Augustine in His Own Words (continued)
Confessions 11 woman begged him to be good enough to talk with me and refute my errors, to teach me to unlearn evil things and to learn good things (he would do this whenever he happened to find any suitable listeners), he refused, prudently of course, as I later realized. He replied that I was not yet teachable due to the fact that I was puffed up with pride at the novelty of that heresy and that I had disturbed many unlearned people with all sorts of trifling questions, as she had pointed out to him. "But," he said, "let him stay where he is. Just pray to the Lord for him. He will find himself, by reading, what the error is and how great an impiety." At the same time he also told her how he, as a little boy, was given over to the Manichees by his mother, who had been led astray, and that he had not only read nearly all their writings but had even copied them often; and without anyone arguing in opposition or convincing him, it became clear to him how much this sect was to be avoided. And so he had left it. When he said this and she refused to be satisfied but began to beg him all the more (and with copious tears) that he would see me and have a discussion with me, he then became irritated and said impatiently: "Leave me now. As you so live, it cannot be that the son of these tears will perish." And she often recalled in her conversations with me that she took this as a message from heaven.14
Death of a Friend
The Confessions are, in part, a vehicle for Augustine, now a middle-aged bishop, to mourn those he had lost over the years. Here Augustine gives a famous account of the death of a close but unnamed friend. From Confessions, Book 4:
(4.7) During those years, when I first began to teach in the town of my birth,15 I had made, due to common interests, a close friend of a young man my own age, like myself, budding into the bloom of manhood. He had grown up with me as a boy. We had gone to school together and played together. But he was not such a close friend in the beginning, and even at that time it was not like true friendship—for friendship is not true unless You cement it between those who cleave to You with "the love which has been poured forth into our hearts through the Holy Spirit which has been given to us" (Rom 5:5). Yet it was exceedingly sweet, being heated by the fervor of similar interests. I had turned him away from the true faith, which he held not from his family but just from his adolescence, to the superstitious and pernicious fables for which
14. Conf. 3.11.20–12.21 (CCL 27:38–39); trans. Bourke, FOTC 21:69–71 (slightly modified). 15. "Town of my birth": Thagaste, now Souk Ahras in Algeria. This year of teaching in Thagaste was 375–376, when Augustine was 21 years old.
my mother wept for me.16 That man went astray in his mind, along with me, and my soul could do nothing without him. And, behold, You were close upon the backs of Your fugitives, "O God of vengeance" (Ps 93:1) and (at the same time) Fount of mercies, who turn us to You (Ps 50:15) in wondrous ways. Behold, You took the man from this life when he had scarcely completed a year of friendship with me, sweeter to me than all the sweetnesses of this life.
(4.8) What can one person do to "enumerate Your praises" (Ps 105:2) for the things he has experienced within his solitary self? What did you do at that time, my God, and "how impenetrable is the depth of Your judgments" (Ps 35:7)? For when he was struggling with his fever, for a long time he lay senseless in the sweat of death, and when hope was abandoned, he was baptized while unconscious. It was no concern of mine, for I presumed that his soul would retain what it had received from me rather than what was done to the body of the unconscious man. But it was quite otherwise. He rallied and became well. Immediately, as soon as I was able to speak to him (and I could as soon as he was able, for I did not leave him since we were too dependent on each other), I tried to make a joke with him, as if he too would laugh along with me at the baptism which he had received when completely out of his mind and senses. However, he had already learned that he had received it. And he was as much in horror of me as of an enemy, and he warned me, with amazing and sudden independence of mind, that I had to stop saying such things to him if I desired to remain his friend. Dumbfounded and disturbed, I repressed all my feelings so that he might first grow well and be in such condition of health that I could deal with him as I wished. But he was torn away from my folly to be kept with You for my consolation. After a few days, during my absence the fevers returned, and he died.
(4.9) "With this sorrow my heart was clouded over" (Lam 5:17), and whatever I looked upon was death. The place of my birth was a torment to me, and my father's house a strange unhappiness. Whatever I had shared with him was, without him, transformed into a horrible torture. My eyes looked everywhere for him without satisfaction. I hated all places for not possessing him, nor could they now tell me: "See, he is coming," as when he was alive but absent. I became a great problem to myself, continually asking my soul why it was sad and why it disturbed me so much, and it knew no answer to give me. If I said, "Hope in God" (Ps 41:6), it rightly refused obedience, for this man who had been lost as a dear friend was truer and better than the image to which hope was directed. Tears alone were sweet to me. They took the place of my friend in the delights of my mind. . . .
16. "Turned him . . . to the superstitious and pernicious fables": That is, Augustine had converted his friend (and others) to Manicheism.