eternal Wisdom which remaineth over all. If this could be sustained, and other visions of a far different kind be withdrawn, and this one ravish, and absorb, and envelope its beholder amid these inward joys, so that his life might be eternally like that one moment of knowledge which we now sighed after, were not this “Enter thou into the joy of Thy Lord”?1 And when shall that be? When we shall all rise again; but all shall not be changed.2
26. Such things was I saying; and if not after this manner, and in these words, yet, Lord, Thou knowest, that in that day when we were talking thus, this world with all its delights grew contemptible to us, even while we spake. Then said my mother, “Son, for myself, I have no longer any pleasure in aught in this life. What I want here further, and why I am here, I know not, now that my hopes in this world are satisfied. There was indeed one thing for which I wished to tarry a little in this life, and that was that I might see thee a Catholic Christian before I died.3 My God has exceeded this abundantly, so that I see thee despising all earthly felicity, made His servant,—what do I here?”
HIS MOTHER, ATTACKED BY FEVER, DIES AT OSTIA.
27. What reply I made unto her to these things I do not well remember. However, scarcely five days after, or not much more, she was prostrated by fever; and while she was sick, she one day sank into a swoon, and was for a short time unconscious of visible things. We hurried up to her; but she soon regained her senses, and gazing on me and my brother as we stood by her, she said to us inquiringly, “Where was I?” Then looking intently at us stupefied with grief, “Here,” saith she, “shall you bury your mother.” I was silent, and refrained from weeping; but my brother said something, wishing her, as the happier lot, to die in her own country and not abroad. She, when she heard this, with anxious countenance arrested him with her eye, as savouring of such things, and then gazing at me, “Behold,” saith she, “what he saith;” and soon after to us both she saith, “Lay this body anywhere, let not the care for it trouble you at all. This only I ask, that you will remember me at the Lord’s altar, wherever you be.” And when she had given forth this opinion in such words as she could, she was silent, being in pain with her increasing sickness.
28. But, as I reflected on Thy gifts, O thou invisible God, which Thou instillest into the hearts of Thy faithful ones, whence such marvellous fruits do spring, I did rejoice and give thanks unto Thee, calling to mind what I knew before, how she had ever burned with anxiety respecting her burial-place, which she had provided and prepared for herself by the body of her husband. For as they had lived very peacefully together, her desire had also been (so little is the human mind capable of grasping things divine) that this should be added to that happiness, and be talked of among men, that after her wandering beyond the sea, it had been granted her that they both, so united on earth, should lie in the same grave. But when this uselessness had, through the bounty of Thy goodness, begun to be no longer in her heart, I knew not, and I was full of joy admiring what she had thus disclosed to me; though indeed in that our conversation in the window also, when she said, “What do I here any longer?” she appeared not to desire to die in her own country. I heard afterwards, too, that at the time we were at Ostia, with a maternal confidence she one day, when I was absent, was speaking with certain of my friends on the contemning of this life, and the blessing of death; and when they—amazed at the courage which Thou hadst given to her, a woman—asked her whether she did not dread leaving her body at such a distance from her own city, she replied, “Nothing is far to God; nor need I fear lest He should be ignorant at the end of the world of the place whence He is to raise me up.” On the ninth day, then, of her sickness, the fifty-sixth year of her age, and the thirty-third of mine, was that religious and devout soul set free from the body.
HOW HE MOURNED HIS DEAD MOTHER.
29. I closed her eyes; and there flowed a great sadness into my heart, and it was passing into tears, when mine eyes at the same time, by the violent control of my mind, sucked back the fountain dry, and woe was me in such a struggle! But, as soon as she breathed her last, the boy Adeodatus burst out into wailing, but, being checked by us all, he became quiet. In like manner also my own childish feeling, which was, through the youthful voice of my heart, finding escape in tears, was restrained and silenced. For we did not consider it fitting to celebrate that funeral with tearful plaints and groanings;1 for on such wise are they who die unhappy, or are altogether dead, wont to be mourned. But she neither died unhappy, nor did she altogether die. For of this were we assured by the witness of her good conversation, her “faith unfeigned,”2 and other sufficient grounds.
30. What, then, was that which did grievously pain me within, but the newly-made wound, from having that most sweet and dear habit of living together suddenly broken off? I was full of joy indeed in her testimony, when, in that her last illness, flattering my dutifulness, she called me “kind,” and recalled, with great affection of love, that she had never heard any harsh or reproachful sound come out of my mouth against her. But yet, O my God, who madest us, how can the honour which I paid to her be compared with her slavery for me? As, then, I was left destitute of so great comfort in her, my soul was stricken, and that life torn apart as it were, which, of hers and mine together, had been made but one.
