'CONFESSIONS' OF ST. AUGUSTINE
Augustine's Spiritual Journey
The story related by Augustine concerning his conversion to the Christian Faith is the subject of the Confessions. In Book Eight Augustine records the climax of events that occurred in the year 386 CE: they are not the end, but a new beginning in his spiritual journey to God. It is the outcome of his search for "that other happiness" which for so long eluded him, the thing from which he had fled for the past twelve years: "that, whereof not the finding only, but the very search, was to be preferred to the treasuries and kingdoms of the world . . . and to the pleasures of the body". (Pusey translation).
There had been many barriers to Augustine's conversion to the Church, and although few doubts remained to trouble him, he was still unhappy: the Scriptures "were planted firmly in my heart"; he was certain in hope of eternal life, and was "rid of all my doubts about an incorruptible substance"; his perception of God, firmly a matter of faith. For all that there was an absence of joy, because "in my worldly life all was confusion". Where he felt he "he should have been glad to follow the right road . . . but I still could not make up my mind to "venture along the narrow path".
With hope of honour and wealth gone, Augustine had abandoned his ambitions in the world; "such things now held no attractions for me in comparison with your sweetness", yet one worldly pleasure remained: "I was still held firmly in the bonds of woman's love". His dilemma consisted in a conflict of desires, for "I had already found the pearl of great value and I ought to have sold all that I had and bought it. But I still held back". It would take the wisdom and patience of a man of God, Simplicianus, and the stories of some notable conversions, to help Augustine comprehend the full measure of his spiritual condition, and point him in the right direction.
Simplicianus, careful not to undermine Ambrose's preparatory work, or to insult Augustine's intelligence, first affirms his fortuitous reading of the Platonist's books, rather than other philosophic writings "full of fallacies and misrepresentations", before introducing the need for humility by telling him about Victorinus, who was "not ashamed to be the child of Christ . . . submitting his neck to the yoke of humility and bowing his head before the ignominy of the Cross." The wisdom of telling Augustine about such a man was profound, for in Victorinus, Augustine would see himself: "I began to glow with fervour to imitate him". As also by Sergius Paulus, Augustine is guided to salvation by the example of well know converts, brought to Christ through similar trials: status in the world and reputation, fear of offending friends, the vanity that had to be repudiated, and making an open confession "in full sight of the assembled faithful".
What Victorinus and Sergius Paulus can do, so can Augustine: "I longed to do the same, but I was held fast . . . by my own will." His mind ever alert and questioning, Augustine is drawn a step closer to breaking free when he comes to understand that the pain of "progress and retreat, of hurt and reconciliation" is all part of the journey: "You never depart from us, yet is hard for us to return to you." His longing for God intensifies with the recognition that the pain of his perverse will is legitimate, and he must come to terms with himself.
What is becoming clear to Augustine is the existence of two conflicting wills, "and between them they tore my soul apart". From the old "perverse" will had grown lust, from which habit was born, "and when I did not resist the habit it became necessity." The new will inspired love of God and desire to serve him, but lacked the strength to break the chain of habit that held him captive. Nor was there any easy way to resolve the warfare raging within; he had previously postponed his renunciation of the world for lack of clear perception of the truth, but certainty was no longer wanting. The desire was there, but the will to act eluded him.
The drama that unfolds in that garden in Milan follows yet another conversion story concerning two of the narrator's friends, both officials in the service of the Emperor who had been inspired by the example of the desert solitary, St Antony of Egypt, to renounce their careers and serve God: having torn themselves free from all their ambitions . . . "these two built their tower at the cost which had to be paid . . . giving up all they possessed and following (God)." It was a turning point for Augustine, as he listened: "it was not the inhuman austerities that moved him: it was the secret renunciation, the doctrine of the power of the will."
Ironically, Augustine remembers finding himself at similar cross-roads some twelve years earlier, when "I still postponed my renunciation of this world's joys"; but now it was different because through Ponticianus' story God was "turning me around to look at myself . . . so that I should see my wickedness and loathe it." Overcome by burning shame he was forced to face the truth about himself: "all (his soul's) old arguments were exhausted and had been shown to be false." The intensity of conviction brought him to the brink of resolution: "Let it be now, let it be now!" However, there would be no easy resolution of Augustine's agony.
Knowing that "to will it was to do it", hesitancy still clawed at Augustine's heart as "old attachments . . . plucked at my garment of flesh"; and the voice of habit persisted: "Do you think you can live without these things?" Into this mental condition, where "my inner self was a house divided against itself", came the moment when grace intervened: "Cast yourself upon God and have no fear."
Alone, and shamed to tears, the voice of a child breaks through the din of his own heart's wrangling, in words that arrest him: " . . . telling myself that this could only be a divine command to open my book of Scripture", he hurries to obey, and reads " . . . arm yourselves with the Lord Jesus Christ; spend no more thought on nature and nature's appetites"; and then we Augustine again: "the light of confidence flooded into my heart and all the darkness of doubt was dispelled."
One is reminded of the Psalmist's words, "at night there are tears, but joy comes with the dawn", as first Alypius is told (and makes his own commitment), and then Augustine's mother, Monica. Her jubilation was for answered prayers "far more than she used to ask . . . you turned her sadness into rejoicing". For Augustine it was the God of grace who "converted me to yourself, so that I no longer desired a wife or placed any hope in this world but stood firmly upon the rule of faith".
