O my God, let me, with thanksgiving, remember, and confess unto Thee Thy mercies on me. Let my bones be bedewed with Thy love, and let them say unto Thee, Who is like unto Thee, O Lord? Thou hast broken my bonds in sunder, I will offer unto Thee the sacrifice of thanksgiving. And how Thou hast broken them, I will declare; and all who worship Thee, when they hear this, shall say, "Blessed be the Lord, in heaven and in earth, great and wonderful is his name." Thy words had stuck fast in my heart, and I was hedged round about on all sides by Thee. Of Thy eternal life I was now certain, though I saw it in a figure and as through a glass. Yet I had ceased to doubt that there was an incorruptible substance, whence was all other substance; nor did I now desire to be more certain of Thee, but more steadfast in Thee. But for my temporal life, all was wavering, and my heart had to be purged from the old leaven. The Way, the Saviour Himself, well pleased me, but as yet I shrunk from going through its straitness. And Thou didst put into my mind, and it seemed good in my eyes, to go to Simplicianus, who seemed to me a good servant of Thine; and Thy grace shone in him. I had heard also that from his very youth he had lived most devoted unto Thee. Now he was grown into years; and by reason of so great age spent in such zealous following of Thy ways, he seemed to me likely to have learned much experience; and so he had. Out of which store I wished that he would tell me (setting before him my anxieties) which were the fittest way for one in my case to walk in Thy paths.
My God, let me gratefully remember and acknowledge Your mercies upon me. Let my very being overflow with Your love, crying out "Who is like You, Lord?" You have freed me from my chains, and I will offer You my thanks. I will tell others how You broke these chains, and all who worship You, hearing this, will say "Blessed be the Lord, in heaven and on earth, great and wonderful is His name." Your words were firmly planted in my heart, and I felt Your presence surrounding me completely. I was now certain of Your eternal life, though I saw it only dimly, as if through clouded glass. I no longer doubted that there was an unchanging foundation from which all else came. I didn't need more proof of Your existence, but rather sought to be more firmly rooted in You. Yet my earthly life remained uncertain, and my heart still needed cleansing from old habits. The Way and the Savior deeply appealed to me, but I hesitated to walk its narrow path. You then inspired me to seek out Simplicianus, who seemed to me Your faithful servant, clearly blessed by Your grace. I had heard that he had devoted himself to You since his youth. Now elderly, his many years of zealously following Your ways suggested he had gained much wisdom. I wanted him to hear my concerns and advise me on the best path to follow You.
For, I saw the church full; and one went this way, and another that way. But I was displeased that I led a secular life; yea now that my desires no longer inflamed me, as of old, with hopes of honour and profit, a very grievous burden it was to undergo so heavy a bondage. For, in comparison of Thy sweetness, and the beauty of Thy house which I loved, those things delighted me no longer. But still I was enthralled with the love of woman; nor did the Apostle forbid me to marry, although he advised me to something better, chiefly wishing that all men were as himself was. But I being weak, chose the more indulgent place; and because of this alone, was tossed up and down in all beside, faint and wasted with withering cares, because in other matters I was constrained against my will to conform myself to a married life, to which I was given up and enthralled. I had heard from the mouth of the Truth, that there were some eunuchs which had made themselves eunuchs for the kingdom of heaven's sake: but, saith He, let him who can receive it, receive it. Surely vain are all men who are ignorant of God, and could not out of the good things which are seen, find out Him who is good. But I was no longer in that vanity; I had surmounted it; and by the common witness of all Thy creatures had found Thee our Creator, and Thy Word, God with Thee, and together with Thee one God, by whom Thou createdst all things. There is yet another kind of ungodly, who knowing God, glorified Him not as God, neither were thankful. Into this also had I fallen, but Thy right hand upheld me, and took me thence, and Thou placedst me where I might recover. For Thou hast said unto man, Behold, the fear of the Lord is wisdom, and, Desire not to seem wise; because they who affirmed themselves to be wise, became fools. But I had now found the goodly pearl, which, selling all that I had, I ought to have bought, and I hesitated.
I saw the church was full, with people going in every direction. I felt troubled by my worldly lifestyle; even though I no longer burned with ambition for honor and profit, the weight of my obligations felt unbearable. Compared to Your sweetness and the beauty of Your house which I loved, those worldly things no longer pleased me. Yet I remained captivated by romantic love. The Apostle didn't forbid marriage, though he recommended a better path, mainly wishing everyone could be like himself. Being weak, I chose the easier route. Because of this choice alone, I was turbulent in everything else, exhausted and worn down with worry, forced to adapt to married life, to which I felt bound and trapped. I had heard Truth itself say that some had made themselves eunuchs for heaven's sake, but He said, "let those who can accept this, accept it." Indeed, those who don't know God are lost, unable to find the Creator in the goodness of His creation. But I had moved beyond that ignorance. Through the testament of all Your creation, I had found You, our Creator, and Your Word, God with You, together one God, through whom You created everything. There are also those who know God but don't honor or thank Him as God. I had fallen into this trap too, but Your right hand supported me and lifted me out, placing me where I could heal. For You told humanity, "Fear of the Lord is wisdom," and "Don't seek to appear wise," because those who claimed to be wise became fools. I had finally found the precious pearl which I should have bought by selling everything I owned, yet I hesitated.
To Simplicianus then I went, the father of Ambrose (a Bishop now) in receiving Thy grace, and whom Ambrose truly loved as a father. To him I related the mazes of my wanderings. But when I mentioned that I had read certain books of the Platonists, which Victorinus, sometime Rhetoric Professor of Rome (who had died a Christian, as I had heard), had translated into Latin, he testified his joy that I had not fallen upon the writings of other philosophers, full of fallacies and deceits, after the rudiments of this world, whereas the Platonists many ways led to the belief in God and His Word. Then to exhort me to the humility of Christ, hidden from the wise, and revealed to little ones, he spoke of Victorinus himself, whom while at Rome he had most intimately known: and of him he related what I will not conceal. For it contains great praise of Thy grace, to be confessed unto Thee, how that aged man, most learned and skilled in the liberal sciences, and who had read, and weighed so many works of the philosophers; the instructor of so many noble Senators, who also, as a monument of his excellent discharge of his office, had (which men of this world esteem a high honour) both deserved and obtained a statue in the Roman Forum; he, to that age a worshipper of idols, and a partaker of the sacrilegious rites, to which almost all the nobility of Rome were given up, and had inspired the people with the love of
So I went to Simplicianus. He had been a father to Ambrose (now a bishop) when Ambrose received your grace, and Ambrose truly loved him as a father. I told him the maze of my wanderings. I mentioned that I had read certain books of the Platonists, which Victorinus had translated into Latin. Victorinus had once been Professor of Rhetoric at Rome, and I had heard that he died a Christian. Simplicianus told me how glad he was that I had not come upon the writings of other philosophers. Those were full of fallacies and deceits, following the elementary principles of this world. But the Platonists in many ways lead to belief in God and his Word. Then, to urge me toward the humility of Christ, hidden from the wise and revealed to little ones, he spoke of Victorinus himself, whom he had known very closely while at Rome. What he told me about him I will not hide. For it contains great praise of your grace, and it should be confessed to you. It tells how that aged man was most learned and skilled in the liberal arts. He had read and weighed so many works of the philosophers. He had taught so many noble senators. As a monument to how well he did his work, he had both earned and received a statue in the Roman Forum (which men of this world think a high honor). Until that age he had worshipped idols and shared in the sacrilegious rites. Almost all the nobility of Rome were given over to these rites, and had inspired the people with the love of
Anubis, barking Deity, and all The monster Gods of every kind, who fought 'Gainst Neptune, Venus, and Minerva:
Anubis, the barking god, and all The monstrous deities who went to war Against Neptune, Venus, and Minerva
whom Rome once conquered, now adored, all which the aged Victorinus had with thundering eloquence so many years defended;—he now blushed not to be the child of Thy Christ, and the new-born babe of Thy fountain; submitting his neck to the yoke of humility, and subduing his forehead to the reproach of the Cross.
gods that Rome had once conquered and now adored. The aged Victorinus had defended all of these for so many years with thundering eloquence. Yet now he was not ashamed to be the child of your Christ, and a newborn infant of your font. He bowed his neck to the yoke of humility, and lowered his forehead to the shame of the Cross.