31. The boy then being restrained from weeping, Evodius took up the Psalter, and began to sing—the whole house responding—the Psalm, “I will sing of mercy and judgment: unto Thee, O Lord.”3 But when they heard what we were doing, many brethren and religious women came together; and whilst they whose office it was were, according to custom, making ready for the funeral, I, in a part of the house where I conveniently could, together with those who thought that I ought not to be left alone, discoursed on what was suited to the occasion; and by this alleviation of truth mitigated the anguish known unto Thee—they being unconscious of it, listened intently, and thought me to be devoid of any sense of sorrow. But in Thine ears, where none of them heard, did I blame the softness of my feelings, and restrained the flow of my grief, which yielded a little unto me; but the paroxysm returned again, though not so as to burst forth into tears, nor to a change of countenance, though I knew what I repressed in my heart. And as I was exceedingly annoyed that these human things had such power over me,4 which in the due order and destiny of our natural condition must of necessity come to pass, with a new sorrow I sorrowed for my sorrow, and was wasted by a twofold sadness.
32. So, when the body was carried forth, we both went and returned without tears. For neither in those prayers which we poured forth unto Thee when the sacrifice of our redemption5 was offered up unto Thee for her,—the dead body being now placed by the side of the grave, as the custom there is, prior to its being laid therein,—neither in their prayers did I shed tears; yet was I most grievously sad in secret all the day, and with a troubled mind entreated Thee, as I was able, to heal my sorrow, but Thou didst not; fixing, I believe, in my memory by this one lesson the power of the bonds of all habit, even upon a mind which now feeds not upon a fallacious word. It appeared to me also a good thing to go and bathe, I having heard that the bath [balneum] took its name from the Greek βαλανει̑ον, because it drives trouble from the mind. Lo, this also I confess unto Thy mercy, “Father of the fatherless,”6 that I bathed, and felt the same as before I had done so. For the bitterness of my grief exuded not from my heart. Then I slept, and on awaking found my grief not a little mitigated; and as I lay alone upon my bed, there came into my mind those true verses of Thy Ambrose, for Thou art—
33. And then little by little did I bring back my former thoughts of Thine handmaid, her devout conversation towards Thee, her holy tenderness and attentiveness towards us, which was suddenly taken away from me; and it was pleasant to me to weep in Thy sight, for her and for me, concerning her and concerning myself. And I set free the tears which before I repressed, that they might flow at their will, spreading them beneath my heart; and it rested in them, for Thy ears were nigh me,—not those of man, who would have put a scornful interpretation on my weeping. But now in writing I confess it unto Thee, O Lord! Read it who will, and interpret how he will; and if he finds me to have sinned in weeping for my mother during so small a part of an hour,—that mother who was for a while dead to mine eyes, who had for many years wept for me, that I might live in Thine eyes,—let him not laugh at me, but rather, if he be a man of a noble charity, let him weep for my sins against Thee, the Father of all the brethren of Thy Christ.
HE ENTREATS GOD FOR HER SINS, AND ADMONISHES HIS READERS TO REMEMBER HER PIOUSLY.
34. But,—my heart being now healed of that wound, in so far as it could be convicted of a carnal2 affection,—I pour out unto Thee, O our God, on behalf of that Thine handmaid, tears of a far different sort, even that which flows from a spirit broken by the thoughts of the dangers of every soul that dieth in Adam. And although she, having been “made alive” in Christ3 even before she was freed from the flesh, had so lived as to praise Thy name both by her faith and conversation, yet dare I not say4 that from the time Thou didst regenerate her by baptism, no word went forth from her mouth against Thy precepts.5 And it hath been declared by Thy Son, the Truth, that “Whosoever shall say to his brother, Thou fool, shall be in danger of hell fire.”6 And woe even unto the praiseworthy life of man, if, putting away mercy, Thou shouldest investigate it. But because Thou dost not narrowly inquire after sins, we hope with confidence to find some place of indulgence with Thee. But whosoever recounts his true merits7 to Thee, what is it that he recounts to Thee but Thine own gifts? Oh, if men would know themselves to be men; and that “he that glorieth” would “glory in the Lord!”8
