Catholic Philosophy

Three Doctors of the Church

Four figures are regarded as doctors of the Western Church: Saint Ambrose, Saint Jerome, Saint Augustine, and Pope Gregory the Great. Among them, the first three were contemporaries, while the fourth's activities fall into a later period. In this chapter, I will briefly touch upon the biographies and historical conditions surrounding the first three, reserving a more detailed exploration of Saint Augustine's doctrines for the next chapter, as he is, for us, the most significant figure among this trio.

The height of the activities of Ambrose, Jerome, and Augustine occurred during a brief period between the victory of the Catholic Church within the Roman Empire and the onset of barbarian invasions. All three were quite young during the reign of Julian the Apostate; Jerome outlived the sacking of Rome by the Goths under Alaric by ten years, while Augustine lived to see the Vandals invade Africa, passing away just as they besieged Hippo, the city where he served as bishop. Immediately after they exited the stage, Italy, Spain, and Africa fell under the control of barbarians, adherents of Arian heresy. Civilization entered a long period of decline, and it would not be until roughly a millennium later that the Christian world would again produce individuals of equal learning and culture to Ambrose, Jerome, and Augustine. Their authority was revered throughout the dark ages and the medieval period; more than anyone else, they shaped the form that the Church would take. In broad terms, Saint Ambrose established the ecclesiastical concept of the relationship between Church and State; Saint Jerome provided the Western Church with the Latin Bible and largely initiated the monastic movement; as for Saint Augustine, he developed a theology that would influence the Church until the Reformation, subsequently becoming a significant element of the doctrines of Luther and Calvin. Few figures have exerted a greater influence on the course of history than Ambrose, Jerome, and Augustine. The notion of the Church's independence from the State, championed by Saint Ambrose, was a new and revolutionary doctrine that dominated until the Reformation; when Hobbes challenged it in the seventeenth century, he primarily targeted Saint Ambrose. Saint Augustine remained at the forefront of theological disputes in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, with Protestants and Jansenists defending him, while orthodox Catholics opposed him.

By the late fourth century, Milan served as the capital of the Western Empire, with Ambrose as its bishop. His ecclesiastical duties brought him into constant contact with emperors, whom he typically addressed as an equal, at times even with a tone of superiority. The relationships Ambrose cultivated with the imperial court reveal a striking contrast characteristic of the era: while the State was weak and incapable, governed by selfish opportunists and guided in its shortsighted policies solely by immediate benefits, the Church was strong and capable, led by individuals willing to sacrifice all personal interests for its sake, implementing policies so far-sighted that their fruits were reaped over a millennium. Admittedly, these virtues coexisted with fanaticism and superstition, yet without them, no reformist movement could have triumphed in those times.

Saint Ambrose had every opportunity to pursue success in the realm of public service. His father, also named Ambrose, was a high-ranking official—prefect of Gaul. The saint was born, seemingly, in Treves—a garrison town on the frontier where legions were stationed to keep the Germans in check. At the age of thirteen, he was taken to Rome, where he received a fine education, including perfect mastery of the Greek language. Upon maturing, Ambrose dedicated himself to the legal profession, achieving significant success; at thirty, he was appointed governor of Liguria and Emilia. However, four years later, he abandoned his secular career; the populace welcomed him with the title of bishop of Milan, rejecting the Arian candidate. All that Ambrose possessed in the world, he distributed to the poor, and from then on, his entire life was devoted to the service of the Church, often entailing considerable personal risk. Ambrose's choice was undoubtedly not motivated by worldly considerations, though it would have been prudent even in that respect. In the realm of public service, even had he risen to the status of emperor, Ambrose would not have found the same scope for his administrative and political talents that he discovered in fulfilling his episcopal duties.

During the first nine years of Ambrose's episcopate, Gratian reigned as the emperor of the West—a virtuous but careless man. His passion lay in hunting, which caused him to neglect state affairs entirely; ultimately, he was murdered. His successor over most of the Western Empire was a usurper named Maximus; however, in Italy, the imperial title passed to Gratian's younger brother, Valentinian II, who was still a child. Initially, the imperial power was exercised by his mother, Justina, the widow of Emperor Valentinian I; but being an Arian, her position inevitably led to conflicts with Saint Ambrose.

