Accept the sacrifice of my confessions from the ministry of my tongue, which Thou hast formed and stirred up to confess unto Thy name. Heal Thou all my bones, and let them say, O Lord, who is like unto Thee? For he who confesses to Thee doth not teach Thee what takes place within him; seeing a closed heart closes not out Thy eye, nor can man's hard-heartedness thrust back Thy hand: for Thou dissolvest it at Thy will in pity or in vengeance, and nothing can hide itself from Thy heat. But let my soul praise Thee, that it may love Thee; and let it confess Thy own mercies to Thee, that it may praise Thee. Thy whole creation ceaseth not, nor is silent in Thy praises; neither the spirit of man with voice directed unto Thee, nor creation animate or inanimate, by the voice of those who meditate thereon: that so our souls may from their weariness arise towards Thee, leaning on those things which Thou hast created, and passing on to Thyself, who madest them wonderfully; and there is refreshment and true strength.
Accept these confessions spoken through my tongue, which you have given me to praise your name. Heal my entire being, and let every part of me declare "Lord, who compares to you?" When I confess to you, I'm not telling you anything you don't already know—no closed heart can hide from your sight, nor can human stubbornness resist your hand. You can soften any heart, either through mercy or judgment, and nothing can escape your presence. Let my soul praise you so it may love you more deeply. Let it acknowledge your mercies so it may honor you. All of creation continuously praises you—from human spirits directing their voices to you, to every living and nonliving thing, praised through those who contemplate them. Through this, our weary souls can rise toward you, supported by your creation, and finally reach you, their wonderful maker. There we find true rest and strength.
Let the restless, the godless, depart and flee from Thee; yet Thou seest them, and dividest the darkness. And behold, the universe with them is fair, though they are foul. And how have they injured Thee? or how have they disgraced Thy government, which, from the heaven to this lowest earth, is just and perfect? For whither fled they, when they fled from Thy presence? or where dost not Thou find them? But they fled, that they might not see Thee seeing them, and, blinded, might stumble against Thee (because Thou forsakest nothing Thou hast made); that the unjust, I say, might stumble upon Thee, and justly be hurt; withdrawing themselves from thy gentleness, and stumbling at Thy uprightness, and falling upon their own ruggedness. Ignorant, in truth, that Thou art every where, Whom no place encompasseth! and Thou alone art near, even to those that remove far from Thee. Let them then be turned, and seek Thee; because not as they have forsaken their Creator, hast Thou forsaken Thy creation. Let them be turned and seek Thee; and behold, Thou art there in their heart, in the heart of those that confess to Thee, and cast themselves upon Thee, and weep in Thy bosom, after all their rugged ways. Then dost Thou gently wipe away their tears, and they weep the more, and joy in weeping; even for that Thou, Lord,—not man of flesh and blood, but—Thou, Lord, who madest them, re-makest and comfortest them. But where was I, when I was seeking Thee? And Thou wert before me, but I had gone away from Thee; nor did I find myself, how much less Thee!
Let the restless and godless run from You—You still see them and part the darkness. The universe remains beautiful despite their ugliness. How have they harmed You? How have they diminished Your perfect rule that spans from heaven to earth? Where can they truly flee from Your presence? Where will they go where You cannot find them? They ran to avoid seeing You watching them. In their blindness, they stumble against You (for You abandon nothing You've created). The unjust hurt themselves by running from Your kindness, rejecting Your righteousness, and falling on their own rough path. They foolishly forget that You are everywhere, bounded by no place. You alone remain close, even to those who distance themselves from You. Let them turn back and seek You, for unlike how they abandoned their Creator, You have not abandoned Your creation. Let them return to You; You are already there in their hearts—in the hearts of those who confess to You, who surrender themselves, who weep in Your embrace after all their wayward wandering. You gently dry their tears, and they weep more, finding joy in their tears, because You, Lord—not a mortal being but You, their Creator—remake and comfort them. But where was I when searching for You? You were right before me, but I had strayed from You. I couldn't even find myself, much less You!
I would lay open before my God that nine-and-twentieth year of mine age. There had then 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 that lure of his smooth language: which though I did commend, yet could I separate from the truth of the things which I was earnest to learn: nor did I so much regard the service of oratory as the science which this Faustus, so praised among them, set before me to feed upon. Fame had before bespoken him most knowing in all valuable learning, and exquisitely skilled in the liberal sciences. And since I had read and well remembered much of the philosophers, I compared some things of theirs with those long fables of the Manichees, and found the former the more probable; even although they could only prevail so far as to make judgment of this lower world, the Lord of it they could by no means find out. For Thou art great, O Lord, and hast respect unto the humble, but the proud Thou beholdest afar off. Nor dost Thou draw near, but to the contrite in heart, nor art found by the proud, no, not though by curious skill they could number the stars and the sand, and measure the starry heavens, and track the courses of the planets.
In my twenty-ninth year, Bishop Faustus of the Manichees arrived in Carthage. A skilled orator, he served as the Devil's perfect trap, ensnaring many with his eloquent speech. While I admired his delivery, I could distinguish it from the truth I sought. His rhetorical polish mattered less to me than the knowledge he supposedly offered. His reputation preceded him—he was celebrated as a master of valuable learning and liberal arts. Having studied much philosophy myself, I compared philosophical teachings with the elaborate myths of the Manichees. The philosophers' ideas seemed more credible, though they could only explain the physical world, never discovering its Creator. For You are mighty, Lord, attending to the humble while keeping the proud at a distance. You reveal Yourself only to those with contrite hearts, remaining hidden from the proud—even if they possess the scientific skill to count stars and grains of sand, measure the cosmos, and map planetary orbits.
For with their understanding and wit, which Thou bestowedst on them, they search out these things; and much have they found out; and foretold, many years before, eclipses of those luminaries, the sun and moon,—what day and hour, and how many digits,—nor did their calculation fail; and it came to pass as they foretold; and they wrote down the rules they had found out, and these are read at this day, and out of them do others foretell in what year and month of the year, and what day of the month, and what hour of the day, and what part of its light, moon or sun is to be eclipsed, and so it shall be, as it is foreshowed. At these things men, that know not this art, marvel and are astonished, and they that know it, exult, and are puffed up; and by an ungodly pride departing from Thee, and failing of Thy light, they foresee a failure of the sun's light, which shall be, so long before, but see not their own, which is. For they search not religiously whence they have the wit, wherewith they search out this. And finding that Thou madest them, they give not themselves up to Thee, to preserve what Thou madest, nor sacrifice to Thee what they have made themselves; nor slay their own soaring imaginations, as fowls of the air, nor their own diving curiosities (wherewith, like the fishes of the sea, they wander over the unknown paths of the abyss), nor their own luxuriousness, as beasts of the field, that Thou, Lord, a consuming fire, mayest burn up those dead cares of theirs, and re-create themselves immortally.