35. I then, O my Praise and my Life, Thou God of my heart, putting aside for a little her good deeds, for which I joyfully give thanks to Thee, do now beseech Thee for the sins of my mother. Hearken unto me, through that Medicine of our wounds who hung upon the tree, and who, sitting at Thy right hand, “maketh intercession for us.”9 I know that she acted mercifully, and from the heart10 forgave her debtors their debts; do Thou also forgive her debts,11 whatever she contracted during so many years since the water of salvation. Forgive her, O Lord, forgive her, I beseech Thee; “enter not into judgment” with her.1 Let Thy mercy be exalted above Thy justice,2 because Thy words are true, and Thou hast promised mercy unto “the merciful;”3 which Thou gavest them to be who wilt “have mercy” on whom Thou wilt “have mercy,” and wilt “have compassion” on whom Thou hast had compassion.4
36. And I believe Thou hast already done that which I ask Thee; but “accept the freewill offerings of my mouth, O Lord.”5 For she, when the day of her dissolution was near at hand, took no thought to have her body sumptuously covered, or embalmed with spices; nor did she covet a choice monument, or desire her paternal burial-place. These things she entrusted not to us, but only desired to have her name remembered at Thy altar, which she had served without the omission of a single day;6 whence she knew that the holy sacrifice was dispensed, by which the handwriting that was against us is blotted out;7 by which the enemy was triumphed over,8 who, summing up our offences, and searching for something to bring against us, found nothing in Him9 in whom we conquer. Who will restore to Him the innocent blood? Who will repay Him the price with which He bought us, so as to take us from Him? Unto the sacrament of which our ransom did Thy handmaid bind her soul by the bond of faith. Let none separate her from Thy protection. Let not the “lion” and the “dragon”10 introduce himself by force or fraud. For she will not reply that she owes nothing, lest she be convicted and got the better of by the wily deceiver; but she will answer that her “sins are forgiven”11 by Him to whom no one is able to repay that price which He, owing nothing, laid down for us.
37. May she therefore rest in peace with her husband, before or after whom she married none; whom she obeyed, with patience bringing forth fruit12 unto Thee, that she might gain him also for Thee. And inspire, O my Lord my God, inspire Thy servants my brethren, Thy sons my masters, who with voice and heart and writings I serve, that so many of them as shall read these confessions may at Thy altar remember Monica, Thy handmaid, together with Patricius, her sometime husband, by whose flesh Thou introducedst me into this life, in what manner I know not. May they with pious affection be mindful of my parents in this transitory light, of my brethren that are under Thee our Father in our Catholic mother, and of my fellow-citizens in the eternal Jerusalem, which the wandering of Thy people sigheth for from their departure until their return. That so my mother’s last entreaty to me may, through my confessions more than through my prayers, be more abundantly fulfilled to her through the prayers of many.13
[1 ]Ps. cxvi. 16, 17.
[2 ]Ibid. xxxv. 10.
[3 ]Ibid. xxxv. 3.
[4 ]Volebas, though a few mss. have nolebas; and Watts accordingly renders “nilledst.”
[5 ]Matt. xi. 30.
[6 ]Ps. xix. 14.
[7 ]Archbishop Trench, in his exposition of the parable of the Hid Treasure, which the man who found sold all that he had to buy, remarks on this passage of the Confessions: “Augustin excellently illustrates from his own experience this part of the parable. Describing the crisis of his own conversion, and how easy he found it, through this joy, to give up all those pleasures of sin that he had long dreaded to be obliged to renounce, which had long held him fast bound in the chains of evil custom, and which if he renounced, it had seemed to him as though life itself would not be worth the living, he exclaims, ‘How sweet did it suddenly become to me,’ ” etc.
[8 ]His love of earthly things was expelled by the indwelling love of God, “for,” as he says in his De Musica, vi. 52, “the love of the things of time could only be expelled by some sweetness of things eternal.” Compare also Dr. Chalmers’ sermon on The Expulsive Power of a New Affection (the ninth of his “Commercial Discourses”), where this idea is expanded.
[9 ]“In harvest and vintage time had the lawyers their vacation. So Minutius Felix. Scholars, their Non Terminus, as here, yea, divinity lectures and catechizings then ceased. So Cyprian, Ep. 2. The law terms gave way also to the great festivals of the Church. Theodosius forbade any process to go out from fifteen days before Easter till the Sunday after. For the four Terms, see Caroli Calvi, Capitula, Act viii. p. 90.”—W. W.
[10 ]Ps. lxxxiv. 6.
[11 ]Ps. cxx. 3, 4, according to the Old Ver. This passage has many difficulties we need not enter into. The Vulgate, however, we may say, renders verse 3: “Quid detur tibi aut quid apponatur tibi ad linguam dolosam,”—that is, shall be given as a defence against the tongues of evil speakers. In this way Augustin understands it, and in his commentary on this place makes the fourth verse give the answer to the third. Thus, “sharp arrows” he interprets to be the word of God, and “destroying coals” those who, being converted to Him, have become examples to the ungodly.