O Lord, Lord, Which hast bowed the heavens and come down, touched the mountains and they did smoke, by what means didst Thou convey Thyself into that breast? He used to read (as Simplicianus said) the holy Scripture, most studiously sought and searched into all the Christian writings, and said to Simplicianus (not openly, but privately and as a friend), "Understand that I am already a Christian." Whereto he answered, "I will not believe it, nor will I rank you among Christians, unless I see you in the Church of Christ." The other, in banter, replied, "Do walls then make Christians?" And this he often said, that he was already a Christian; and Simplicianus as often made the same answer, and the conceit of the "walls" was by the other as often renewed. For he feared to offend his friends, proud daemon-worshippers, from the height of whose Babylonian dignity, as from cedars of Libanus, which the Lord had not yet broken down, he supposed the weight of enmity would fall upon him. But after that by reading and earnest thought he had gathered firmness, and feared to be denied by Christ before the holy angels, should he now be afraid to confess Him before men, and appeared to himself guilty of a heavy offence, in being ashamed of the Sacraments of the humility of Thy Word, and not being ashamed of the sacrilegious rites of those proud daemons, whose pride he had imitated and their rites adopted, he became bold-faced against vanity, and shame-faced towards the truth, and suddenly and unexpectedly said to Simplicianus (as himself told me), "Go we to the Church; I wish to be made a Christian." But he, not containing himself for joy, went with him. And having been admitted to the first Sacrament and become a Catechumen, not long after he further gave in his name, that he might be regenerated by baptism, Rome wondering, the Church rejoicing. The proud saw, and were wroth; they gnashed with their teeth, and melted away. But the Lord God was the hope of Thy servant, and he regarded not vanities and lying madness.
O Lord, Lord, who bowed the heavens and came down, who touched the mountains and they smoked, by what means did you make your way into that heart? Simplicianus said that he used to read the holy Scripture, and searched out and studied all the Christian writings with great care. He said to Simplicianus, not openly but privately and as a friend, "Understand that I am already a Christian." Simplicianus answered, "I will not believe it, nor will I count you among Christians, unless I see you in the Church of Christ." Victorinus replied, joking, "Do walls make Christians, then?" He often said this, that he was already a Christian. Simplicianus as often gave the same answer, and Victorinus as often repeated his joke about the "walls." For he was afraid of offending his friends, proud worshippers of demons. He thought their hostility would fall heavily on him from the height of their Babylonian dignity, as from the cedars of Lebanon, which the Lord had not yet broken down. But through reading and earnest thought he gained firmness. He was afraid that Christ would deny him before the holy angels if he were now afraid to confess Christ before men. He saw himself as guilty of a great offense: he was ashamed of the sacraments of the humility of your Word, yet not ashamed of the sacrilegious rites of those proud demons, whose pride he had imitated and whose rites he had adopted. So he became bold-faced toward vanity and shamefaced toward the truth. Suddenly and unexpectedly, he said to Simplicianus (as Simplicianus himself told me), "Let us go to the Church. I want to be made a Christian." Simplicianus, unable to contain his joy, went with him. Victorinus was admitted to the first Sacrament and became a catechumen. Not long after, he also gave in his name to be reborn by baptism, while Rome wondered and the Church rejoiced. The proud saw it and were angry. They gnashed their teeth and melted away. But the Lord God was the hope of your servant, and he paid no attention to vanities and lying madness.
To conclude, when the hour was come for making profession of his faith (which at Rome they, who are about to approach to Thy grace, deliver, from an elevated place, in the sight of all the faithful, in a set form of words committed to memory), the presbyters, he said, offered Victorinus (as was done to such as seemed likely through bashfulness to be alarmed) to make his profession more privately: but he chose rather to profess his salvation in the presence of the holy multitude. "For it was not salvation that he taught in rhetoric, and yet that he had publicly professed: how much less then ought he, when pronouncing Thy word, to dread Thy meek flock, who, when delivering his own words, had not feared a mad multitude!" When, then, he went up to make his profession, all, as they knew him, whispered his name one to another with the voice of congratulation. And who there knew him not? and there ran a low murmur through all the mouths of the rejoicing multitude, Victorinus! Victorinus! Sudden was the burst of rapture, that they saw him; suddenly were they hushed that they might hear him. He pronounced the true faith with an excellent boldness, and all wished to draw him into their very heart; yea by their love and joy they drew him thither, such were the hands wherewith they drew him.
Finally, when it came time for his profession of faith (which in Rome required those seeking grace to recite memorized words from an elevated platform before all the faithful), the priests offered Victorinus the option to make his profession privately, as they often did for those who might be shy. However, he chose to declare his faith before the entire congregation. "I didn't hide when teaching rhetoric, which merely brought worldly success," he reasoned. "Why should I fear declaring God's word before His gentle flock, when I never feared speaking before hostile crowds?" When he stepped up to make his profession, people whispered his name in excitement—everyone knew who he was. A murmur of joy spread through the crowd: "Victorinus! Victorinus!" The crowd burst into celebration at seeing him, then quickly fell silent to hear his words. He declared the true faith with remarkable confidence, and everyone wanted to embrace him. Their love and joy drew him into their hearts, embracing him with open arms.
Good God! what takes place in man, that he should more rejoice at the salvation of a soul despaired of, and freed from greater peril, than if there had always been hope of him, or the danger had been less? For so Thou also, merciful Father, dost more rejoice over one penitent than over ninety-nine just persons that need no repentance. And with much joyfulness do we hear, so often as we hear with what joy the sheep which had strayed is brought back upon the shepherd's shoulder, and the groat is restored to Thy treasury, the neighbours rejoicing with the woman who found it; and the joy of the solemn service of Thy house forceth to tears, when in Thy house it is read of Thy younger son, that he was dead, and liveth again; had been lost, and is found. For Thou rejoicest in us, and in Thy holy angels, holy through holy charity. For Thou art ever the same; for all things which abide not the same nor for ever, Thou for ever knowest in the same way.
Good Lord! Why do we feel greater joy when a soul is saved from the depths of despair than if they had never been in danger, or if the danger had been minor? Just as You, merciful Father, find more joy in one repentant sinner than in ninety-nine righteous people who need no repentance. We are filled with happiness whenever we hear the story of the lost sheep carried home on the shepherd's shoulders, or of the lost coin returned to Your treasury while neighbors celebrate with the woman who found it. And in Your house, when we read of Your younger son—who was dead but lives again, was lost but is found—the joy of Your sacred service moves us to tears. You rejoice in us and in Your holy angels, who are made holy through sacred love. For You remain unchanged; while all things shift and change through time, You know them all, eternally, in the same way.
What then takes place in the soul, when it is more delighted at finding or recovering the things it loves, than if it had ever had them? yea, and other things witness hereunto; and all things are full of witnesses, crying out, "So is it." The conquering commander triumpheth; yet had he not conquered unless he had fought; and the more peril there was in the battle, so much the more joy is there in the triumph. The storm tosses the sailors, threatens shipwreck; all wax pale at approaching death; sky and sea are calmed, and they are exceeding joyed, as having been exceeding afraid. A friend is sick, and his pulse threatens danger; all who long for his recovery are sick in mind with him. He is restored, though as yet he walks not with his former strength; yet there is such joy, as was not, when before he walked sound and strong. Yea, the very pleasures of human life men acquire by difficulties, not those only which fall upon us unlooked for, and against our wills, but even by self-chosen, and pleasure-seeking trouble. Eating and drinking have no pleasure, unless there precede the pinching of hunger and thirst. Men, given to drink, eat certain salt meats, to procure a troublesome heat, which the drink allaying, causes pleasure. It is also ordered that the affianced bride should not at once be given, lest as a husband he should hold cheap whom, as betrothed, he sighed not after.
