From distress of mind Augustine left his native
place, Thagaste, and came to Carthage, where he
became a teacher in rhetoric. Here he fell in[{30}]
with Faustus, an eminent Manichean bishop and
disputant, in whom, however, he was
disappointed; and the disappointment abated his
attachment to his sect, and disposed him to look
for truth elsewhere. Disgusted with the license
which prevailed among the students at Carthage,[{5}]
he determined to proceed to Rome, and
disregarding and eluding the entreaties of his mother,
Monica, who dreaded his removal from his own
country, he went thither. At Rome he resumed
his professions; but inconveniences as great,[{10}]
though of another kind, encountered him in that
city; and upon the people of Milan sending for a
rhetoric reader, he made application for the
appointment, and obtained it. To Milan then he
came, the city of St. Ambrose, in the year of our[{15}]
Lord 385.
Ambrose, though weak in voice, had the
reputation of eloquence; and Augustine, who seems
to have gone with introductions to him, and was
won by his kindness of manner, attended his[{20}]
sermons with curiosity and interest. "I listened,"
he says, "not in the frame of mind which became
me, but in order to see whether his eloquence
answered, what was reported of it: I hung on his
words attentively, but of the matter I was but an[{25}]
unconcerned and contemptuous hearer."—v. 23.
His impression of his style of preaching is worth
noticing: "I was delighted with the sweetness
of his discourse, more full of knowledge, yet in
manner less pleasurable and soothing, than that[{30}]
of Faustus." Augustine was insensibly moved:
he determined on leaving the Manichees, and
returning to the state of a catechumen in the
Catholic Church, into which he had been admitted
by his parents. He began to eye and muse upon
the great bishop of Milan more and more, and tried[{5}]
in vain to penetrate his secret heart, and to
ascertain the thoughts and feelings which swayed him.
He felt he did not understand him. If the
respect and intimacy of the great could make
a man happy, these advantages he perceived[{10}]
Ambrose to possess; yet he was not satisfied that
he was a happy man. His celibacy seemed a
drawback: what constituted his hidden life? or
was he cold at heart? or was he of a famished
and restless spirit? He felt his own malady, and[{15}]
longed to ask him some questions about it. But
Ambrose could not easily be spoken with. Though
accessible to all, yet that very circumstance
made it difficult for an individual, especially one
who was not of his flock, to get a private[{20}]
interview with him. When he was not taken up with
the Christian people who surrounded him, he
was either at his meals or engaged in private
reading. Augustine used to enter, as all persons
might, without being announced; but after[{25}]
staying awhile, afraid of interrupting him, he
departed again. However, he heard his expositions
of Scripture every Sunday, and gradually made
progress.
He was now in his thirtieth year, and since he[{30}]
was a youth of eighteen had been searching after
truth; yet he was still "in the same mire, greedy of
things present," but finding nothing stable.
"To-morrow," he said to himself, "I shall find it; it
will appear manifestly, and I shall grasp it: lo, Faustus
the Manichee will come and clear everything! O you[{5}]
great men, ye academics, is it true, then, that no
certainty can be attained for the ordering of life? Nay,
let us search diligently, and despair not. Lo, things in
the ecclesiastical books are not absurd to us now, which
sometimes seemed absurd, and may be otherwise taken[{10}]
and in a good sense. I will take my stand where, as a
child, my parents placed me, until the clear truth be
found out. But where shall it be sought, or when?
Ambrose has no leisure; we have no leisure to read;
where shall we find even the books? where, or when,[{15}]
procure them? Let set times be appointed, and
certain hours be ordered for the health of our soul. Great
hope has dawned; the Catholic faith teaches not what
we thought; and do we doubt to knock, that the rest
may be opened? The forenoons, indeed, our scholars [{20}]
take up; what do we during the rest of our time? why
not this? But if so, when pay we court to our great
friend, whose favors we need? when compose what we
may sell to scholars? when refresh ourselves, unbending
our minds from this intenseness of care?[{25}]
"Perish everything: dismiss we these empty
vanities; and betake ourselves to the one search for truth!
Life is a poor thing, death is uncertain; if it surprises
us, in what state shall we depart hence? and when shall
we learn what here we have neglected? and shall we not[{30}]
rather suffer the punishment of this negligence? What
if death itself cut off and end all care and feeling?
Then must this be ascertained. But God forbid this!
It is no vain and empty thing, that the excellent dignity
of the Christian faith has overspread the whole world.[{35}]
Never would such and so great things be wrought for
us by God, if with the body the soul also came to an
end. Wherefore delay then to abandon worldly hopes,
and give ourselves wholly to seek after God and the
blessed life?..."
Finding Ambrose, though kind and accessible,[{5}]
yet reserved, he went to an aged man named
Simplician, who, as some say, baptized St.