[1 ]Rom. xiv. 16.
[2 ]In his De Vita Beata, sec. 4, and Con. Acad. i. 3, he also alludes to this weakness of his chest. He was therefore led to give up his professorship, partly from this cause, and partly from a desire to devote himself more entirely to God’s service. See also p. 115, note.
[3 ]Ps. xivi. 10.
[4 ]See vi. sec. 1, note, above.
[5 ]Luke xiv. 14.
[6 ]Ps. cxxv. 2.
[7 ]Phil. ii. 27.
[8 ]Literally, In monte incaseato, “the mountain of curds,” from the Old Ver. of Ps. lxviii. 16. The Vulgate renders coagulatus. But the Authorized Version is nearer the true meaning, when it renders נַבֽנ֭נים, hunched, as “high.” The LXX. renders it τετυρωμένος, condensed, as if from נְבינָה, cheese. This divergence arises from the unused root נָבַן, to be curved, having derivatives meaning (1) “hunch-backed,” when applied to the body, and (2) “cheese” or “curds,” when applied to milk. Augustin, in his exposition of this place, makes the “mountain” to be Christ, and parallels it with Isa. ii. 2; and the “milk” he interprets of the grace that comes from Him for Christ’s little ones: Ipse est mons incaseatus, propter parvulos gratia tanquam lacte nutriendos.
[9 ]See v. 16, note, above.
[1 ]See vi. 17, note 6, above.
[2 ]Though Augustin, in his Quæst. Evang. ii. qu. 38, makes Abraham’s bosom to represent the rest into which the Gentiles entered after the Jews had put it from them, yet he, for the most part, in common with the early Church (see Serm. xiv. 3; Con. Faust. xxxiii. 5; and Eps. clxiv. 7, and clxxxvii. Compare also Tertullian, De Anima, lviii.), takes it to mean the resting-place of the souls of the righteous after death. Abraham’s bosom, indeed, is the same as the “Paradise” of Luke xxiii. 43. The souls of the faithful after they are delivered from the flesh are in “joy and felicity” (De Civ. Det, i. 13, and xiii. 19); but they will not have “their perfect consummation and bliss both in body and soul” until the morning of the resurrection, when they shall be endowed with “spiritual bodies.” See note p. 111; and for the difference between the ᾳδης of Luke xvi. 23, that is, the place of departed spirits,—into which it is said in the Apostles’ Creed Christ descended,—and γέεννα, or Hell, see Campbell on The Gospels, i. 253. In the A. V. both Greek words are rendered “Hell.”
[3 ]See sec. 37, note, below.
[4 ]Ps. xxvii. 8.
[5 ]As Christ went into the wilderness after His baptism (Matt. iv. 1), and Paul into Arabia after his conversion (Gal. i. 17), so did Augustin here find in his retirement a preparation for his future work. He tells us of this time of his life (De Ordin. i. 6) that his habit was to spend the beginning or end, and often almost half the night, in watching and searching for truth, and says further (ibid. 29), that “he almost daily asked God with tears that his wounds might be healed, and often proved to himself that he was unworthy to be healed as soon as he wished.”
[6 ]These books are (Con. Acad. i. 4) his three disputations Against the Academics, his De Vita Beata, begun (ibid. 6) “Idibus Novembris die ejus natali;” and (Retract. i. 3) his two books De Ordine.
[7 ]That is, his two books of Soliloquies. In his Retractations, i. 4, sec. 1, he tells us that in these books he held an argument,—me interrogans, mihique respondens, tanquam duo essemus, ratio et ego.
[8 ]Several of these letters to Nebridhis will be found in the two vols. of Letters in this series.
[9 ]Luke iii. 5.
[10 ]Ps. xxix. 5.
[11 ]Reference may with advantage be made to Archbishop Trench’s Hulsean Lectures (1845), who in his third lect., on “The Manifoldness of Scripture,” adverts to this very passage, and shows in an interesting way how the Psalms have ever been to the saints of God, as Luther said, “a Bible in little,” affording satisfaction to their needs in every kind of trial, emergency, and experience.
[1 ]Ps. xix. 6.
[2 ]Ps. iv. 1.
[3 ]Ibid. ver. 23.
[4 ]Eph. i. 20.
[5 ]Luke xxiv. 49.
[6 ]John xiv. 16, 17.
[7 ]Acts ii. 1-4.
[8 ]John vii. 39.
[9 ]Ps. iv. 1.
[10 ]See v. 16, note, above.
[11 ]Rom. viii. 34.
[12 ]Eph. iv. 26.
[13 ]See iv. 26, note, above.
[14 ]Rom. ii. 5.