What, then, happens in the soul when it takes more delight in finding or recovering the things it loves than if it had always had them? Other things bear witness to this too. All things are full of witnesses crying out, "So it is." The victorious general celebrates his triumph. Yet he would not have won unless he had fought, and the greater the danger in the battle, the greater the joy in the triumph. A storm tosses the sailors and threatens shipwreck. All turn pale as death approaches. Then sky and sea grow calm, and they rejoice greatly, because they had been greatly afraid. A friend is sick, and his pulse warns of danger. All who long for him to recover are sick at heart with him. He recovers, though he does not yet walk with his former strength. Yet there is a joy now that there was not before, when he walked healthy and strong. Indeed, men gain the very pleasures of human life through hardship. This is true not only of hardships that fall on us unexpectedly and against our will, but even of trouble we choose ourselves in search of pleasure. Eating and drinking give no pleasure unless the pinch of hunger and thirst comes first. Men given to drink eat certain salty foods to create an uncomfortable heat, and the drink gives pleasure by relieving it. It is also the custom that a promised bride is not handed over at once. Otherwise, as a husband, he might hold her cheap, since as her betrothed he had not had to long for her.
This law holds in foul and accursed joy; this in permitted and lawful joy; this in the very purest perfection of friendship; this, in him who was dead, and lived again; had been lost and was found. Every where the greater joy is ushered in by the greater pain. What means this, O Lord my God, whereas Thou art everlastingly joy to Thyself, and some things around Thee evermore rejoice in Thee? What means this, that this portion of things thus ebbs and flows alternately displeased and reconciled? Is this their allotted measure? Is this all Thou hast assigned to them, whereas from the highest heavens to the lowest earth, from the beginning of the world to the end of ages, from the angel to the worm, from the first motion to the last, Thou settest each in its place, and realisest each in their season, every thing good after its kind? Woe is me! how high art Thou in the highest, and how deep in the deepest! and Thou never departest, and we scarcely return to Thee.
This law holds in foul and cursed joy, and in permitted and lawful joy. It holds in the very purest and most perfect friendship. It holds in him who was dead and lived again, who had been lost and was found. Everywhere the greater joy is preceded by the greater pain. What does this mean, O Lord my God? For you are everlastingly your own joy, and some beings around you rejoice in you forever. What does it mean that this part of creation ebbs and flows like this, by turns offended and reconciled? Is this the measure given to them? Is this all you have assigned to them? And yet, from the highest heavens to the lowest earth, from the beginning of the world to the end of the ages, from the angel to the worm, from the first motion to the last, you set each thing in its own place and bring each about in its own season, everything good after its kind. Woe is me! How high you are in the highest, and how deep in the deepest! You never depart, and we scarcely return to you.
Up, Lord, and do; stir us up, and recall us; kindle and draw us; inflame, grow sweet unto us, let us now love, let us run. Do not many, out of a deeper hell of blindness than Victorinus, return to Thee, approach, and are enlightened, receiving that Light, which they who receive, receive power from Thee to become Thy sons? But if they be less known to the nations, even they that know them, joy less for them. For when many joy together, each also has more exuberant joy for that they are kindled and inflamed one by the other. Again, because those known to many, influence the more towards salvation, and lead the way with many to follow. And therefore do they also who preceded them much rejoice in them, because they rejoice not in them alone. For far be it, that in Thy tabernacle the persons of the rich should be accepted before the poor, or the noble before the ignoble; seeing rather Thou hast chosen the weak things of the world to confound the strong; and the base things of this world, and the things despised hast Thou chosen, and those things which are not, that Thou mightest bring to nought things that are. And yet even that least of Thy apostles, by whose tongue Thou soundedst forth these words, when through his warfare, Paulus the Proconsul, his pride conquered, was made to pass under the easy yoke of Thy Christ, and became a provincial of the great King; he also for his former name Saul, was pleased to be called Paul, in testimony of so great a victory. For the enemy is more overcome in one, of whom he hath more hold; by whom he hath hold of more. But the proud he hath more hold of, through their nobility; and by them, of more through their authority. By how much the more welcome then the heart of Victorinus was esteemed, which the devil had held as an impregnable possession, the tongue of Victorinus, with which mighty and keen weapon he had slain many; so much the more abundantly ought Thy sons to rejoice, for that our King hath bound the strong man, and they saw his vessels taken from him and cleansed, and made meet for Thy honour; and become serviceable for the Lord, unto every good work.
Up, Lord, and act. Stir us up and call us back. Kindle us and draw us. Set us on fire, grow sweet to us. Let us now love, let us run. Do not many return to you out of a deeper hell of blindness than Victorinus? Do they not draw near and become enlightened, receiving that Light? Those who receive it receive power from you to become your sons. But if they are less known among the peoples, even those who know them rejoice less over them. For when many rejoice together, each one's joy is fuller, because they kindle and set one another on fire. Also, those known to many have more influence toward salvation, and they lead the way with many following. So those who went before them also rejoice greatly over them, because they are not rejoicing over them alone. For far be it that in your tabernacle the rich should be favored over the poor, or the noble over the lowborn. Rather, you have chosen the weak things of the world to confound the strong. You have chosen the base things of this world, and the despised things, and the things which are not, to bring to nothing the things that are. And yet consider even that least of your apostles, through whose tongue you sounded out these very words. Through his warfare, Paulus the Proconsul had his pride conquered. He was made to pass under the easy yoke of your Christ, and became a subject of the great King. Then the apostle himself, whose former name was Saul, was glad to be called Paul, as a testimony to so great a victory. For the enemy is more fully defeated in someone he holds more tightly, and through whom he holds more people. He holds the proud more tightly through their nobility, and through them he holds more people by their authority. The devil had held the heart of Victorinus as a possession that could not be taken. He had used the tongue of Victorinus as a mighty and sharp weapon to slay many. The more welcome that heart and that tongue were counted, the more abundantly your sons ought to rejoice. For our King had bound the strong man, and they saw his vessels taken from him and cleansed. They saw them made fit for your honor, and useful to the Lord for every good work.
But when that man of Thine, Simplicianus, related to me this of Victorinus, I was on fire to imitate him; for for this very end had he related it. But when he had subjoined also, how in the days of the Emperor Julian a law was made, whereby Christians were forbidden to teach the liberal sciences or oratory; and how he, obeying this law, chose rather to give over the wordy school than Thy Word, by which Thou makest eloquent the tongues of the dumb; he seemed to me not more resolute than blessed, in having thus found opportunity to wait on Thee only. Which thing I was sighing for, bound as I was, not with another's irons, but by my own iron will. My will the enemy held, and thence had made a chain for me, and bound me. For of a forward will, was a lust made; and a lust served, became custom; and custom not resisted, became necessity. By which links, as it were, joined together (whence I called it a chain) a hard bondage held me enthralled. But that new will which had begun to be in me, freely to serve Thee, and to wish to enjoy Thee, O God, the only assured pleasantness, was not yet able to overcome my former wilfulness, strengthened by age. Thus did my two wills, one new, and the other old, one carnal, the other spiritual, struggle within me; and by their discord, undid my soul.
When Simplicianus told me about Victorinus, I was inspired to follow his example—that was exactly why he had shared the story. He went on to tell me how Emperor Julian had passed a law banning Christians from teaching liberal arts and rhetoric. Victorinus chose to abandon his career teaching rhetoric rather than abandon Your Word, which gives speech to the voiceless. His choice seemed not just brave, but blessed—he had found a way to devote himself entirely to You. I longed for such freedom, though I was trapped not by external forces, but by my own stubborn will. My enemy had seized my will and forged it into chains that bound me. A willful desire became a craving; that craving, indulged, became a habit; and that habit, unchallenged, became a necessity. These links formed a chain that kept me in harsh bondage. My new desire to serve You freely and find joy in You, God, the only true source of pleasure, wasn't yet strong enough to overcome my old willfulness, which had grown powerful over time. So my two wills—one new and one old, one spiritual and one earthly—battled within me, tearing my soul apart with their conflict.