Through their God-given intelligence and wisdom, these scholars study the heavens and have discovered much. They can predict solar and lunar eclipses years in advance, specifying the exact day, hour, and extent. Their calculations prove accurate, and the rules they developed are still used today. Others now use these same principles to forecast when the sun or moon will be eclipsed, and in what measure—and their predictions hold true. Those unfamiliar with astronomy stand amazed at these abilities, while those who understand it become proud and boastful. In their arrogance, they distance themselves from God, losing His light even as they accurately predict the darkening of the sun. Yet they fail to see their own spiritual darkness. They don't consider the divine source of their intellectual gifts that enable such discoveries. Though they recognize God as their creator, they don't surrender themselves to His care. They refuse to sacrifice their achievements to Him or abandon their lofty theories that soar like birds, their endless speculations that swim like fish through unknown depths, or their excessive desires that graze like field animals. If only they would let God, like a purifying fire, burn away these worthless concerns and grant them true immortality.
But they knew not the way, Thy Word, by Whom Thou madest these things which they number, and themselves who number, and the sense whereby they perceive what they number, and the understanding, out of which they number; or that of Thy wisdom there is no number. But the Only Begotten is Himself made unto us wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and was numbered among us, and paid tribute unto Caesar. They knew not this way whereby to descend to Him from themselves, and by Him ascend unto Him. They knew not this way, and deemed themselves exalted amongst the stars and shining; and behold, they fell upon the earth, and their foolish heart was darkened. They discourse many things truly concerning the creature; but Truth, Artificer of the creature, they seek not piously, and therefore find Him not; or if they find Him, knowing Him to be God, they glorify Him not as God, neither are thankful, but become vain in their imaginations, and profess themselves to be wise, attributing to themselves what is Thine; and thereby with most perverse blindness, study to impute to Thee what is their own, forging lies of Thee who art the Truth, and changing the glory of uncorruptible God into an image made like corruptible man, and to birds, and four-footed beasts, and creeping things, changing Thy truth into a lie, and worshipping and serving the creature more than the Creator.
They did not understand the path—Your Word, through whom You created everything they count, including themselves, their ability to perceive what they count, and their capacity for understanding. They failed to grasp that Your wisdom is beyond measure. Yet Christ, the Only Begotten, became our source of wisdom, righteousness, and sanctification. He lived among us and even paid taxes to Caesar. These people couldn't see how to humble themselves before Him and then rise through Him to reach You. Believing themselves to shine like stars, they instead fell to earth, their minds clouded by ignorance. While they speak truthfully about creation, they fail to seek You—the Creator—with genuine devotion. Even when they recognize You as God, they neither honor You properly nor show gratitude. Instead, they become lost in their own delusions, claiming wisdom while taking credit for what is Yours. In their twisted blindness, they try to blame You for their own failings, crafting lies about You, the Truth itself. They corrupt the glory of the eternal God into images of mortal humans, birds, animals, and reptiles. They exchange Your truth for lies, choosing to worship creation rather than the Creator.
Yet many truths concerning the creature retained I from these men, and saw the reason thereof from calculations, the succession of times, and the visible testimonies of the stars; and compared them with the saying of Manichaeus, which in his frenzy he had written most largely on these subjects; but discovered not any account of the solstices, or equinoxes, or the eclipses of the greater lights, nor whatever of this sort I had learned in the books of secular philosophy. But I was commanded to believe; and yet it corresponded not with what had been established by calculations and my own sight, but was quite contrary.
I learned many facts about nature from these scholars and understood their reasoning through mathematical calculations, the patterns of time, and direct observations of the stars. When I compared this knowledge to Manichaeus's writings—which he had produced in great volume during his delusional state—I found his work lacked any accurate explanation of solstices, equinoxes, or eclipses of the sun and moon, contradicting everything I had learned from scientific texts. Though I was told to accept his teachings on faith, they completely contradicted both mathematical proof and my own observations.
Doth then, O Lord God of truth, whoso knoweth these things, therefore please Thee? Surely unhappy is he who knoweth all these, and knoweth not Thee: but happy whoso knoweth Thee, though he know not these. And whoso knoweth both Thee and them is not the happier for them, but for Thee only, if, knowing Thee, he glorifies Thee as God, and is thankful, and becomes not vain in his imaginations. For as he is better off who knows how to possess a tree, and return thanks to Thee for the use thereof, although he know not how many cubits high it is, or how wide it spreads, than he that can measure it, and count all its boughs, and neither owns it, nor knows or loves its Creator: so a believer, whose all this world of wealth is, and who having nothing, yet possesseth all things, by cleaving unto Thee, whom all things serve, though he know not even the circles of the Great Bear, yet is it folly to doubt but he is in a better state than one who can measure the heavens, and number the stars, and poise the elements, yet neglecteth Thee who hast made all things in number, weight, and measure.
Does knowing all these things please You, Lord God of truth? Surely one who knows all these things but does not know You is unhappy. Yet happy is the person who knows You, even if they know nothing else. And someone who knows both You and these things is not made happier by this knowledge, but by You alone—if, knowing You, they glorify You as God, give thanks, and remain humble. Consider someone who knows how to care for a tree and thanks You for its benefits, though they don't know its height or spread. They are better off than someone who can measure and count every branch but neither owns the tree nor knows and loves its Creator. Similarly, a believer who owns nothing yet possesses everything through their devotion to You—whom all things serve—may not know the constellations, but they are undoubtedly better off than someone who can measure the heavens, count stars, and understand the elements, yet ignores You, who created everything with precise measure and purpose.
But yet who bade that Manichaeus write on these things also, skill in which was no element of piety? For Thou hast said to man, Behold piety and wisdom; of which he might be ignorant, though he had perfect knowledge of these things; but these things, since, knowing not, he most impudently dared to teach, he plainly could have no knowledge of piety. For it is vanity to make profession of these worldly things even when known; but confession to Thee is piety. Wherefore this wanderer to this end spake much of these things, that convicted by those who had truly learned them, it might be manifest what understanding he had in the other abstruser things. For he would not have himself meanly thought of, but went about to persuade men, "That the Holy Ghost, the Comforter and Enricher of Thy faithful ones, was with plenary authority personally within him." When then he was found out to have taught falsely of the heaven and stars, and of the motions of the sun and moon (although these things pertain not to the doctrine of religion), yet his sacrilegious presumption would become evident enough, seeing he delivered things which not only he knew not, but which were falsified, with so mad a vanity of pride, that he sought to ascribe them to himself, as to a divine person.