Each of the three saints discussed in this chapter authored an immense number of letters, many of which have been preserved; thus, we know more about them than about any pagan philosopher and more than about almost all other ecclesiastical figures of the Middle Ages. Saint Augustine wrote letters to everyone and anyone, predominantly concerning doctrinal or ecclesiastical discipline; the letters of Saint Jerome were primarily addressed to noblewomen and offered counsel on maintaining virginity; however, the most significant and intriguing letters of Saint Ambrose were directed to emperors, whom he admonished for failing to fulfill their duties or congratulated on the rare occasions they did.

The first public issue Ambrose faced was the matter of the altar and the statue of Victory in Rome. Paganism lingered longest among the senatorial families of the capital; the official religion was in the hands of an aristocratic priesthood and was closely tied to the imperial pride of the world's conquerors. The statue of Victory in the Senate building was removed by Constantius, the son of Constantine, and restored by Julian the Apostate. Emperor Gratian removed the statue once more, after which a delegation from the Senate, led by Symmachus, the prefect of Rome, petitioned for its reinstatement.

Symmachus, who also played a notable role in Augustine's life, was an extraordinary representative of a well-known lineage—a wealthy aristocrat, a man of great culture and a pagan. In 382, Symmachus was expelled from Rome by Gratian for protesting the removal of the statue of Victory but did not remain in exile for long, as he became prefect of Rome again in 384. He was the grandfather of that Symmachus who was the father-in-law of Boethius and played an important role during the reign of Theoderic.

Now it was the turn of the Christian senators to protest, and with the assistance of Ambrose and the Pope (who at the time was Damasus), they succeeded in having their viewpoint supported by the emperor. However, when Gratian died, Symmachus and the pagan senators in 384 AD addressed a petition to the new emperor, Valentinian II. To counter this new attempt, Ambrose sent a message to the emperor, asserting the thesis that as all Romans owe military service to their sovereign, so too must he (the emperor) owe service to Almighty God. "Let it not be allowed for anyone," Ambrose declares, "to take advantage of your youth; if this is demanded by a pagan, what right does he have to ensnare you in the bonds of his own superstition? You should learn only from his example how to be fervent in the name of true faith, for he ardently defends a false cause." To swear on the altar of an idol against one's will, Ambrose states, is unbearable torment for a Christian. "Were this a civil matter, the right of reply would rightfully belong to the opposing party; but this is a religious matter, and I, as bishop, raise my voice in protest… Let it be known to you that if you decree anything contrary to true faith, we, the bishops, cannot endure this endlessly and remain silent; of course, you may appear in church, but you will either find no priest here or one who will not permit you to approach him."

In his next letter, Ambrose points out that the possessions of the Church serve purposes that the riches of pagan temples have never served: "The Church's holdings are a means of livelihood for the poor. Let them count how many captives their temples have ransomed, how much food they have distributed to the needy, and how many refugees they have provided for." This was a compelling argument, fully justified by Christian practice.

Saint Ambrose emerged victorious from this confrontation, but the subsequent usurper, Eugenius, who favored pagans, restored the altar and the statue. It was only after Theodosius defeated Eugenius in 394 that the issue was definitively resolved in favor of the Christians.

In the early days, the bishop maintained a cordial relationship with the imperial court and was even sent on a diplomatic mission to the usurper Maximus, who was feared to invade Italy. However, a serious cause for conflict soon arose. As Empress Justina was an Arian, she demanded that the Arians be granted one church in Milan, which Ambrose firmly refused to comply with. The populace rallied to his side, and vast crowds filled the basilica. Gothic soldiers, who were Arians, were sent to seize the church by force but ended up fraternizing with the local citizens. “Counts and tribunes,” Ambrose recounts in a fervent letter to his sister, “came to me and insisted that I command the immediate surrender of the basilica, claiming that the emperor was asserting his rights, as there is nothing that does not yield to his authority. But I replied that were he to demand from me what was mine—namely, my land, my money, or anything else of that sort belonging to me—I would not refuse him, although everything I possessed was the property of the poor; but that which belongs to God is not subject to imperial power. I said: ’If you require my possessions, take them; my body—I shall follow you at once. Do you wish to chain me or condemn me to death? That would be a joy for me. I will not call upon the multitude for protection, nor will I cling to the altars and plead for my life; I shall gladly accept death for the altars.’ I was truly paralyzed with horror when I learned that armed men were sent to seize the basilica by force, fearing that, while the people defended the basilica, some bloodshed might occur that would harm the entire city. And I began to pray to God that He would not allow me to live to see the downfall of such a glorious city, and perhaps all of Italy.” The fears were not exaggerated, for the Gothic soldiers could unleash their atrocities at any moment, as happened 25 years later during the sacking of Rome.