Thus, I understood, by my own experience, what I had read, how the flesh lusteth against the spirit and the spirit against the flesh. Myself verily either way; yet more myself, in that which I approved in myself, than in that which in myself I disapproved. For in this last, it was now for the more part not myself, because in much I rather endured against my will, than acted willingly. And yet it was through me that custom had obtained this power of warring against me, because I had come willingly, whither I willed not. And who has any right to speak against it, if just punishment follow the sinner? Nor had I now any longer my former plea, that I therefore as yet hesitated to be above the world and serve Thee, for that the truth was not altogether ascertained to me; for now it too was. But I still under service to the earth, refused to fight under Thy banner, and feared as much to be freed of all incumbrances, as we should fear to be encumbered with it. Thus with the baggage of this present world was I held down pleasantly, as in sleep: and the thoughts wherein I meditated on Thee were like the efforts of such as would awake, who yet overcome with a heavy drowsiness, are again drenched therein. And as no one would sleep for ever, and in all men's sober judgment waking is better, yet a man for the most part, feeling a heavy lethargy in all his limbs, defers to shake off sleep, and though half displeased, yet, even after it is time to rise, with pleasure yields to it, so was I assured that much better were it for me to give myself up to Thy charity, than to give myself over to mine own cupidity; but though the former course satisfied me and gained the mastery, the latter pleased me and held me mastered. Nor had I any thing to answer Thee calling to me, Awake, thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light. And when Thou didst on all sides show me that what Thou saidst was true, I, convicted by the truth, had nothing at all to answer, but only those dull and drowsy words, "Anon, anon," "presently," "leave me but a little." But "presently, presently," had no present, and my "little while" went on for a long while; in vain I delighted in Thy law according to the inner man, when another law in my members rebelled against the law of my mind, and led me captive under the law of sin which was in my members. For the law of sin is the violence of custom, whereby the mind is drawn and holden, even against its will; but deservedly, for that it willingly fell into it. Who then should deliver me thus wretched from the body of this death, but Thy grace only, through Jesus Christ our Lord?
So I understood from my own experience what I had read, how the flesh lusts against the spirit and the spirit against the flesh. I was truly myself on both sides. Yet I was more myself in what I approved in myself than in what I disapproved in myself. For in what I disapproved, it was now for the most part not myself, because in much of it I suffered against my will rather than acted willingly. And yet it was through me that habit had gained this power to war against me, because I had come willingly to where I did not will to be. And who has any right to object if just punishment follows the sinner? I no longer had my old excuse, that I still hesitated to rise above the world and serve you because I was not fully certain of the truth. For now I was certain of that too. But I was still in service to the earth, and refused to fight under your banner. I was as afraid of being freed from all my burdens as we ought to be afraid of being weighed down by them. So the baggage of this present world held me down pleasantly, as sleep does. My thoughts as I meditated on you were like the efforts of people who want to wake up, but are overcome by heavy drowsiness and sink back into it. No one would want to sleep forever, and in everyone's sober judgment waking is better. Yet a man usually puts off shaking off sleep when he feels a heavy sluggishness in all his limbs. Though half displeased, he gives in to it with pleasure, even after it is time to get up. In the same way, I was sure it was much better for me to give myself up to your love than to give myself over to my own craving. But though the first convinced me and won the mastery, the second pleased me and kept me mastered. I had nothing to answer when you called to me, Awake, you who sleep, and rise from the dead, and Christ will give you light. You showed me on every side that what you said was true. Convicted by the truth, I had nothing at all to answer except those dull and drowsy words, "Soon, soon," "in a moment," "just leave me a little longer." But "in a moment, in a moment" never came to its moment, and my "little while" went on for a long while. In vain I delighted in your law in my inner self, when another law in my members rebelled against the law of my mind. It led me captive under the law of sin that was in my members. For the law of sin is the violence of habit, by which the mind is dragged along and held even against its will. Yet it is held deservedly, because it fell into that habit willingly. Who then could deliver me, wretched as I was, from the body of this death, but your grace alone, through Jesus Christ our Lord?
And how Thou didst deliver me out of the bonds of desire, wherewith I was bound most straitly to carnal concupiscence, and out of the drudgery of worldly things, I will now declare, and confess unto Thy name, O Lord, my helper and my redeemer. Amid increasing anxiety, I was doing my wonted business, and daily sighing unto Thee. I attended Thy Church, whenever free from the business under the burden of which I groaned. Alypius was with me, now after the third sitting released from his law business, and awaiting to whom to sell his counsel, as I sold the skill of speaking, if indeed teaching can impart it. Nebridius had now, in consideration of our friendship, consented to teach under Verecundus, a citizen and a grammarian of Milan, and a very intimate friend of us all; who urgently desired, and by the right of friendship challenged from our company, such faithful aid as he greatly needed. Nebridius then was not drawn to this by any desire of advantage (for he might have made much more of his learning had he so willed), but as a most kind and gentle friend, he would not be wanting to a good office, and slight our request. But he acted herein very discreetly, shunning to become known to personages great according to this world, avoiding the distraction of mind thence ensuing, and desiring to have it free and at leisure, as many hours as might be, to seek, or read, or hear something concerning wisdom.
Now I will tell how you freed me from the bonds of desire, which tied me so tightly to the lust of the flesh, and from the drudgery of worldly business. I will confess it to your name, O Lord, my helper and my redeemer. With growing anxiety, I went about my usual business and sighed to you every day. I went to your Church whenever I was free of the business under whose burden I groaned. Alypius was with me. After his third term he was now free of his legal work, and was waiting for someone to sell his legal advice to, just as I sold the skill of speaking, if teaching can really give it. Nebridius had now agreed, for the sake of our friendship, to teach under Verecundus, a citizen and grammarian of Milan, and a very close friend of us all. Verecundus urgently wanted, and by the right of friendship demanded from our group, the faithful help he badly needed. So Nebridius was not drawn to this by any desire for gain (for he could have made much more from his learning if he had wanted to). But as a most kind and gentle friend, he would not fail to do a good turn, or dismiss our request. He acted very wisely in this. He avoided becoming known to people who are great by this world's standards, and so avoided the distraction of mind that would follow. He wanted to keep his mind free and at leisure for as many hours as possible, to seek, or read, or hear something about wisdom.
Upon a day then, Nebridius being absent (I recollect not why), lo, there came to see me and Alypius, one Pontitianus, our countryman so far as being an African, in high office in the Emperor's court. What he would with us, I know not, but we sat down to converse, and it happened that upon a table for some game, before us, he observed a book, took, opened it, and contrary to his expectation, found it the Apostle Paul; for he thought it some of those books which I was wearing myself in teaching. Whereat smiling, and looking at me, he expressed his joy and wonder that he had on a sudden found this book, and this only before my eyes. For he was a Christian, and baptised, and often bowed himself before Thee our God in the Church, in frequent and continued prayers. When then I had told him that I bestowed very great pains upon those Scriptures, a conversation arose (suggested by his account) on Antony the Egyptian monk: whose name was in high reputation among Thy servants, though to that hour unknown to us. Which when he discovered, he dwelt the more upon that subject, informing and wondering at our ignorance of one so eminent. But we stood amazed, hearing Thy wonderful works most fully attested, in times so recent, and almost in our own, wrought in the true Faith and Church Catholic. We all wondered; we, that they were so great, and he, that they had not reached us.
One day, while Nebridius was away for reasons I can't recall, a man named Pontitianus came to visit Alypius and me. Like us, he was African, and he held a high position in the Emperor's court. I'm not sure why he came, but we sat down to talk. He noticed a book on a gaming table nearby, picked it up, and opened it. To his surprise, it was the writings of the Apostle Paul—he had assumed it was one of the textbooks I used for teaching. Smiling at me, he expressed delight and amazement at finding this particular book in front of me. He was a devoted Christian who had been baptized and regularly prayed to God in church. When I told him I spent considerable time studying these Scriptures, our conversation turned to the Egyptian monk Antony, whom he had mentioned. Although Antony was highly regarded among Christians, we had never heard of him. Upon realizing this, Pontitianus spoke at length about Antony, astonished at our ignorance of such a prominent figure. We were stunned to hear such well-documented accounts of God's miraculous works, performed so recently—practically in our own time—within the true Faith and Catholic Church. We were all amazed: we at the magnitude of these works, and he at our complete unawareness of them.