Yet who asked Manichaeus to write about these matters, when expertise in them had nothing to do with devotion? For God has told humanity to focus on piety and wisdom—things one might lack even with perfect scientific knowledge. By teaching these subjects so brazenly while ignorant of them, Manichaeus clearly showed he knew nothing of true piety. It's pointless to boast about worldly knowledge even when you have it; true piety lies in honest confession to God. This wanderer spoke extensively about these topics so that, when challenged by genuine experts, his grasp of deeper matters would be exposed. He didn't want to appear ordinary but tried to convince others that "The Holy Spirit, who comforts and enriches God's faithful, dwelt within him with complete authority." When he was caught teaching falsehoods about the heavens, stars, and the movements of the sun and moon (though these aren't matters of religious doctrine), his blasphemous arrogance became clear. He not only taught what he didn't understand but promoted falsehoods with such delusional pride that he claimed divine authority for himself.
For when I hear any Christian brother ignorant of these things, and mistaken on them, I can patiently behold such a man holding his opinion; nor do I see that any ignorance as to the position or character of the corporeal creation can injure him, so long as he doth not believe any thing unworthy of Thee, O Lord, the Creator of all. But it doth injure him, if he imagine it to pertain to the form of the doctrine of piety, and will yet affirm that too stiffly whereof he is ignorant. And yet is even such an infirmity, in the infancy of faith, borne by our mother Charity, till the new-born may grow up unto a perfect man, so as not to be carried about with every wind of doctrine. But in him who in such wise presumed to be the teacher, source, guide, chief of all whom he could so persuade, that whoso followed him thought that he followed, not a mere man, but Thy Holy Spirit; who would not judge that so great madness, when once convicted of having taught any thing false, were to be detested and utterly rejected? But I had not as yet clearly ascertained whether the vicissitudes of longer and shorter days and nights, and of day and night itself, with the eclipses of the greater lights, and whatever else of the kind I had read of in other books, might be explained consistently with his sayings; so that, if they by any means might, it should still remain a question to me whether it were so or no; but I might, on account of his reputed sanctity, rest my credence upon his authority.
When I encounter a fellow Christian who is uninformed or mistaken about these matters, I can tolerate their viewpoint. I recognize that misunderstandings about the physical universe won't harm someone's faith as long as they maintain proper reverence for You, Lord, the Creator of all things. The real danger comes when someone insists their misconceptions about nature are essential to religious doctrine, stubbornly defending ideas they don't fully understand. This kind of weakness is natural in new believers, and our nurturing Church community patiently supports them until they mature in faith and aren't swayed by every new teaching that comes along. However, when someone sets themselves up as a master teacher and spiritual guide, convincing followers they speak not as a mere person but as Your Holy Spirit—shouldn't such dangerous delusion be completely rejected once proven false? I hadn't yet determined whether his teachings could explain natural phenomena like the changing lengths of days and nights, or eclipses of the sun and moon that I'd read about elsewhere. Even if his ideas could somehow be reconciled with these facts, I was uncertain whether to accept them purely on the basis of his supposed holiness.
And for almost all those nine years, wherein with unsettled mind I had been their disciple, I had longed but too intensely for the coming of this Faustus. For the rest of the sect, whom by chance I had lighted upon, when unable to solve my objections about these things, still held out to me the coming of this Faustus, by conference with whom these and greater difficulties, if I had them, were to be most readily and abundantly cleared. When then he came, I found him a man of pleasing discourse, and who could speak fluently and in better terms, yet still but the self-same things which they were wont to say. But what availed the utmost neatness of the cup-bearer to my thirst for a more precious draught? Mine ears were already cloyed with the like, nor did they seem to me therefore better, because better said; nor therefore true, because eloquent; nor the soul therefore wise, because the face was comely, and the language graceful. But they who held him out to me were no good judges of things; and therefore to them he appeared understanding and wise, because in words pleasing. I felt however that another sort of people were suspicious even of truth, and refused to assent to it, if delivered in a smooth and copious discourse. But Thou, O my God, hadst already taught me by wonderful and secret ways, and therefore I believe that Thou taughtest me, because it is truth, nor is there besides Thee any teacher of truth, where or whencesoever it may shine upon us. Of Thyself therefore had I now learned, that neither ought any thing to seem to be spoken truly, because eloquently; nor therefore falsely, because the utterance of the lips is inharmonious; nor, again, therefore true, because rudely delivered; nor therefore false, because the language is rich; but that wisdom and folly are as wholesome and unwholesome food; and adorned or unadorned phrases as courtly or country vessels; either kind of meats may be served up in either kind of dishes.
For nearly nine years as their uncertain disciple, I eagerly awaited the arrival of Faustus. When I raised questions that other members of the sect couldn't answer, they would constantly defer to Faustus, promising that he would easily resolve these and even greater concerns. When Faustus finally arrived, I found him to be an engaging speaker who expressed himself eloquently. Yet he merely repeated the same ideas the others had shared. What good was an elegant server when I thirsted for more substantial drink? My ears were already tired of these teachings. They weren't more truthful simply because they were better expressed, nor was he wiser merely because he had a pleasant face and graceful speech. Those who praised him were poor judges of substance; they mistook his articulate speech for wisdom and understanding. I noticed that some people were actually skeptical of truths delivered too smoothly or abundantly. But You, my God, had already taught me through mysterious ways—and I believe it was Your teaching because it is truth, and no other teacher of truth exists besides You, regardless of how that truth reaches us. From You I learned that statements aren't true simply because they're eloquent, nor false because they're awkwardly expressed. Similarly, rough speech doesn't guarantee truth, nor does sophisticated language signal falsehood. Wisdom and folly are like healthy and unhealthy food; elegant and plain words are like fine and rustic dishes—nourishment can be served in either type of vessel.
That greediness then, wherewith I had of so long time expected that man, was delighted verily with his action and feeling when disputing, and his choice and readiness of words to clothe his ideas. I was then delighted, and, with many others and more than they, did I praise and extol him. It troubled me, however, that in the assembly of his auditors, I was not allowed to put in and communicate those questions that troubled me, in familiar converse with him. Which when I might, and with my friends began to engage his ears at such times as it was not unbecoming for him to discuss with me, and had brought forward such things as moved me; I found him first utterly ignorant of liberal sciences, save grammar, and that but in an ordinary way. But because he had read some of Tully's Orations, a very few books of Seneca, some things of the poets, and such few volumes of his own sect as were written in Latin and neatly, and was daily practised in speaking, he acquired a certain eloquence, which proved the more pleasing and seductive because under the guidance of a good wit, and with a kind of natural gracefulness. Is it not thus, as I recall it, O Lord my God, Thou judge of my conscience? before Thee is my heart, and my remembrance, Who didst at that time direct me by the hidden mystery of Thy providence, and didst set those shameful errors of mine before my face, that I might see and hate them.