[15 ]Ps. iv. 6.
[16 ]See v. 12, note, above.
[17 ]Ps. iv. 6.
[19 ]John i. 9.
[20 ]Eph. v. 8.
[21 ]Internum æternum, but some mss. read internum lumen æternum.
[22 ]Ps. iv. 5.
[1 ]Ps. iv. 7.
[2 ]That is, lest they should distract him from the true riches. For, as he says in his exposition of the fourth Psalm, “Cum dedita temporalibus voluptatibus anima semper exardescit cupiditate, nec satiari potest.” He knew that the prosperity of the soul (3 John 2) might be injuriously affected by the prosperity of the body; and disregarding the lower life (βίος) and its “worldly goods,” he pressed on to increase the treasure he had within,—the true life (ζωή) which he had received from God. See also Enarr. in Ps. xxxviii. 6.
[3 ]Ps. iv. 7.
[4 ]Ibid. ver. 8, Vulg.
[5 ]Ps. iv. 8, in his comment whereon, Augustin applies this passage as above.
[6 ]1 Cor. xv. 54.
[7 ]Ps. iv. 9, Vulg.
[8 ]Compare the beautiful Talmudical legend quoted by Jeremy Taylor (Works, viii. 397, Eden’s ed.), that of the two archangels, Gabriel and Michael, Gabriel has two wings that he may “fly swiftly” (Dan. ix. 21) to bring the message of peace, while Michael has but one, that he may labour in his flight when he comes forth on his ministries of justice.
[9 ]In his Soliloquies (see note, sec. 7, above), he refers in i. 21 to this period. He there tells us that his pain was so great that it prevented his learning anything afresh, and only permitted him to revolve in his mind what he had already learnt. Compare De Quincey’s description of the agonies he had to endure from toothache in his Confessions of an Opium Eater.
[10 ]That is, on the waxen tablet used by the ancients. The iron stilus, or pencil, used for writing, was pointed at one end and flattened at the other—the flattened circular end being used to erase the writing by smoothing down the wax. Hence vertere stilum signifies to put out or correct. See sec. 19, below.
[12 ]In his De Civ. Dei, xviii. 29, he likewise alludes to the evangelical character of the writings of Isaiah.
[13 ]“They were baptized at Easter, and gave up their names before the second Sunday in Lent, the rest of which they were to spend in fasting, humility, prayer, and being examined in the scrutinies (Tertull. Lib. de Bapt. c. 20). Therefore went they to Milan, that the bishop might see their preparation. Adjoining to the cathedrals were there certain lower houses for them to lodge and be exercised in, till the day of baptism” (Euseb. x. 4)—W. W. See also Bingham, x. 2, sec. 6; and above, note 4, p. 89, note 4, p. 118, and note 8, p. 118.
[1 ]In his De Vita Beata, sec. 6, he makes a similar illusion to the genius of Adeodatus.
[2 ]This book, in which he and his son are the interlocutors, will be found in vol. i. of the Benedictine edition, and is by the editors assumed to be written about 389. Augustin briefly gives its argument in his Retractations, i. 12. He says: “There it is disputed, sought, and discovered that there is no master who teaches man knowledge save God, as it is written in the gospel (Matt. xxiii. 10), ‘One is your Master, even Christ.’ ”
[3 ]He was baptized by Ambrose, and tradition says, as he came out of the water, they sang alternate verses of the Te Deum (ascribed by some to Ambrose), which, in the old offices of the English Church is called “The Song of Ambrose and Augustin.” In his Con. Julian. Pelag. i. 10, he speaks of Ambrose as being one whose devoted labours and perils were known throughout the whole Roman world, and says: “In Christo enim Jesu per evangelium ipse me genuit, et eo Christi ministro lavacrum regenerationis accepi.” See also the last sec. of his De Nupt. et Concup., and Ep. cxlvii. 23. In notes 3, p. 50, and 4, p. 89, will be found references to the usages of the early Church as to baptism.
[4 ]The Bishop of Milan who preceded Ambrose was an Arian, and though Valentinian the First approved the choice of Ambrose as bishop, Justina, on his death, greatly troubled the Church. Ambrose subsequently had great influence over both Valentinian the Second and his brother Gratian. The persecution referred to above, says Pusey, was “to induce him to give up to the Arians a church,—the Portian Basilica without the walls; afterwards she asked for the new Basilica within the walls, which was larger.” See Ambrose, Epp. 20-22; Serm. c. Auxentium de Basilicis Tradendis, pp. 852-880, ed. Bened.; cf. Tillemont, Hist. Eccl. St. Ambroise, art 44-48, pp. 76-82. Valentinian was then at Milan. See next sec., the beginning of note.