Thence his discourse turned to the flocks in the monasteries, and their holy ways, a sweet-smelling savour unto Thee, and the fruitful deserts of the wilderness, whereof we knew nothing. And there was a monastery at Milan, full of good brethren, without the city walls, under the fostering care of Ambrose, and we knew it not. He went on with his discourse, and we listened in intent silence. He told us then how one afternoon at Triers, when the Emperor was taken up with the Circensian games, he and three others, his companions, went out to walk in gardens near the city walls, and there as they happened to walk in pairs, one went apart with him, and the other two wandered by themselves; and these, in their wanderings, lighted upon a certain cottage, inhabited by certain of Thy servants, poor in spirit, of whom is the kingdom of heaven, and there they found a little book containing the life of Antony. This one of them began to read, admire, and kindle at it; and as he read, to meditate on taking up such a life, and giving over his secular service to serve Thee. And these two were of those whom they style agents for the public affairs. Then suddenly, filled with a holy love, and a sober shame, in anger with himself cast his eyes upon his friend, saying, "Tell me, I pray thee, what would we attain by all these labours of ours? what aim we at? what serve we for? Can our hopes in court rise higher than to be the Emperor's favourites? and in this, what is there not brittle, and full of perils? and by how many perils arrive we at a greater peril? and when arrive we thither? But a friend of God, if I wish it, I become now at once." So spake he. And in pain with the travail of a new life, he turned his eyes again upon the book, and read on, and was changed inwardly, where Thou sawest, and his mind was stripped of the world, as soon appeared. For as he read, and rolled up and down the waves of his heart, he stormed at himself a while, then discerned, and determined on a better course; and now being Thine, said to his friend, "Now have I broken loose from those our hopes, and am resolved to serve God; and this, from this hour, in this place, I begin upon. If thou likest not to imitate me, oppose not." The other answered, he would cleave to him, to partake so glorious a reward, so glorious a service. Thus both being now Thine, were building the tower at the necessary cost, the forsaking all that they had, and following Thee. Then Pontitianus and the other with him, that had walked in other parts of the garden, came in search of them to the same place; and finding them, reminded them to return, for the day was now far spent. But they relating their resolution and purpose, and how that will was begun and settled in them, begged them, if they would not join, not to molest them. But the others, though nothing altered from their former selves, did yet bewail themselves (as he affirmed), and piously congratulated them, recommending themselves to their prayers; and so, with hearts lingering on the earth, went away to the palace. But the other two, fixing their heart on heaven, remained in the cottage. And both had affianced brides, who when they heard hereof, also dedicated their virginity unto God.
During their talk, he spoke about monastery flocks and their sacred practices that pleased God, and the fruitful desert solitudes we knew nothing about. There was a monastery in Milan, filled with devoted brothers outside the city walls under Ambrose's guidance, though we were unaware of it. As he continued speaking, we listened intently. He then told us about an afternoon in Triers, when the Emperor was occupied with the circus games. He and three companions went walking in gardens near the city walls. As they walked in pairs, he went with one while the other two walked separately. These two came upon a cottage housing some of God's servants—humble people who were blessed with the kingdom of heaven. There they found a book about Antony's life. One began reading it and was filled with admiration and inspiration. As he read, he considered adopting such a life, leaving his government service to serve God instead. Both men were civil servants. Suddenly, filled with holy love and honest shame, he turned angrily to his friend and said, "What are we trying to achieve with all our work? What's our goal? What's the point? Can we hope for anything better than becoming the Emperor's favorites? Even then, isn't everything fragile and dangerous? We face many dangers just to reach an even greater danger—and when do we even get there? But I can become God's friend right now if I choose." Speaking thus, struggling with the prospect of a new life, he returned to the book. As he read, he was transformed internally—God saw this change as his mind freed itself from worldly concerns. While reading, his emotions churned until he finally calmed and chose a better path. Now committed to God, he told his friend, "I've abandoned our old ambitions and will serve God starting right now, right here. Don't oppose me if you won't join me." His friend replied he would join him to share in such a glorious reward and service. Now both devoted to God, they were building their foundation by giving up everything to follow Him. When Pontitianus and his companion, who had been walking elsewhere in the garden, came looking for them, they found them and suggested returning as it was getting late. The two explained their decision and asked not to be disturbed if the others wouldn't join them. Though unchanged themselves, the others expressed regret and congratulated them respectfully, asking for their prayers. They then returned to the palace, their hearts still tied to earthly matters. The converted pair, their hearts set on heaven, stayed in the cottage. Both had fiancées who, upon hearing of this, also dedicated their virginity to God.
Such was the story of Pontitianus; but Thou, O Lord, while he was speaking, didst turn me round towards myself, taking me from behind my back where I had placed me, unwilling to observe myself; and setting me before my face, that I might see how foul I was, how crooked and defiled, bespotted and ulcerous. And I beheld and stood aghast; and whither to flee from myself I found not. And if I sought to turn mine eye from off myself, he went on with his relation, and Thou again didst set me over against myself, and thrustedst me before my eyes, that I might find out mine iniquity, and hate it. I had known it, but made as though I saw it not, winked at it, and forgot it.
This was Pontitianus's story. But Lord, as he spoke, you forced me to face myself—something I had been avoiding, preferring to turn my back on self-reflection. You made me confront my true nature, allowing me to see how corrupt, twisted, and diseased I had become. I was horrified by what I saw, yet found nowhere to hide from myself. When I tried to look away, Pontitianus continued his story, and again you made me face my reflection, forcing me to recognize and despise my sins. I had always known about them, but I had pretended not to see them, deliberately ignored them, and tried to forget they existed.
But now, the more ardently I loved those whose healthful affections I heard of, that they had resigned themselves wholly to Thee to be cured, the more did I abhor myself, when compared with them. For many of my years (some twelve) had now run out with me since my nineteenth, when, upon the reading of Cicero's Hortensius, I was stirred to an earnest love of wisdom; and still I was deferring to reject mere earthly felicity, and give myself to search out that, whereof not the finding only, but the very search, was to be preferred to the treasures and kingdoms of the world, though already found, and to the pleasures of the body, though spread around me at my will. But I wretched, most wretched, in the very commencement of my early youth, had begged chastity of Thee, and said, "Give me chastity and continency, only not yet." For I feared lest Thou shouldest hear me soon, and soon cure me of the disease of concupiscence, which I wished to have satisfied, rather than extinguished. And I had wandered through crooked ways in a sacrilegious superstition, not indeed assured thereof, but as preferring it to the others which I did not seek religiously, but opposed maliciously.
The more I admired those who had completely devoted themselves to You for healing, the more I despised myself in comparison. Twelve years had passed since I was nineteen when reading Cicero's Hortensius first sparked my passionate pursuit of wisdom. Yet I kept postponing the rejection of worldly pleasures to seek something greater—a pursuit that, even in the searching alone, was worth more than all the world's riches and kingdoms, even if already possessed, and more than all physical pleasures freely available to me. In my miserable youth, I had begged You for chastity, saying "Grant me chastity and self-control—but not yet." I feared You would answer too quickly, curing me of my lustful desires which I wanted to satisfy rather than eliminate. I had wandered down twisted paths in false beliefs, not because I was convinced of them, but because I preferred them to the truth which I didn't seek faithfully, but rather opposed spitefully.
And I had thought that I therefore deferred from day to day to reject the hopes of this world, and follow Thee only, because there did not appear aught certain, whither to direct my course. And now was the day come wherein I was to be laid bare to myself, and my conscience was to upbraid me. "Where art thou now, my tongue? Thou saidst that for an uncertain truth thou likedst not to cast off the baggage of vanity; now, it is certain, and yet that burden still oppresseth thee, while they who neither have so worn themselves out with seeking it, nor for often years and more have been thinking thereon, have had their shoulders lightened, and received wings to fly away." Thus was I gnawed within, and exceedingly confounded with a horrible shame, while Pontitianus was so speaking. And he having brought to a close his tale and the business he came for, went his way; and I into myself. What said I not against myself? with what scourges of condemnation lashed I not my soul, that it might follow me, striving to go after Thee! Yet it drew back; refused, but excused not itself. All arguments were spent and confuted; there remained a mute shrinking; and she feared, as she would death, to be restrained from the flux of that custom, whereby she was wasting to death.
I kept putting off rejecting worldly hopes to follow You alone, claiming I couldn't see a clear path forward. But today was the day I had to face myself, my conscience confronting me: "What's your excuse now? You claimed you wouldn't give up your meaningless pursuits because the truth wasn't certain. Now it is certain, yet you still cling to these burdens. Meanwhile, others who haven't exhausted themselves searching, who haven't spent years contemplating these matters, have freed themselves and taken flight." These thoughts gnawed at me, and I felt deeply ashamed as Pontitianus spoke. After he finished his story and completed his business, he left, and I turned inward. How I berated myself! How I lashed my soul with self-condemnation, trying to force it to follow You! Yet it resisted. It made no excuses, but still refused. Every argument had been made and defeated. All that remained was a silent reluctance—my soul feared breaking free from its destructive habits as if that freedom meant death itself.