For a long time, I had eagerly anticipated meeting this man, and I was genuinely impressed by his debating style, his passionate delivery, and his ability to articulate ideas with well-chosen words. I was delighted, and along with many others—even more enthusiastically than they—I praised and celebrated him. However, it frustrated me that during his public lectures, I couldn't ask him about the questions that troubled me through personal conversation. When I finally had the chance to engage with him privately, and my friends and I could discuss matters with him at appropriate times, bringing up issues that concerned me, I discovered he was completely unfamiliar with the liberal arts, except for basic grammar. He had read only a few of Cicero's speeches, some of Seneca's works, various poets, and a handful of his sect's Latin texts, which were well-written. Through daily speaking practice, he had developed an eloquence that was particularly appealing and persuasive, enhanced by his quick wit and natural charm. Isn't this how it happened, O Lord my God, You who judge my conscience? My heart and memories lie open before You, who guided me then through Your mysterious providence and forced me to face my shameful errors so that I might see and detest them.
For after it was clear that he was ignorant of those arts in which I thought he excelled, I began to despair of his opening and solving the difficulties which perplexed me (of which indeed however ignorant, he might have held the truths of piety, had he not been a Manichee). For their books are fraught with prolix fables, of the heaven, and stars, sun, and moon, and I now no longer thought him able satisfactorily to decide what I much desired, whether, on comparison of these things with the calculations I had elsewhere read, the account given in the books of Manichaeus were preferable, or at least as good. Which when I proposed to be considered and discussed, he, so far modestly, shrunk from the burthen. For he knew that he knew not these things, and was not ashamed to confess it. For he was not one of those talking persons, many of whom I had endured, who undertook to teach me these things, and said nothing. But this man had a heart, though not right towards Thee, yet neither altogether treacherous to himself. For he was not altogether ignorant of his own ignorance, nor would he rashly be entangled in a dispute, whence he could neither retreat nor extricate himself fairly. Even for this I liked him the better. For fairer is the modesty of a candid mind, than the knowledge of those things which I desired; and such I found him, in all the more difficult and subtile questions.
When I discovered his lack of expertise in areas where I thought him skilled, I began to doubt he could resolve my complex questions (though his ignorance wouldn't have affected his grasp of religious truths, had he not been a Manichee). Their texts were filled with long-winded myths about celestial bodies, and I no longer believed he could adequately compare these against the mathematical calculations I'd studied elsewhere, or determine if Manichaeus's teachings were superior or even comparable. When I brought this up for discussion, he humbly declined the challenge. He knew his limitations and wasn't ashamed to admit them. Unlike many others I'd encountered who claimed they could teach me but offered nothing of substance, this man was honest. Though his heart wasn't aligned with You, he wasn't deceiving himself. He recognized his own ignorance and refused to engage in debates he couldn't properly navigate. This made me respect him more. The humility of an honest mind is more admirable than the knowledge I sought, and this quality showed in how he handled all complex matters.
My zeal for the writings of Manichaeus being thus blunted, and despairing yet more of their other teachers, seeing that in divers things which perplexed me, he, so renowned among them, had so turned out; I began to engage with him in the study of that literature, on which he also was much set (and which as rhetoric-reader I was at that time teaching young students at Carthage), and to read with him, either what himself desired to hear, or such as I judged fit for his genius. But all my efforts whereby I had purposed to advance in that sect, upon knowledge of that man, came utterly to an end; not that I detached myself from them altogether, but as one finding nothing better, I had settled to be content meanwhile with what I had in whatever way fallen upon, unless by chance something more eligible should dawn upon me. Thus, that Faustus, to so many a snare of death, had now neither willing nor witting it, begun to loosen that wherein I was taken. For Thy hands, O my God, in the secret purpose of Thy providence, did not forsake my soul; and out of my mother's heart's blood, through her tears night and day poured out, was a sacrifice offered for me unto Thee; and Thou didst deal with me by wondrous ways. Thou didst it, O my God: for the steps of a man are ordered by the Lord, and He shall dispose his way. Or how shall we obtain salvation, but from Thy hand, re-making what it made?
My enthusiasm for Manichaeus's writings diminished, and I grew even more skeptical of their other teachers. Since Faustus, their most celebrated figure, had disappointed me on various issues that troubled me, I began studying literature with him instead—the same material I was teaching to my rhetoric students in Carthage. We read texts that either he wanted to hear or ones I thought suited his intellect. My earlier commitment to advance in that sect ended completely after getting to know him. Though I didn't completely break away, I settled for what I had found, lacking better alternatives, unless something more compelling emerged. So Faustus, who had led many to their spiritual death, unknowingly began loosening the very trap that held me. Your hands, my God, through Your mysterious providence, never abandoned my soul. Through my mother's heartfelt prayers and tears, day and night, a sacrifice was offered to You on my behalf. You guided me in remarkable ways. You did this, my God, for a man's steps are directed by the Lord, who shapes his path. How else can we find salvation except through Your hand, which remakes what it once made?
Thou didst deal with me, that I should be persuaded to go to Rome, and to teach there rather, what I was teaching at Carthage. And how I was persuaded to this, I will not neglect to confess to Thee; because herein also the deepest recesses of Thy wisdom, and Thy most present mercy to us, must be considered and confessed. I did not wish therefore to go to Rome, because higher gains and higher dignities were warranted me by my friends who persuaded me to this (though even these things had at that time an influence over my mind), but my chief and almost only reason was, that I heard that young men studied there more peacefully, and were kept quiet under a restraint of more regular discipline; so that they did not, at their pleasures, petulantly rush into the school of one whose pupils they were not, nor were even admitted without his permission. Whereas at Carthage there reigns among the scholars a most disgraceful and unruly licence. They burst in audaciously, and with gestures almost frantic, disturb all order which any one hath established for the good of his scholars. Divers outrages they commit, with a wonderful stolidity, punishable by law, did not custom uphold them; that custom evincing them to be the more miserable, in that they now do as lawful what by Thy eternal law shall never be lawful; and they think they do it unpunished, whereas they are punished with the very blindness whereby they do it, and suffer incomparably worse than what they do. The manners then which, when a student, I would not make my own, I was fain as a teacher to endure in others: and so I was well pleased to go where, all that knew it, assured me that the like was not done. But Thou, my refuge and my portion in the land of the living; that I might change my earthly dwelling for the salvation of my soul, at Carthage didst goad me, that I might thereby be torn from it; and at Rome didst proffer me allurements, whereby I might be drawn thither, by men in love with a dying life, the one doing frantic, the other promising vain, things; and, to correct my steps, didst secretly use their and my own perverseness. For both they who disturbed my quiet were blinded with a disgraceful frenzy, and they who invited me elsewhere savoured of earth. And I, who here detested real misery, was there seeking unreal happiness.