[6 ]Augustin alludes to this, amongst other supposed miracles, in his De Civ. Dei, xxii. 8; and again in Serm. cclxxxvi. sec. 4, where he tells us that the man, after being cured, made a vow that he would for the remainder of his life serve in that Basilica where the bodies of the martyrs lay. St. Ambrose also examines the miracle at great length in one of his sermons. We have already referred in note 5, p. 69 to the origin of these false miracles in the early Church. Lecture vi. series 2, of Blunt’s Lectures on the Right Use of the Early Fathers, is devoted to an examination of the various passages in the Ante-Nicene Fathers where the continuance of miracles in the Church is either expressed or implied. The reader should also refer to the note on p. 485 of vol. ii. of the City of God, in this series.
[7 ]Ps. cxvi. 15.
[1 ]Cant. i. 3, 4.
[2 ]Ps. lxviii. 6.
[3 ]See viii. sec. 15, note, above.
[4 ]We find from his Retractations (i. 7, sec. 1), that at this time he wrote his De Moribus Ecclesiæ Catholicæ and his De Moribus Manichæorum. He also wrote (ibid. 8, sec. 1) his De Animæ Quantitate, and (ibid. 9, sec. 1) his three books De Libero Arbitrio.
[5 ]In his De Vita Beata and in his De Dono Persev. he attributes all that he was to his mother’s tears and prayers.
[6 ]Ecclus. xix. 1. Augustin frequently alludes to the subtle power of little things. As when he says,—illustrating (Serm. cclxxviii.) by the plagues of Egypt,—tiny insects, if they be numerous enought will be as harmful as the bite of great beasts; and (Serm. lvi.), a hill of sand, though composed of tiny grains, will crush a man as surely as the same weight of lead. Little drops (Serm. lviii.) make the river, and little leaks sink the ship; wherefore, he urges, little things must not be despised. “Men have usually,” says Sedgwick in his Anatomy of Secret Sins, “been first wading in lesser sins who are now swimming in great transgressions.” It is in the little things of evil that temptation has its greatest strength. The snowflake is little and not to be accounted of, but from its multitudinous accumulation results the dread power of the avalanche. Satan often seems to act as it is said Pompey did, when he could not gain entrance to a city. He persuaded the citizens to admit a few of his weak and wounded soldiers, who, when they had become strong, opened the gates to his whole army. But if little things have such subtlety in temptation, they have likewise higher ministries. The Jews, in their Talmudical writings, have many parables illustrating how God by little things tries and proves men to see if they are fitted for greater things. They say, for example, that He tried David when keeping sheep in the wilderness, to see whether he would be worthy to rule over Israel, the sheep of his inheritance. See Ch. Schoettgen, Hor. Heb. et Talmud, i. 300.
[1 ]“ ‘Animam oportet assiduis saliri tentationibus,’ says St. Ambrose. Some errors and offences do rub salt upon a good man’s integrity, that it may not putrefy with presumption.”—Bishop Hacket’s Sermons, p. 210.
[2 ]Not only is this true in private, but in public concerns. Even in the crucifixion of our Lord, the wicked rulers did (Acts iv. 26) what God’s hand and God’s counsel had before determined to be done. Perhaps by reason of His infinite knowledge it is that God, who knows our thoughts long before (Ps. cxxxix. 2, 4), weaves man’s self-willed purposes into the pattern which His inscrutable Providence has before ordained. Or, to use Augustin’s own words (De Civ. Dei, xxii. 2), “It is true that wicked men do many things contrary to God’s will; but so great is His wisdom and power, that all things which seem adverse to His purpose do still tend towards those just and good ends and issues which He Himself has foreknown.”
[3 ]That is, not only from the time of actual marriage, but from the time of betrothal, when the contract was written upon tablets (see note 10, p. 133), and signed by the contracting parties. The future wife was then called sponsa sperata or pacta. Augustin alludes to this above (viii. sec. 7), when he says, “It is also the custom that the affianced bride (pactæ sponsæ) should not immediately be given up, that the husband may not less esteem her whom, as betrothed, he longed not for” (non suspiraverit sponsus). It should be remembered, in reading this section, that women amongst the Romans were not confined after the Eastern fashion of the Greeks to separate apartments, but had charge of the domestic arrangements and the training of the children.
[1 ]1 Tim. v. 4, 9, 10, 14.
[2 ]Gal. iv. 19.
[3 ]1 Thess. iv. 14.
[4 ]Phil. iii. 13.
[5 ]1 Cor. ii. 9; Isa. lxiv. 4.