Then in this great contention of my inward dwelling, which I had strongly raised against my soul, in the chamber of my heart, troubled in mind and countenance, I turned upon Alypius. "What ails us?" I exclaim: "what is it? what heardest thou? The unlearned start up and take heaven by force, and we with our learning, and without heart, lo, where we wallow in flesh and blood! Are we ashamed to follow, because others are gone before, and not ashamed not even to follow?" Some such words I uttered, and my fever of mind tore me away from him, while he, gazing on me in astonishment, kept silence. For it was not my wonted tone; and my forehead, cheeks, eyes, colour, tone of voice, spake my mind more than the words I uttered. A little garden there was to our lodging, which we had the use of, as of the whole house; for the master of the house, our host, was not living there. Thither had the tumult of my breast hurried me, where no man might hinder the hot contention wherein I had engaged with myself, until it should end as Thou knewest, I knew not. Only I was healthfully distracted and dying, to live; knowing what evil thing I was, and not knowing what good thing I was shortly to become. I retired then into the garden, and Alypius, on my steps. For his presence did not lessen my privacy; or how could he forsake me so disturbed? We sate down as far removed as might be from the house. I was troubled in spirit, most vehemently indignant that I entered not into Thy will and covenant, O my God, which all my bones cried out unto me to enter, and praised it to the skies. And therein we enter not by ships, or chariots, or feet, no, move not so far as I had come from the house to that place where we were sitting. For, not to go only, but to go in thither was nothing else but to will to go, but to will resolutely and thoroughly; not to turn and toss, this way and that, a maimed and half-divided will, struggling, with one part sinking as another rose.
In the midst of this intense inner conflict that I had stirred up against myself in my heart, troubled in both mind and face, I turned to Alypius. "What's wrong with us?" I burst out. "What's happening? Did you hear what I heard? Uneducated people leap up and seize heaven, while we, with all our learning but no courage, just wallow here in our physical desires! Are we ashamed to follow because others went first? Shouldn't we be more ashamed of not following at all?" I spat out these words, and in my mental fever, I pulled away from him. He just stared at me in shock, silent. My tone was unusual, and my entire demeanor—my forehead, cheeks, eyes, complexion, and voice—revealed my state of mind more than my words. There was a small garden attached to our lodging, which we could use along with the rest of the house, since our host wasn't living there. The turmoil in my heart drove me there, where no one could interrupt the fierce argument I was having with myself—an argument that would end as You knew how, though I didn't. I was dying to my old self and being reborn, aware of the evil I was but blind to the good I would soon become. I retreated to the garden, and Alypius followed. His presence didn't intrude on my solitude—how could he abandon me in such distress? We sat as far from the house as possible. I was spiritually tormented, furiously angry at myself for not submitting to Your will and covenant, my God, which every fiber of my being urged me to accept and praised to the heavens. You don't enter it by ship, chariot, or foot—the distance was even shorter than what I'd walked from the house to where we sat. For this journey wasn't about physical movement but about complete and resolute willingness—not this half-hearted wavering, this crippled, divided will, where one part rises as another falls.
Lastly, in the very fever of my irresoluteness, I made with my body many such motions as men sometimes would, but cannot, if either they have not the limbs, or these be bound with bands, weakened with infirmity, or any other way hindered. Thus, if I tore my hair, beat my forehead, if locking my fingers I clasped my knee; I willed, I did it. But I might have willed, and not done it; if the power of motion in my limbs had not obeyed. So many things then I did, when "to will" was not in itself "to be able"; and I did not what both I longed incomparably more to do, and which soon after, when I should will, I should be able to do; because soon after, when I should will, I should will thoroughly. For in these things the ability was one with the will, and to will was to do; and yet was it not done: and more easily did my body obey the weakest willing of my soul, in moving its limbs at its nod, than the soul obeyed itself to accomplish in the will alone this its momentous will.
Finally, in the very fever of my indecision, I made many movements with my body. These were the kind of movements men sometimes want to make but cannot, if they lack the limbs, or if their limbs are tied with bonds, weakened by illness, or hindered in some other way. So if I tore my hair, beat my forehead, or locked my fingers and clasped my knee, I willed it and I did it. But I might have willed it and not done it, if my limbs had not had the power to obey. So I did many things where "to will" was not in itself "to be able." And I did not do the thing I longed for incomparably more. Yet soon after, once I willed it, I would be able to do it, because soon after, once I willed it, I would will it fully. For in this matter the ability was one with the will, and to will was itself to do. And yet it was not done. My body obeyed the weakest wish of my soul more easily, moving its limbs at its nod, than my soul obeyed itself to carry out this great will of its own, which needed only to be willed.
Whence is this monstrousness? and to what end? Let Thy mercy gleam that I may ask, if so be the secret penalties of men, and those darkest pangs of the sons of Adam, may perhaps answer me. Whence is this monstrousness? and to what end? The mind commands the body, and it obeys instantly; the mind commands itself, and is resisted. The mind commands the hand to be moved; and such readiness is there, that command is scarce distinct from obedience. Yet the mind is mind, the hand is body. The mind commands the mind, its own self, to will, and yet it doth not. Whence this monstrousness? and to what end? It commands itself, I say, to will, and would not command, unless it willed, and what it commands is not done. But it willeth not entirely: therefore doth it not command entirely. For so far forth it commandeth, as it willeth: and, so far forth is the thing commanded, not done, as it willeth not. For the will commandeth that there be a will; not another, but itself. But it doth not command entirely, therefore what it commandeth, is not. For were the will entire, it would not even command it to be, because it would already be. It is therefore no monstrousness partly to will, partly to nill, but a disease of the mind, that it doth not wholly rise, by truth upborne, borne down by custom. And therefore are there two wills, for that one of them is not entire: and what the one lacketh, the other hath.
Where does this monstrous thing come from? And to what end? Let your mercy shine, so that I may ask, to see whether perhaps the hidden punishments of men, and those darkest torments of the sons of Adam, may answer me. Where does this monstrous thing come from? And to what end? The mind commands the body, and it obeys at once. The mind commands itself, and it is resisted. The mind commands the hand to move, and the hand is so ready that the command can hardly be told apart from the obedience. Yet the mind is mind, and the hand is body. The mind commands the mind, its own self, to will, and yet it does not. Where does this monstrous thing come from? And to what end? It commands itself, I say, to will. It would not give the command unless it willed. Yet what it commands is not done. But it does not will completely, so it does not command completely. It commands only as far as it wills. And the thing commanded is left undone as far as it does not will. For the will commands that there be a will, not some other will, but itself. But it does not command completely, so what it commands does not exist. If the will were complete, it would not even command itself to be, because it would already be. So it is no monstrous thing to partly will and partly refuse. It is a disease of the mind, which does not rise completely, lifted up by truth but weighed down by habit. And therefore there are two wills, because one of them is not complete, and what the one lacks, the other has.
Let them perish from Thy presence, O God, as perish vain talkers and seducers of the soul: who observing that in deliberating there were two wills, affirm that there are two minds in us of two kinds, one good, the other evil. Themselves are truly evil, when they hold these evil things; and themselves shall become good when they hold the truth and assent unto the truth, that Thy Apostle may say to them, Ye were sometimes darkness, but now light in the Lord. But they, wishing to be light, not in the Lord, but in themselves, imagining the nature of the soul to be that which God is, are made more gross darkness through a dreadful arrogancy; for that they went back farther from Thee, the true Light that enlightened every man that cometh into the world. Take heed what you say, and blush for shame: draw near unto Him and be enlightened, and your faces shall not be ashamed. Myself when I was deliberating upon serving the Lord my God now, as I had long purposed, it was I who willed, I who nilled, I, I myself. I neither willed entirely, nor nilled entirely. Therefore was I at strife with myself, and rent asunder by myself. And this rent befell me against my will, and yet indicated, not the presence of another mind, but the punishment of my own. Therefore it was no more I that wrought it, but sin that dwelt in me; the punishment of a sin more freely committed, in that I was a son of Adam.