You guided me to go teach in Rome instead of Carthage. I'll explain how you convinced me, as it reveals both your deep wisdom and mercy. I initially resisted going to Rome, even though friends promised better pay and status (which admittedly tempted me). My main reason for eventually agreeing was hearing that students there studied more peacefully under stricter discipline. In Rome, students couldn't just barge into any teacher's class—they needed permission and proper enrollment. In contrast, Carthage was chaos. Students would brazenly disrupt classes, barging in with wild behavior that destroyed any sense of order. They committed various offenses that would normally be illegal, but were protected by tradition. This made their situation even more tragic—they treated as acceptable what your eternal law forbids. Though they thought themselves unpunished, their very blindness to their misconduct was their punishment, far worse than any formal consequences. As a teacher, I had to tolerate in others the very behaviors I had rejected as a student. So I was eager to go where I heard such things didn't happen. But you, my refuge and strength in this life, used different means to move me: at Carthage, you used frustration to push me away; at Rome, you used enticements to draw me there. You worked through both the frenzied troublemakers and the empty promises of materialistic people, using their flaws—and mine—to guide me. For while the disruptive students were lost in shameful madness and those inviting me to Rome were focused on worldly things, I was running from real misery only to chase an illusion of happiness.
But why I went hence, and went thither, Thou knewest, O God, yet showedst it neither to me, nor to my mother, who grievously bewailed my journey, and followed me as far as the sea. But I deceived her, holding me by force, that either she might keep me back or go with me, and I feigned that I had a friend whom I could not leave, till he had a fair wind to sail. And I lied to my mother, and such a mother, and escaped: for this also hast Thou mercifully forgiven me, preserving me, thus full of execrable defilements, from the waters of the sea, for the water of Thy Grace; whereby when I was cleansed, the streams of my mother's eyes should be dried, with which for me she daily watered the ground under her face. And yet refusing to return without me, I scarcely persuaded her to stay that night in a place hard by our ship, where was an Oratory in memory of the blessed Cyprian. That night I privily departed, but she was not behind in weeping and prayer. And what, O Lord, was she with so many tears asking of Thee, but that Thou wouldest not suffer me to sail? But Thou, in the depth of Thy counsels and hearing the main point of her desire, regardest not what she then asked, that Thou mightest make me what she ever asked. The wind blew and swelled our sails, and withdrew the shore from our sight; and she on the morrow was there, frantic with sorrow, and with complaints and groans filled Thine ears, Who didst then disregard them; whilst through my desires, Thou wert hurrying me to end all desire, and the earthly part of her affection to me was chastened by the allotted scourge of sorrows. For she loved my being with her, as mothers do, but much more than many; and she knew not how great joy Thou wert about to work for her out of my absence. She knew not; therefore did she weep and wail, and by this agony there appeared in her the inheritance of Eve, with sorrow seeking what in sorrow she had brought forth. And yet, after accusing my treachery and hardheartedness, she betook herself again to intercede to Thee for me, went to her wonted place, and I to Rome.
I knew God was aware of why I left home for Rome, though He revealed it neither to me nor my mother, who deeply mourned my departure and followed me to the sea. I deceived her, as she tried to either hold me back or join me. I lied about waiting for a friend who needed favorable winds to sail. I lied to my mother—such a loving mother—and escaped. God has mercifully forgiven this deceit, protecting me from the sea's dangers despite my sins, preserving me for the cleansing waters of His Grace, which would eventually dry my mother's daily tears that had soaked the ground beneath her. When she refused to leave without me, I barely convinced her to spend the night near our ship at the Chapel of St. Cyprian. That night, I secretly left while she remained behind, weeping and praying. Lord, what was she begging for through those tears but to prevent my departure? Yet in Your infinite wisdom, while hearing the heart of her desire, You ignored her immediate prayers to fulfill her deeper, lifelong ones for my salvation. The wind filled our sails and the shoreline disappeared. The next morning, she stood there, wild with grief, filling Your ears with complaints and moans that You deliberately disregarded. Through my desires, You were rushing me toward ending all worldly desires, while her earthly attachment to me was tempered by sorrow's discipline. She loved having me near, more than most mothers, but couldn't foresee the joy You would create from my absence. In her ignorance, she wept and wailed, showing Eve's inheritance—painfully seeking what she had painfully brought forth. After denouncing my treachery and cruelty, she returned to pray for me again, going back to her usual place while I continued to Rome.
And lo, there was I received by the scourge of bodily sickness, and I was going down to hell, carrying all the sins which I had committed, both against Thee, and myself, and others, many and grievous, over and above that bond of original sin, whereby we all die in Adam. For Thou hadst not forgiven me any of these things in Christ, nor had He abolished by His Cross the enmity which by my sins I had incurred with Thee. For how should He, by the crucifixion of a phantasm, which I believed Him to be? So true, then, was the death of my soul, as that of His flesh seemed to me false; and how true the death of His body, so false was the life of my soul, which did not believe it. And now the fever heightening, I was parting and departing for ever. For had I then parted hence, whither had I departed, but into fire and torments, such as my misdeeds deserved in the truth of Thy appointment? And this she knew not, yet in absence prayed for me. But Thou, everywhere present, heardest her where she was, and, where I was, hadst compassion upon me; that I should recover the health of my body, though frenzied as yet in my sacrilegious heart. For I did not in all that danger desire Thy baptism; and I was better as a boy, when I begged it of my mother's piety, as I have before recited and confessed. But I had grown up to my own shame, and I madly scoffed at the prescripts of Thy medicine, who wouldest not suffer me, being such, to die a double death. With which wound had my mother's heart been pierced, it could never be healed. For I cannot express the affection she bore to me, and with how much more vehement anguish she was now in labour of me in the spirit, than at her childbearing in the flesh.