[6 ]Ps. xxxvi. 9.
[7 ]Ps. iv. 8, Vulg.
[8 ]Ps. lxxx. 5.
[9 ]Rom. viii. 23.
[10 ]Wisd. vii. 27.
[1 ]Matt. xxv. 21.
[2 ]1 Cor. xv. 51, however, is, “we shall all be changed.”
[3 ]Dean Stanley (Canterbury Sermons, serm. 10) draws the following, amongst other lessons, from God’s dealings with Augustin. “It is an example,” he says, “like the conversion of St. Paul, of the fact that from time to time God calls His servants not by gradual, but by sudden changes. These conversions are, it is true, the exceptions and not the rule of Providence, but such examples as Augustin show us that we must acknowledge the truth of the exceptions when they do occur. It is also an instance how, even in such sudden conversions, previous good influences have their weight. The prayers of his mother, the silent influence of his friend, the high character of Ambrose, the preparation for Christian truth in the writings of heathen philosophers, were all laid up, as it were, waiting for the spark, and, when it came, the fire flashed at once through every corner of his soul.”
[1 ]For this would be to sorrow as those that have no hope Chrysostom accordingly frequently rebukes the Roman custom of hiring persons to wail for the dead (see e. g. Hom. xxxii. in Matt.), and Augustin in Serm. 2 of his De Consol. Mor. makes the same objection, and also reproves those Christians who imitated the Romans in wearing black as the sign of mourning. But still (as in his own case on the death of his mother) he admits that there is a grief at the departure of friends that is both natural and seemly. In a beautiful passage in his De Civ. Dei (xix. 8), he says. “That he who will have none of this sadness must, if possible, have no friendly intercourse. . . . Let him burst with ruthless insensibility the bonds of every human relationship,” and he continues. “Though the cure is effected all the more easily and rapidly the better condition the soul is in, we must not on this account suppose that there is nothing at all to heal.” See p. 140, note 2, below.
[2 ]1 Tim. i. 5.
[3 ]Ps. ci. 1. “I suppose they continued to the end of Psalm cii. This was the primitive fashion; Nazianzen says that his speechless sister Gorgonia’s lips muttered the fourth Psalm: ‘I will he down in peace and sleep.’ As St. Austen lay a dying, the company prayed (Possid.). That they had prayers between the departure and burial, see Tertull. De Anima, c. 51. They used to sing both at the departure and burial. Nazianzen, Orat. 10, says, the dead Cæsarins was carried from hymns to hymns. The priests were called to sing (Chrysost. Hom. 70, ad Antioch). They sang the 116th Psalm usually (see Chrysost. Hom. 4, in c. 2, ad Hebræos).”—W. W. See also note 13, p. 141, below.
[4 ]In addition to the remarks quoted in note 1, see Augustin’s recognition of the naturalness and necessity of exercising human affections, such as sorrow, in his De Civ. Dei, xiv. 9.
[5 ]“Here my Popish translator says, that the sacrifice of the mass was offered for the dead. That the ancients had communion with their burials, I confess. But for what? (1) To testify their dying in the communion of the Church. (2) To give thanks for their departure. (3) To pray God to give them place in His Paradise, (4) and a part in the first resurrection; but not as a propitiatory sacrifice to deliver them out of purgatory, which the mass is now only meant for.”—W. W. See also note 13, p. 141.
[6 ]Ps. lxviii. 5.
[1 ]Rendered as follows in a translation of the first ten books of the Confessions, described on the title-page as “Printed by J. C., for John Crook, and are to be sold at the sign of the ‘Ship,’ in St. Paul’s Churchyard. 1660”:—
See x. sec. 52, below, where this hymn is referred to.
[2 ]Rom. viii. 7.
[3 ]1 Cor. xv. 22. The universalists of every age have interpreted the word “all” here so as to make salvation by Christ Jesus extend to every child of Adam. If their interpretation were true, Monica’s spirit need not have been troubled at the thought of the danger of unregenerate souls. But Augustin in his De Civ. Dei, xiii. 23, gives the import of the word: “Not that all who die in Adam shall be members of Christ,—for the great majority shall be punished in eternal death,—but he uses the word ‘all’ in both clauses because, as no one dies in an animal body except in Adam, so no one is quickened a spiritual body save in Christ.” See x. sec. 68, note 1, below.