Let them perish from your presence, O God, as vain talkers and seducers of the soul perish. They notice that in deliberating there are two wills, and so they claim that there are two minds in us of two kinds, one good and the other evil. They themselves are truly evil when they hold these evil views. And they will become good when they hold the truth and agree with the truth, so that your Apostle may say to them, You were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. But they want to be light, not in the Lord, but in themselves, imagining that the nature of the soul is the same as what God is. So through a terrible arrogance they have become thicker darkness, because they have gone further back from you, the true Light that enlightens every man who comes into the world. Take care what you say, and blush for shame. Draw near to him and be enlightened, and your faces will not be ashamed. As for me, when I was deliberating about serving the Lord my God now, as I had long intended, it was I who willed and I who refused. It was I, I myself. I neither willed completely nor refused completely. So I was at war with myself, and torn apart by myself. This tearing happened against my will. Yet it showed, not the presence of another mind, but the punishment of my own. So it was no longer I who did it, but sin that lived in me. It was the punishment of a sin committed more freely, because I was a son of Adam.
For if there be so many contrary natures as there be conflicting wills, there shall now be not two only, but many. If a man deliberate whether he should go to their conventicle or to the theatre, these Manichees cry out, Behold, here are two natures: one good, draws this way; another bad, draws back that way. For whence else is this hesitation between conflicting wills? But I say that both be bad: that which draws to them, as that which draws back to the theatre. But they believe not that will to be other than good, which draws to them. What then if one of us should deliberate, and amid the strife of his two wills be in a strait, whether he should go to the theatre or to our church? would not these Manichees also be in a strait what to answer? For either they must confess (which they fain would not) that the will which leads to our church is good, as well as theirs, who have received and are held by the mysteries of theirs: or they must suppose two evil natures, and two evil souls conflicting in one man, and it will not be true, which they say, that there is one good and another bad; or they must be converted to the truth, and no more deny that where one deliberates, one soul fluctuates between contrary wills.
For if there are as many opposing natures as there are conflicting wills, there will now be not just two, but many. Suppose a man is deciding whether to go to their meeting or to the theater. These Manichees cry out, Look, here are two natures. A good one pulls this way, and a bad one pulls back that way. For where else could this hesitation between conflicting wills come from? But I say that both are bad, the will that draws to them as much as the will that draws back to the theater. But they do not believe that the will which draws someone to them is anything but good. What, then, if one of us is deliberating, caught between his two wills, whether to go to the theater or to our church? Would these Manichees not also be caught, unsure how to answer? For either they must admit (which they would rather not) that the will which leads to our church is good, just as the will is good in their own people, who have received their mysteries and are held by them. Or they must suppose two evil natures and two evil souls fighting in one man, and then what they say will not be true, that there is one good and one bad. Or they must be turned to the truth, and no longer deny that when someone deliberates, one soul wavers between opposing wills.
Let them no more say then, when they perceive two conflicting wills in one man, that the conflict is between two contrary souls, of two contrary substances, from two contrary principles, one good, and the other bad. For Thou, O true God, dost disprove, check, and convict them; as when, both wills being bad, one deliberates whether he should kill a man by poison or by the sword; whether he should seize this or that estate of another's, when he cannot both; whether he should purchase pleasure by luxury, or keep his money by covetousness; whether he go to the circus or the theatre, if both be open on one day; or thirdly, to rob another's house, if he have the opportunity; or, fourthly, to commit adultery, if at the same time he have the means thereof also; all these meeting together in the same juncture of time, and all being equally desired, which cannot at one time be acted: for they rend the mind amid four, or even (amid the vast variety of things desired) more, conflicting wills, nor do they yet allege that there are so many divers substances. So also in wills which are good. For I ask them, is it good to take pleasure in reading the Apostle? or good to take pleasure in a sober Psalm? or good to discourse on the Gospel? They will answer to each, "it is good." What then if all give equal pleasure, and all at once? Do not divers wills distract the mind, while he deliberates which he should rather choose? yet are they all good, and are at variance till one be chosen, whither the one entire will may be borne, which before was divided into many. Thus also, when, above, eternity delights us, and the pleasure of temporal good holds us down below, it is the same soul which willeth not this or that with an entire will; and therefore is rent asunder with grievous perplexities, while out of truth it sets this first, but out of habit sets not that aside.
They should not claim that when they see two conflicting desires in a person, it's a battle between two opposing souls, made of different substances, one good and one evil. God himself proves this wrong. Consider when someone with two harmful intentions debates whether to poison someone or stab them, or whether to steal one property or another when they can't take both. They might wrestle with spending money on pleasure or hoarding it, or choosing between going to a circus or theater showing on the same day. Perhaps they consider robbing a house if given the chance, or committing adultery if the opportunity arises. When all these options present themselves simultaneously and are equally tempting, they can't all be acted upon at once. These choices tear the mind in four directions or more, yet no one suggests these different desires come from different substances within us. The same applies to good intentions. Consider: Is it good to enjoy reading the Apostle? Or to take pleasure in a reverent Psalm? Or to discuss the Gospel? People would say yes to each. But what if all bring equal joy and are available at once? Don't these different desires pull at the mind while one decides what to choose? They're all good options, but conflict remains until one is chosen and the divided will becomes whole again. Similarly, when eternal matters attract us upward while earthly pleasures pull us down, it's one soul that can't fully commit to either path. This creates painful inner turmoil, as truth points one way while habit refuses to let go of the other.
Thus soul-sick was I, and tormented, accusing myself much more severely than my wont, rolling and turning me in my chain, till that were wholly broken, whereby I now was but just, but still was, held. And Thou, O Lord, pressedst upon me in my inward parts by a severe mercy, redoubling the lashes of fear and shame, lest I should again give way, and not bursting that same slight remaining tie, it should recover strength, and bind me the faster. For I said with myself, "Be it done now, be it done now." And as I spake, I all but enacted it: I all but did it, and did it not: yet sunk not back to my former state, but kept my stand hard by, and took breath. And I essayed again, and wanted somewhat less of it, and somewhat less, and all but touched, and laid hold of it; and yet came not at it, nor touched nor laid hold of it; hesitating to die to death and to live to life: and the worse whereto I was inured, prevailed more with me than the better whereto I was unused: and the very moment wherein I was to become other than I was, the nearer it approached me, the greater horror did it strike into me; yet did it not strike me back, nor turned me away, but held me in suspense.
I was sick at heart and tormented, criticizing myself more harshly than usual, twisting and turning in my chains until they would finally break—chains that barely held me now, but held me still. And You, Lord, pressed upon my inner being with stern mercy, intensifying my fear and shame to prevent me from falling back, ensuring that this last fragile bond wouldn't strengthen and trap me even tighter. I kept telling myself, "Do it now, do it now." And as I spoke, I nearly did it—I came so close but stopped short. Yet I didn't retreat to where I started; I held my ground and caught my breath. I tried again, getting closer each time, almost touching it, almost grasping it. But I couldn't quite reach it, couldn't quite take hold—hesitating between dying to death and living to life. The familiar worse path had more power over me than the unfamiliar better one. The closer I came to transformation, the more it terrified me. Yet this terror didn't drive me back or turn me away—it just left me suspended between two worlds.
The very toys of toys, and vanities of vanities, my ancient mistresses, still held me; they plucked my fleshy garment, and whispered softly, "Dost thou cast us off? and from that moment shall we no more be with thee for ever? and from that moment shall not this or that be lawful for thee for ever?" And what was it which they suggested in that I said, "this or that," what did they suggest, O my God? Let Thy mercy turn it away from the soul of Thy servant. What defilements did they suggest! what shame! And now I much less than half heard them, and not openly showing themselves and contradicting me, but muttering as it were behind my back, and privily plucking me, as I was departing, but to look back on them. Yet they did retard me, so that I hesitated to burst and shake myself free from them, and to spring over whither I was called; a violent habit saying to me, "Thinkest thou, thou canst live without them?"
My old vices and temptations still clung to me, tugging at my earthly desires and whispering: "Will you really abandon us? Will we truly never be together again? Will you forever deny yourself these pleasures?" And what exactly were these pleasures they spoke of? God, let your mercy shield your servant from them. Such shameful and defiling things they suggested! Now I barely heard them—they no longer confronted me openly, but rather murmured behind my back, secretly pulling at me as I tried to leave, urging me to look back. They held me back enough that I wavered in breaking free from them and leaping toward my calling. My deeply ingrained habits taunted me: "Do you really think you can live without us?"