I was struck down by severe illness and faced death, carrying the weight of all my sins—those against You, myself, and others. These many serious transgressions went beyond original sin, through which we all share Adam's fate. None of these sins had been forgiven through Christ, nor had His Cross removed the conflict I had created with You. How could it, when I wrongly believed Christ to be merely an illusion? The death of my soul was as real as I falsely believed His physical death to be untrue. Just as His body's death was real, my soul's life was false in its disbelief. As my fever worsened, I was close to departing forever. Had I died then, I would have gone to the fire and torments that my misdeeds truly deserved according to Your judgment. My mother didn't know this, yet she prayed for me in her absence. You, being present everywhere, heard her prayers and showed me mercy where I was, allowing my body to heal even while my heart remained blasphemous. Throughout this danger, I didn't seek Your baptism, though I had been better as a child when I had begged my mother for it, as I've previously mentioned. Instead, I had grown into my shame, foolishly mocking Your healing guidance—though You wouldn't let someone like me die both physically and spiritually. Had my mother's heart been pierced by such a wound, it would have been beyond healing. I cannot fully express her love for me, or how much more intensely she labored for my spiritual birth than she had during my physical one.
I see not then how she should have been healed, had such a death of mine stricken through the bowels of her love. And where would have been those her so strong and unceasing prayers, unintermitting to Thee alone? But wouldest Thou, God of mercies, despise the contrite and humbled heart of that chaste and sober widow, so frequent in almsdeeds, so full of duty and service to Thy saints, no day intermitting the oblation at Thine altar, twice a day, morning and evening, without any intermission, coming to Thy church, not for idle tattlings and old wives' fables; but that she might hear Thee in Thy discourses, and Thou her in her prayers. Couldest Thou despise and reject from Thy aid the tears of such an one, wherewith she begged of Thee not gold or silver, nor any mutable or passing good, but the salvation of her son's soul? Thou, by whose gift she was such? Never, Lord. Yea, Thou wert at hand, and wert hearing and doing, in that order wherein Thou hadst determined before that it should be done. Far be it that Thou shouldest deceive her in Thy visions and answers, some whereof I have, some I have not mentioned, which she laid up in her faithful heart, and ever praying, urged upon Thee, as Thine own handwriting. For Thou, because Thy mercy endureth for ever, vouchsafest to those to whom Thou forgivest all of their debts, to become also a debtor by Thy promises.
I don't see how she could have recovered if my death had pierced her loving heart so deeply. And what would have become of her constant, unceasing prayers to You alone? But would You, God of mercy, ignore the humble and contrite heart of this chaste and modest widow? She was generous with charity, devoted to serving Your faithful followers, and never missed making offerings at Your altar twice daily, morning and evening. She came to Your church not for gossip or idle tales, but to hear Your teachings and to have You hear her prayers. Could You really dismiss the tears of someone who asked not for wealth or fleeting pleasures, but for her son's salvation? You, who made her the person she was? Never, Lord. You were there, listening and acting according to Your predetermined plan. It's unthinkable that You would deceive her through the visions and answers You gave—some of which I've mentioned, others I haven't—that she treasured in her faithful heart and used as evidence of Your promises in her prayers. For You, in Your endless mercy, not only forgive debts but choose to become a debtor Yourself through Your promises to those You forgive.
Thou recoveredst me then of that sickness, and healedst the son of Thy handmaid, for the time in body, that he might live, for Thee to bestow upon him a better and more abiding health. And even then, at Rome, I joined myself to those deceiving and deceived "holy ones"; not with their disciples only (of which number was he, in whose house I had fallen sick and recovered); but also with those whom they call "The Elect." For I still thought "that it was not we that sin, but that I know not what other nature sinned in us"; and it delighted my pride, to be free from blame; and when I had done any evil, not to confess I had done any, that Thou mightest heal my soul because it had sinned against Thee: but I loved to excuse it, and to accuse I know not what other thing, which was with me, but which I was not. But in truth it was wholly I, and mine impiety had divided me against myself: and that sin was the more incurable, whereby I did not judge myself a sinner; and execrable iniquity it was, that I had rather have Thee, Thee, O God Almighty, to be overcome in me to my destruction, than myself of Thee to salvation. Not as yet then hadst Thou set a watch before my mouth, and a door of safe keeping around my lips, that my heart might not turn aside to wicked speeches, to make excuses of sins, with men that work iniquity; and, therefore, was I still united with their Elect.
You healed me from that sickness and cured your servant's son's body temporarily, intending to grant him a more lasting spiritual health later. In Rome, I joined those deceptive "holy ones"—not just their regular followers (including the man in whose house I had fallen ill and recovered), but also their elite members known as "The Elect." I still believed that sin came from some mysterious external force rather than from within us. This fed my pride, as I could avoid taking blame. When I did wrong, instead of confessing my sins against You and seeking healing, I made excuses and blamed some unnamed force that existed alongside me but wasn't truly me. In reality, I was completely responsible, and my ungodliness had created an internal divide. My sin was made worse because I refused to see myself as a sinner. My terrible wickedness made me prefer that You, Almighty God, be defeated within me—leading to my destruction—rather than allow myself to be overcome by You and find salvation. You had not yet taught me to guard my speech and protect my lips, to prevent my heart from turning to evil words and making excuses for sins alongside other wrongdoers. So I remained united with their Elect.
But now despairing to make proficiency in that false doctrine, even those things (with which if I should find no better, I had resolved to rest contented) I now held more laxly and carelessly. For there half arose a thought in me that those philosophers, whom they call Academics, were wiser than the rest, for that they held men ought to doubt everything, and laid down that no truth can be comprehended by man: for so, not then understanding even their meaning, I also was clearly convinced that they thought, as they are commonly reported. Yet did I freely and openly discourage that host of mine from that over-confidence which I perceived him to have in those fables, which the books of Manichaeus are full of. Yet I lived in more familiar friendship with them, than with others who were not of this heresy. Nor did I maintain it with my ancient eagerness; still my intimacy with that sect (Rome secretly harbouring many of them) made me slower to seek any other way: especially since I despaired of finding the truth, from which they had turned me aside, in Thy Church, O Lord of heaven and earth, Creator of all things visible and invisible: and it seemed to me very unseemly to believe Thee to have the shape of human flesh, and to be bounded by the bodily lineaments of our members. And because, when I wished to think on my God, I knew not what to think of, but a mass of bodies (for what was not such did not seem to me to be anything), this was the greatest, and almost only cause of my inevitable error.