[4 ]For to have done so would have been to go perilously near to the heresy of the Pelagians, who laid claim to the possibility of attaining perfection in this life by the power of free-will, and without the assistance of divine grace; and went even so far, he tells us (Ep. clxxvi. 2), as to say that those who had so attained need not utter the petition for forgiveness in the Lord’s Prayer,—ut et non sit jam necessarium dicere. “Dimitte nobis debita nostra.” Those in our own day who enunciate perfectionist theories,—though, it is true, not denying the grace of God as did these,—may well ponder Augustin’s forcible words in his De Pecc. Mer. et Rem. iii. 13: “Optandum est ut fiat, conandum est ut fiat, supplicandum est ut fiat; non tamen quasi factum fuerit, confitendum.” We are indeed commanded to be perfect (Matt. v. 48); and the philosophy underlying the command is embalmed in the words of the proverb, “Aim high, and you will strike high.” But he who lives nearest to God will have the humility of heart which will make him ready to confess that in His sight he is a “miserable sinner.” Some interesting remarks on this subject will be found in Augustin’s De Civ Dei, xiv. 9, on the text, “If we say we have no sin,” etc. (1 John i. 8.) On sins after baptism, see note on next section.
[5 ]Matt. xii. 36.
[6 ]Matt. v. 22.
[7 ]There is a passage parallel to this in his Ep. to Sextus (cxciv. 19). “Merits” therefore would appear to be used simply in the sense of good actions. Compare sec. 17, above, xiii. sec. 1, below, and Ep. cv. That righteousness is not by merit, appears from Ep. cxciv., Ep. clxxvii., to Innocent; and Serm. ccxciii.
[8 ]2 Cor. x. 17.
[9 ]Rom. viii. 34.
[10 ]Matt. xviii. 35.
[11 ]Matt. vi. 12. Augustin here as elsewhere applies this petition in the Lord’s Prayer to the forgiveness of sins after baptism. He does so constantly. For example, in his Ep. cclxv. he says. “We do not ask for those to be forgiven which we doubt not were forgiven in baptism; but those which, though small, are frequent, and spring from the frailty of human nature.” Again, in his Con. Ep. Parmen. ii. 10, after using almost the same words, he points out that it is a prayer against daily sins; and in his De Civ. Dei, xxi. 27, where he examines the passage in relation to various erroneous beliefs, he says it “was a daily prayer He [Christ] was teaching, and it was certainly to disciples already justified He was speaking. What, then, does He mean by ‘your sins’ (Matt. vi. 14), but those sins from which not even you who are justified and sanctified can be free?” See note on the previous section; and also for the feeling in the early Church as to sins after baptism, the note on i. sec. 17, above.
[1 ]Ps. cxliii. 2.
[2 ]Jas. ii. 13.
[3 ]Matt. v. 7.
[4 ]Rom. ix. 15.
[5 ]Ps. cxix. 108.
[6 ]See v. sec. 17, above.
[7 ]Col. ii. 14.
[8 ]See his De Trin. xiii. 18, the passage beginning, “What then is the righteousness by which the devil was conquered?”
[9 ]John xiv. 30.
[10 ]Ps. xci. 13.
[11 ]Matt. ix. 2.
[12 ]Luke viii. 15.
[13 ]The origin of prayers for the dead dates back probably to the close of the second century. In note 1, p. 90, we have quoted from Tertullian’s De Corona Militis, where he says, “Oblationes pro defunctis pro natalitiis annua die facimus.” In his De Monogamia, he speaks of a widow praying for her departed husband, that “he might have rest, and be a partaker in the first resurrection.” From this time a catena of quotations from the Fathers might be given, if space permitted, showing how, beginning with early expressions of hope for the dead, there, in process of time, arose prayers even for the unregenerate, until at last there was developed purgatory on the one side, and creature-worship on the other. That Augustin did not entertain the idea of creature-worship will be seen from his Ep. to Maximus, xvii. 5. In his De Dulcit Quæst 2 (where he discusses the whole question), he concludes that prayer must not be made for all, because all have not led the same life in the flesh. Still, in his Enarr in Ps. cviii. 17, he argues from the case of the rich man in the parable, that the departed do certainly “have a care for us.” Aerius, towards the close of the fourth century, objected to prayers for the dead, chiefly on the ground (see Usher’s Answer to a Jesuit, iii. 258) of their uselessness. In the Church of England, as will be seen by reference to Keeling’s Liturgicæ Britannicæ, pp. 210, 335, 339, and 341, prayers for the dead were eliminated from the second Prayer Book; and to the prudence of this step Palmer bears testimony in his Origines Liturgicæ, iv. 10, justifying it on the ground that the retaining of these prayers implied a belief in her holding the doctrine of purgatory. Reference may be made to Epiphanius, Adv. Har. 75. Bishop Bull, Sermon 3, and Bingham, xv. 3, secs. 15, 16, and xxiii. 3, sec. 13.