Ambrose's strength lay in the support he received from the populace. He was accused of inciting the citizens, but he countered that “it was in my power not to incite the people, but to calm them was only in God’s hands.” None of the Arians, Ambrose asserts, dared to advance, for among the citizens, not a single Arian was to be found. Ambrose received an official order to surrender the basilica, and the soldiers were instructed to use force if necessary. Yet at the last moment, they refused to resort to violence, forcing the emperor to back down. This signified a victory in the great battle for the church’s independence; Ambrose demonstrated that there are matters in which the state must yield to the will of the church, thereby establishing a new principle that retains its significance to this day.

The next time Ambrose confronted Emperor Theodosius himself was during an incident involving the burning of a synagogue. The Count of the East reported that this had been done at the behest of the local bishop. The emperor ordered the punishment of the actual arsonists and commanded the guilty bishop to rebuild the synagogue. St. Ambrose did not deny, though he did not acknowledge, the bishop's complicity but was outraged that the emperor appeared to take the side of the Jews against Christians. What would be the consequence of the bishop’s refusal to comply? He would either become a martyr, if he remained steadfast, or an apostate if he backed down. And what would result from the count’s decision to have the synagogue rebuilt at the expense of the Christians? In this case, the emperor would have a recalcitrant count, while the Christians would lose funds to support disbelief. “What then, would the place of the Jews’ disbelief be erected at the cost of what the church acquired with such labor, and the treasure, gained through Christ for the benefit of Christians, would migrate to the treasury of the infidels?” Ambrose continued: “But perhaps, O emperor, your concern is for maintaining discipline. However, what holds greater significance: the appearance of discipline or the matter of religion? Laws must bow before religion. Have you not heard, O emperor, that when Julian commanded the restoration of the Jerusalem temple, those who cleared the rubble were consumed by fire?”

It is clear that, in St. Ambrose's view, the destruction of synagogues warrants no punishment. This example illustrates how the church, once it gained power, began to incite anti-Semitism.

The subsequent confrontation between the emperor and the saint proved more honorable for the latter. In 390, during Theodosius's stay in Milan, a crowd in Thessalonica killed the garrison commander. When Theodosius received word of this, he was seized by unrestrained fury and ordered vengeance in the most abominable manner. When the inhabitants gathered in the circus, soldiers attacked the crowd, slaughtering at least 7,000 people without distinction between the old and the young. Then Ambrose, who had previously attempted to restrain the emperor in vain, sent him a letter filled with commendable courage; it concerned purely moral issues and, as an exception, did not touch upon matters of theology or the authority of the church: “What was perpetrated in the city of the Thessalonians, and to warn you that I lacked the strength, has no parallel in the annals of history; and I had previously forewarned that this would be something extraordinarily horrific, having pleaded so often not to permit it.”

David sinned repeatedly, but each time he repented of his sins, bearing the requisite contrition. Will Theodosius follow his example? Ambrose concludes: “I do not propose a sacrifice if you intend to present yourself with a confession. Is it permissible, when the blood of one innocent person has been shed, to permit what is forbidden after the blood of many innocent people has been spilled? I think not.”

The emperor expressed remorse and, shedding his purple garments, publicly repented in the Milan Cathedral. From this moment until his death in 395, there were no further frictions between him and Ambrose.

Although Ambrose was a distinguished figure as a politician, in other respects, he was merely a typical representative of his age. Like other church writers, he penned a treatise in praise of virginity and another in which he condemned widows who remarried. When Ambrose chose the location for the new episcopal cathedral, two skeletons—discovered, as it was claimed, in a vision—were fortuitously unearthed, deemed miraculous; Ambrose asserted that these were the remains of two martyrs. His letters recount other miracles with the entire credulity characteristic of that era. Ambrose ranked lower than Jerome as a scholar and lower than Augustine as a philosopher. Yet as a politician, skillfully and boldly fortifying the power of the church, he stands as a figure of the first rank.