But now it spake very faintly. For on that side whither I had set my face, and whither I trembled to go, there appeared unto me the chaste dignity of Continency, serene, yet not relaxedly, gay, honestly alluring me to come and doubt not; and stretching forth to receive and embrace me, her holy hands full of multitudes of good examples: there were so many young men and maidens here, a multitude of youth and every age, grave widows and aged virgins; and Continence herself in all, not barren, but a fruitful mother of children of joys, by Thee her Husband, O Lord. And she smiled on me with a persuasive mockery, as would she say, "Canst not thou what these youths, what these maidens can? or can they either in themselves, and not rather in the Lord their God? The Lord their God gave me unto them. Why standest thou in thyself, and so standest not? cast thyself upon Him, fear not He will not withdraw Himself that thou shouldest fall; cast thyself fearlessly upon Him, He will receive, and will heal thee." And I blushed exceedingly, for that I yet heard the muttering of those toys, and hung in suspense. And she again seemed to say, "Stop thine ears against those thy unclean members on the earth, that they may be mortified. They tell thee of delights, but not as doth the law of the Lord thy God." This controversy in my heart was self against self only. But Alypius sitting close by my side, in silence waited the issue of my unwonted emotion.
But now it spoke very faintly. For in the direction I had set my face, where I trembled to go, the chaste dignity of Continence appeared to me. She was calm, yet not slack, and cheerful. She was honestly inviting me to come and not to doubt. She stretched out her holy hands to receive and embrace me, and they were full of crowds of good examples. There were so many young men and young women there, a great number of young people and people of every age, serious widows and aged virgins. And in all of them was Continence herself. She was not barren, but a fruitful mother of children who are joys, born of you, O Lord, her Husband. And she smiled at me with a persuasive mockery, as if to say, "Can you not do what these young men and these young women can? Or can they do it in themselves, and not rather in the Lord their God? The Lord their God gave me to them. Why do you try to stand in yourself, on your own strength, and so do not stand? Throw yourself on him. Do not fear that he will pull away and let you fall. Throw yourself on him without fear. He will receive you and heal you." And I blushed deeply, because I still heard the muttering of those trifles, and I hung in suspense. And again she seemed to say, "Close your ears to those unclean members of yours on the earth, so that they may be put to death. They tell you of delights, but not such as the law of the Lord your God tells." This struggle in my heart was only self against self. But Alypius sat close by my side, silently waiting to see how my unusual agitation would end.
But when a deep consideration had from the secret bottom of my soul drawn together and heaped up all my misery in the sight of my heart; there arose a mighty storm, bringing a mighty shower of tears. Which that I might pour forth wholly, in its natural expressions, I rose from Alypius: solitude was suggested to me as fitter for the business of weeping; so I retired so far that even his presence could not be a burden to me. Thus was it then with me, and he perceived something of it; for something I suppose I had spoken, wherein the tones of my voice appeared choked with weeping, and so had risen up. He then remained where we were sitting, most extremely astonished. I cast myself down I know not how, under a certain fig-tree, giving full vent to my tears; and the floods of mine eyes gushed out an acceptable sacrifice to Thee. And, not indeed in these words, yet to this purpose, spake I much unto Thee: and Thou, O Lord, how long? how long, Lord, wilt Thou be angry for ever? Remember not our former iniquities, for I felt that I was held by them. I sent up these sorrowful words: How long, how long, "tomorrow, and tomorrow?" Why not now? why not is there this hour an end to my uncleanness?
A deep examination had gathered all my sorrows from my soul's depths and laid them bare before my heart. This unleashed a powerful storm of tears. Needing to fully express this emotion, I left Alypius behind—solitude seemed better suited for weeping. I moved far enough away that even his presence wouldn't intrude on my grief. This was my state then, and he sensed it. I must have said something, my voice thick with tears, before rising to leave. He remained seated, utterly stunned. I threw myself down beneath a fig tree, letting my tears flow freely. My weeping became an offering acceptable to You. Though not in these exact words, I poured out my heart: "Lord, how long? Will Your anger last forever? Please forget our past sins, for I feel chained by them." I cried out in anguish: "How long must I wait? Why always 'tomorrow and tomorrow'? Why not now? Why can't my corruption end this very hour?"
So was I speaking and weeping in the most bitter contrition of my heart, when, lo! I heard from a neighbouring house a voice, as of boy or girl, I know not, chanting, and oft repeating, "Take up and read; Take up and read." Instantly, my countenance altered, I began to think most intently whether children were wont in any kind of play to sing such words: nor could I remember ever to have heard the like. So checking the torrent of my tears, I arose; interpreting it to be no other than a command from God to open the book, and read the first chapter I should find. For I had heard of Antony, that coming in during the reading of the Gospel, he received the admonition, as if what was being read was spoken to him: Go, sell all that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven, and come and follow me: and by such oracle he was forthwith converted unto Thee. Eagerly then I returned to the place where Alypius was sitting; for there had I laid the volume of the Apostle when I arose thence. I seized, opened, and in silence read that section on which my eyes first fell: Not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and envying; but put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh, in concupiscence. No further would I read; nor needed I: for instantly at the end of this sentence, by a light as it were of serenity infused into my heart, all the darkness of doubt vanished away.
I was speaking and weeping with bitter remorse in my heart when I heard a voice from a nearby house. Whether it was a boy or girl, I couldn't tell, but they were chanting over and over, "Pick it up and read it! Pick it up and read it!" My expression changed instantly. I wondered if children typically sang such words in their games, but I couldn't recall ever hearing anything like it. Wiping away my tears, I stood up, taking this as a divine command to open the book and read whatever chapter I found first. I remembered the story of Antony, who had walked in during a Gospel reading and took the words as a personal message: "Go, sell everything you own, give it to the poor, and you'll have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me." Through this sign, he had immediately converted to Christianity. I rushed back to where Alypius was sitting, where I had left the Apostle's book before getting up. I grabbed it, opened it, and silently read the first passage my eyes landed on: "Not in wild parties and drunkenness, not in sexual immorality and debauchery, not in conflict and jealousy; but clothe yourselves with the Lord Jesus Christ, and do not think about how to gratify your sinful desires." I didn't need to read any further. As soon as I finished that sentence, it was as if a peaceful light flooded my heart, and all my doubts simply melted away.
Then putting my finger between, or some other mark, I shut the volume, and with a calmed countenance made it known to Alypius. And what was wrought in him, which I knew not, he thus showed me. He asked to see what I had read: I showed him; and he looked even further than I had read, and I knew not what followed. This followed, him that is weak in the faith, receive; which he applied to himself, and disclosed to me. And by this admonition was he strengthened; and by a good resolution and purpose, and most corresponding to his character, wherein he did always very far differ from me, for the better, without any turbulent delay he joined me. Thence we go in to my mother; we tell her; she rejoiceth: we relate in order how it took place; she leaps for joy, and triumpheth, and blesseth Thee, Who are able to do above that which we ask or think; for she perceived that Thou hadst given her more for me, than she was wont to beg by her pitiful and most sorrowful groanings. For thou convertedst me unto Thyself, so that I sought neither wife, nor any hope of this world, standing in that rule of faith, where Thou hadst showed me unto her in a vision, so many years before. And Thou didst convert her mourning into joy, much more plentiful than she had desired, and in a much more precious and purer way than she erst required, by having grandchildren of my body.
I placed my finger in the book to mark my place, closed it, and calmly told Alypius what had happened. He asked to see what I had read, so I showed him. He read further than where I had stopped, though I didn't know what came next. The passage read "receive him whose faith is weak," which he took to heart and shared with me. This strengthened his resolve, and true to his superior character, he immediately joined me in my conviction without hesitation. We went to tell my mother, who rejoiced at the news. We explained everything in detail, and she leaped with joy, praising God who can do more than we dare ask or imagine. She realized that God had given her more than she had hoped for in all her sorrowful prayers. For God had turned me toward Him so completely that I no longer sought a wife or worldly success, standing firm in the faith just as He had shown her in a vision years before. God transformed her grief into joy far greater than she had wished for, and in a purer way than she had originally sought when she had prayed for grandchildren.