I began doubting the teachings of the Manicheans, and even the basic beliefs I had previously accepted became less certain. I started thinking the Academic philosophers might have been wiser than others since they advocated universal doubt and believed humans couldn't grasp absolute truth. Though I didn't fully understand their position then, I accepted the common interpretation of their views. I openly discouraged my friend from putting too much faith in the Manichean myths, yet I remained closer to followers of that sect than to others. My enthusiasm for their teachings had diminished, but living in Rome, where many Manicheans resided secretly, made me hesitant to explore alternatives. I had lost hope of finding truth in Your Church, Lord of heaven and earth, Creator of all things visible and invisible. It seemed absurd to believe You could take human form, limited by physical body parts. When I tried to contemplate God, I could only imagine physical matter, since anything non-physical seemed impossible to me. This was the main reason for my persistent error.
For hence I believed Evil also to be some such kind of substance, and to have its own foul and hideous bulk; whether gross, which they called earth, or thin and subtile (like the body of the air), which they imagine to be some malignant mind, creeping through that earth. And because a piety, such as it was, constrained me to believe that the good God never created any evil nature, I conceived two masses, contrary to one another, both unbounded, but the evil narrower, the good more expansive. And from this pestilent beginning, the other sacrilegious conceits followed on me. For when my mind endeavoured to recur to the Catholic faith, I was driven back, since that was not the Catholic faith which I thought to be so. And I seemed to myself more reverential, if I believed of Thee, my God (to whom Thy mercies confess out of my mouth), as unbounded, at least on other sides, although on that one where the mass of evil was opposed to Thee, I was constrained to confess Thee bounded; than if on all sides I should imagine Thee to be bounded by the form of a human body. And it seemed to me better to believe Thee to have created no evil (which to me ignorant seemed not some only, but a bodily substance, because I could not conceive of mind unless as a subtile body, and that diffused in definite spaces), than to believe the nature of evil, such as I conceived it, could come from Thee. Yea, and our Saviour Himself, Thy Only Begotten, I believed to have been reached forth (as it were) for our salvation, out of the mass of Thy most lucid substance, so as to believe nothing of Him, but what I could imagine in my vanity. His Nature then, being such, I thought could not be born of the Virgin Mary, without being mingled with the flesh: and how that which I had so figured to myself could be mingled, and not defiled, I saw not. I feared therefore to believe Him born in the flesh, lest I should be forced to believe Him defiled by the flesh. Now will Thy spiritual ones mildly and lovingly smile upon me, if they shall read these my confessions. Yet such was I.
I believed Evil was a physical substance with its own foul and massive form—either solid, like earth, or thin and subtle, like air, which some imagined as a malicious force moving through the earth. My religious beliefs forced me to accept that a good God couldn't create evil, so I imagined two opposing, infinite forces: evil being more confined, and good being more expansive. This flawed foundation led to other blasphemous thoughts. When I tried to return to Catholic faith, I was blocked because my understanding of it was wrong. I thought I was being more respectful by believing in You, my God (to whom I now give thanks), as unlimited on all sides except where evil opposed You. This seemed better than imagining You limited by a human form. I believed it was better to think You created no evil (which I, in my ignorance, saw as a physical substance, since I could only imagine spirit as a subtle body occupying space) than to believe evil, as I understood it, could come from You. I even believed our Savior, Your Only Son, extended from Your purest substance for our salvation—though this was just my own baseless imagining. Given this belief, I couldn't accept His birth from the Virgin Mary without assuming He mixed with human flesh. Unable to understand how this mixing could occur without contamination, I feared accepting His physical birth would mean accepting His corruption by flesh. Your spiritual followers will now smile kindly and lovingly when they read these confessions. But this is truly who I was.
Furthermore, what the Manichees had criticised in Thy Scriptures, I thought could not be defended; yet at times verily I had a wish to confer upon these several points with some one very well skilled in those books, and to make trial what he thought thereon; for the words of one Helpidius, as he spoke and disputed face to face against the said Manichees, had begun to stir me even at Carthage: in that he had produced things out of the Scriptures, not easily withstood, the Manichees' answer whereto seemed to me weak. And this answer they liked not to give publicly, but only to us in private. It was, that the Scriptures of the New Testament had been corrupted by I know not whom, who wished to engraff the law of the Jews upon the Christian faith: yet themselves produced not any uncorrupted copies. But I, conceiving of things corporeal only, was mainly held down, vehemently oppressed and in a manner suffocated by those "masses"; panting under which after the breath of Thy truth, I could not breathe it pure and untainted.
I had doubts about the Manicheans' criticisms of Scripture and wanted to discuss these issues with a biblical scholar to hear their perspective. In Carthage, I had heard Helpidius debate against the Manicheans, presenting scriptural arguments they struggled to counter. Their response, shared only in private, was that unknown persons had corrupted the New Testament by inserting Jewish law into Christian teachings. Yet they never produced any "uncorrupted" versions to support this claim. At the time, I could only think in material terms, and these heavy concepts weighed me down, almost suffocating me. As I searched for truth, I couldn't seem to find it in its pure form.
I began then diligently to practise that for which I came to Rome, to teach rhetoric; and first, to gather some to my house, to whom, and through whom, I had begun to be known; when lo, I found other offences committed in Rome, to which I was not exposed in Africa. True, those "subvertings" by profligate young men were not here practised, as was told me: but on a sudden, said they, to avoid paying their master's stipend, a number of youths plot together, and remove to another;—breakers of faith, who for love of money hold justice cheap. These also my heart hated, though not with a perfect hatred: for perchance I hated them more because I was to suffer by them, than because they did things utterly unlawful. Of a truth such are base persons, and they go a whoring from Thee, loving these fleeting mockeries of things temporal, and filthy lucre, which fouls the hand that grasps it; hugging the fleeting world, and despising Thee, Who abidest, and recallest, and forgivest the adulteress soul of man, when she returns to Thee. And now I hate such depraved and crooked persons, though I love them if corrigible, so as to prefer to money the learning which they acquire, and to learning, Thee, O God, the truth and fulness of assured good, and most pure peace. But then I rather for my own sake misliked them evil, than liked and wished them good for Thine.
I arrived in Rome to teach rhetoric and started building a following of students at my house. But I soon discovered problems here that I hadn't faced in Africa. While the destructive behavior of wayward youth wasn't as bad as I'd heard, a new issue emerged: students would conspire to switch teachers just to avoid paying their fees. These oath-breakers valued money above integrity. I despised this behavior, though perhaps not for the right reasons. My anger stemmed more from personal loss than from moral outrage at their unethical conduct. These people are truly base, turning away from God to chase fleeting worldly pleasures and dirty money that stains those who grasp it. They embrace this temporary world while rejecting You, who remains constant, welcomes back, and forgives mankind's unfaithful soul upon its return. Today, I still detest such corrupt individuals, though I care for them if they can change. I hope they'll value education above money, and You, God—the source of truth, complete goodness, and perfect peace—above education. But back then, I was more concerned with how their actions affected me than with wanting them to find goodness through You.