Ambrose, and eventually succeeded him in his
see. He opened his mind to him, and
happening in the course of his communications to[{10}]
mention Victorinus's translation of some Platonic
works, Simplician asked him if he knew that
person's history. It seems he was a professor of
rhetoric at Rome, was well versed in literature and
philosophy, had been tutor to many of the[{15}]
senators, and had received the high honor of a statue
in the Forum. Up to his old age he had
professed, and defended with his eloquence, the old
pagan worship. He was led to read the Holy
Scriptures, and was brought, in consequence, to[{20}]
a belief in their divinity. For a while he did not
feel the necessity of changing his profession; he
looked upon Christianity as a philosophy, he
embraced it as such, but did not propose to join
what he considered the Christian sect, or, as[{25}]
Christians would call it, the Catholic Church.
He let Simplician into his secret; but whenever
the latter pressed him to take the step, he was
accustomed to ask, "whether walls made a
Christian." However, such a state could not[{30}]
continue with a man of earnest mind: the leaven
worked; at length he unexpectedly called upon
Simplician to lead him to church. He was
admitted a catechumen, and in due time baptized,
"Rome wondering, the Church rejoicing." It
was customary at Rome for the candidates for[{5}]
baptism to profess their faith from a raised place
in the church, in a set form of words. An offer
was made to Victorinus, which was not unusual
in the case of bashful and timid persons, to make
his profession in private. But he preferred to[{10}]
make it in the ordinary way. "I was public
enough," he made answer, "in my profession of
rhetoric, and ought not to be frightened when
professing salvation." He continued the school
which he had before he became a Christian, till[{15}]
the edict of Julian forced him to close it. This
story went to Augustine's heart, but it did not
melt it. There was still the struggle of two wills,
the high aspiration and the habitual inertness.
His conversion took place in the summer of 386.[{20}]
He gives an account of the termination of the
conflict he underwent:
"At length burst forth a mighty storm, bringing
a mighty flood of tears; and to indulge it to the full
even unto cries, in solitude, I rose up from Alypius, ... [{25}]
who perceived from my choked voice how it was with
me. He remained where we had been sitting, in deep
astonishment. I threw myself down under a fig tree, I
know not how, and allowing my tears full vent, offered
up to Thee the acceptable sacrifice of my streaming eyes.[{30}]
And I cried out to this effect: 'And Thou, O Lord,
how long, how long, Lord, wilt Thou be angry?
Forever? Remember not our old sins!' for I felt that they
were my tyrants. I cried out, piteously, 'How long?
how long? to-morrow and to-morrow? why not now?[{5}]
why not in this very hour put an end to this my vileness?'
While I thus spoke, with tears, in the bitter contrition
of my heart, suddenly I heard a voice, as if from a house
near me, of a boy or girl chanting forth again and again,
'TAKE UP AND READ, TAKE UP AND READ!' Changing[{10}]
countenance at these words, I began intently to think
whether boys used them in any game, but could not
recollect that I had ever heard them. I left weeping and
rose up, considering it a divine intimation to open the
Scriptures and read what first presented itself. I had[{15}]
heard that Antony had come in during the reading of the
Gospel, and had taken to himself the admonition, 'Go,
sell all that thou hast,' etc., and had turned to Thee at
once, in consequence of that oracle. I had left St.
Paul's volume where Alypius was sitting, when I rose[{20}]
thence. I returned thither, seized it, opened, and read
in silence the following passage, which first met my eyes,
'Not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and
impurities, not in contention and envy, but put ye on the
Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh in[{25}]
its concupiscences.' I had neither desire nor need to
read farther. As I finished the sentence, as though the
light of peace had been poured into my heart, all the
shadows of doubt dispersed. Thus hast Thou converted
me to Thee, so as no longer to seek either for wife or[{30}]
other hope of this world, standing fast in that rule of
faith in which Thou so many years before hadst revealed
me to my mother."—viii. 26-30.
The last words of this extract relate to a dream
which his mother had had some years before,[{35}]
concerning his conversion. On his first turning
Manichee, abhorring his opinions, she would not
for a while even eat with him, when she had this
dream, in which she had an intimation that where
she stood, there Augustine should one day be
with her. At another time she derived great[{5}]
comfort from the casual words of a bishop, who,
when importuned by her to converse with her
son, said at length with some impatience, "Go
thy ways, and God bless thee, for it is not possible
that the son of these tears should perish!" [{10}]
would be out of place, and is perhaps unnecessary,
to enter here into the affecting and well-known
history of her tender anxieties and persevering
prayers for Augustine. Suffice it to say, she saw
the accomplishment of them; she lived till [{15}]
Augustine became a Catholic; and she died in her way
back to Africa with him. Her last words were,
"Lay this body anywhere; let not the care of it
in any way distress you; this only I ask, that
wherever you be, you remember me at the Altar[{20}]
of the Lord."