When therefore they of Milan had sent to Rome to the prefect of the city, to furnish them with a rhetoric reader for their city, and sent him at the public expense, I made application (through those very persons, intoxicated with Manichaean vanities, to be freed wherefrom I was to go, neither of us however knowing it) that Symmachus, then prefect of the city, would try me by setting me some subject, and so send me. To Milan I came, to Ambrose the Bishop, known to the whole world as among the best of men, Thy devout servant; whose eloquent discourse did then plentifully dispense unto Thy people the flour of Thy wheat, the gladness of Thy oil, and the sober inebriation of Thy wine. To him was I unknowing led by Thee, that by him I might knowingly be led to Thee. That man of God received me as a father, and showed me an Episcopal kindness on my coming. Thenceforth I began to love him, at first indeed not as a teacher of the truth (which I utterly despaired of in Thy Church), but as a person kind towards myself. And I listened diligently to him preaching to the people, not with that intent I ought, but, as it were, trying his eloquence, whether it answered the fame thereof, or flowed fuller or lower than was reported; and I hung on his words attentively; but of the matter I was as a careless and scornful looker-on; and I was delighted with the sweetness of his discourse, more recondite, yet in manner less winning and harmonious, than that of Faustus. Of the matter, however, there was no comparison; for the one was wandering amid Manichaean delusions, the other teaching salvation most soundly. But salvation is far from sinners, such as I then stood before him; and yet was I drawing nearer by little and little, and unconsciously.
When I was in Milan, I applied to become a rhetoric teacher through the city prefect in Rome. The position was publicly funded. I submitted my application through people who, like me, were caught up in Manichean beliefs—though neither they nor I knew I would soon be free of those beliefs. Symmachus, the city prefect, evaluated me by having me present on a topic before sending me to Milan. In Milan, I met Bishop Ambrose, renowned worldwide as an exceptional man and your devoted servant. His eloquent sermons nourished your people with spiritual sustenance—the wheat of your word, the joy of your oil, and the divine intoxication of your wine. You led me to him without my knowledge, so that through him I might consciously find my way to you. This man of God welcomed me like a father, showing me Episcopal kindness upon my arrival. I began to admire him, though initially not as a teacher of truth (which I had given up finding in your Church), but as someone who showed me personal kindness. I listened carefully to his sermons to the public, not with proper intent, but rather to evaluate his eloquence—to see if it matched his reputation, whether it exceeded or fell short of what I'd heard. While I paid close attention to his words, I remained detached and skeptical about their substance. I enjoyed his speaking style, which was more profound but less polished and harmonious than Faustus's. However, the content was incomparable—while Faustus wandered through Manichean falsehoods, Ambrose taught sound principles of salvation. Though salvation was far from sinners like myself at that time, I was unconsciously drawing closer, step by step.
For though I took no pains to learn what he spake, but only to hear how he spake (for that empty care alone was left me, despairing of a way, open for man, to Thee), yet together with the words which I would choose, came also into my mind the things which I would refuse; for I could not separate them. And while I opened my heart to admit "how eloquently he spake," there also entered "how truly he spake"; but this by degrees. For first, these things also had now begun to appear to me capable of defence; and the Catholic faith, for which I had thought nothing could be said against the Manichees' objections, I now thought might be maintained without shamelessness; especially after I had heard one or two places of the Old Testament resolved, and ofttimes "in a figure," which when I understood literally, I was slain spiritually. Very many places then of those books having been explained, I now blamed my despair, in believing that no answer could be given to such as hated and scoffed at the Law and the Prophets. Yet did I not therefore then see that the Catholic way was to be held, because it also could find learned maintainers, who could at large and with some show of reason answer objections; nor that what I held was therefore to be condemned, because both sides could be maintained. For the Catholic cause seemed to me in such sort not vanquished, as still not as yet to be victorious.
Though I made no effort to learn what he said, only caring about his manner of speaking (this shallow concern was all I had left, having lost hope of finding a path to You), I couldn't help but absorb both his words and their meaning together. While I opened my mind to appreciate his eloquence, the truth of his message gradually sank in as well. I began to see how these ideas could be defended, and the Catholic faith—which I had thought indefensible against Manichean arguments—now seemed reasonable to uphold. This especially became clear after hearing several Old Testament passages explained figuratively, whereas taking them literally had left me spiritually dead. After many biblical passages were explained to me, I regretted my earlier despair in thinking there were no answers for those who mocked the Law and Prophets. Still, I wasn't ready to fully embrace Catholicism just because it had educated defenders who could reasonably counter objections, nor did I feel my current beliefs should be abandoned simply because both positions could be defended. The Catholic position, while no longer defeated in my mind, hadn't yet emerged victorious.
Hereupon I earnestly bent my mind, to see if in any way I could by any certain proof convict the Manichees of falsehood. Could I once have conceived a spiritual substance, all their strongholds had been beaten down, and cast utterly out of my mind; but I could not. Notwithstanding, concerning the frame of this world, and the whole of nature, which the senses of the flesh can reach to, as I more and more considered and compared things, I judged the tenets of most of the philosophers to have been much more probable. So then after the manner of the Academics (as they are supposed) doubting of every thing, and wavering between all, I settled so far, that the Manichees were to be abandoned; judging that, even while doubting, I might not continue in that sect, to which I already preferred some of the philosophers; to which philosophers notwithstanding, for that they were without the saving Name of Christ, I utterly refused to commit the cure of my sick soul. I determined therefore so long to be a Catechumen in the Catholic Church, to which I had been commended by my parents, till something certain should dawn upon me, whither I might steer my course.
I focused intently on finding definitive proof to discredit the Manicheans. If I could have grasped the concept of spiritual substance, their arguments would have crumbled instantly from my mind—but I couldn't. Still, as I studied and compared different perspectives on the natural world and everything our physical senses can perceive, I found most philosophers' views far more convincing. Following the Academic tradition of questioning everything, I finally concluded I had to leave the Manicheans. Even in my uncertainty, I couldn't stay with a group I now considered inferior to various philosophers. Yet I couldn't fully commit to these philosophers either, since they lacked Christ's saving grace, and I wouldn't trust my troubled soul to their care. So I decided to remain a Catechumen in the Catholic Church, where my parents had directed me, until I could find clear guidance for my path forward.