Jerome is most renowned as the translator of the Vulgate, which remains the official Catholic edition of the Bible to this day. Prior to Jerome, the Western church relied primarily on translations from the "Translation of the Seventy," which diverged in several crucial points from the ancient Hebrew original. Christians were led to believe, as already mentioned, that the Jews, since Christianity rose to prominence, had distorted the ancient Hebrew text where it appeared to prophesy the coming of the Messiah. This view, whose untenability has been substantiated by serious research, was resolutely rejected by Jerome. He availed himself of the assistance, obtained secretly (out of fear of the Jews), of rabbis during his translation. Defending himself against Christian attacks, Jerome asserted: “Let anyone who contests anything in this translation inquire of the Jews.” This acceptance of the ancient Hebrew text (in the form that the Jews acknowledged as true) led to initial hostility toward Jerome's edition; however, it gained recognition partly because it was generally supported by St. Augustine. Jerome's work was a significant achievement, demanding substantial textual criticism.

Jerome was born in 345—five years after Ambrose—near Aquileia, in a town named Stridon, which was destroyed by the Goths in 377. His family was affluent but not wealthy.

In 363, Jerome moved to Rome, where he studied rhetoric and indulged in vice. After traveling to Gaul, he settled in Aquileia and became an ascetic. The next five years Jerome spent as a hermit in the Syrian desert. “The life he led during his time in the desert was marked by harsh penances, tears and groans, interspersed with moments of spiritual ecstasy, as well as temptations from the memories of his life in Rome; he lived in a cell or cave; through his own labor, he secured his daily sustenance, and his clothing was a hair shirt.” After this, Jerome traveled to Constantinople and spent three years in Rome, where he became a friend and advisor to Pope Damasus, whose approval spurred him to undertake his translation of the Bible.

Saint Jerome possessed a spirited character. He quarreled with Saint Augustine over the somewhat dubious behavior of Saint Peter, as recounted by Saint Paul in his Second Epistle to the Galatians; he severed ties with his friend Rufinus, disagreeing with him on Origen; and against Pelagius, he launched such fierce attacks that his monastery came under assault by a mob of Pelagians. After the death of Damasus, Saint Jerome evidently fell out with the new pope; during his time in Rome, he associated with various noblewomen who combined aristocracy with piety, persuading some of them to adopt an ascetic lifestyle. The new pope, like many other Romans, looked upon this unfavorably. This was one of the reasons, among others, that Jerome left Rome and moved to Bethlehem, where he remained from 386 until his death in 420.

Among the prominent women converted by Jerome, two were particularly notable: the widow Paula and her daughter Eustochium. Both accompanied him on a pilgrimage to Bethlehem. Paula and Eustochium belonged to the highest nobility, and in Jerome's treatment of them, one cannot help but sense a shade of disdain. When Paula died and was buried in Bethlehem, Jerome composed the following epitaph for her tomb:

Here rests the child of Scipio,
Daughter of the illustrious house of the Paulas,
Scion of the Gracchi, descendant
Of the most renowned Agamemnon.
Here lies Lady Paula, dearly beloved
By her parents, with Eustochium,
Her daughter; the first of Roman matrons
She chose Bethlehem, her share in Christ, as a life of deprivation.

Some of Jerome's letters addressed to Eustochium are quite intriguing. He offers her detailed and candid advice on how to preserve her virginity; he elucidates the precise anatomical meanings of certain euphemisms in the Old Testament; and to extol the joys of monastic life, he employs a kind of erotic mysticism. The nun is the bride of Christ; such a union is celebrated in the "Song of Songs." In a lengthy letter written when Eustochium took her vows, he addresses her mother with remarkable words: "Do you truly resent that she wished to become the spouse not of a warrior but of a king [Christ]? She has conferred upon you a great blessing. You have become a mother-in-law to God."

Turning in the same letter to Eustochium herself, Jerome says:
"May the secrets of your bed always guard you; let your bridegroom rejoice with you in spirit always. When you pray, you converse with your bridegroom; when you read, he speaks with you—and when sleep overtakes you, he will come over the wall and stretch out his hand through the window, and touch your womb; and upon awakening, you will rise and say: 'I am wounded by love.' And you shall hear from him in turn: 'A garden enclosed is my sister, my bride; a garden enclosed, a fountain sealed.'"

In the same letter, Jerome recounts that after he had withdrawn from his family and friends, and, what was even more challenging, from the habits of a luxurious life, he could not find the strength to leave behind his library and took it with him into the desert. "Thus, I, the wretched one, fasted and intended to read Cicero." Day and night Jerome repented and still fell back into the same sin, reading Plautus. When, after indulging his weaknesses, he turned to read the prophets, he was horrified by the rawness of the language. Eventually, when Jerome was stricken by fever, he dreamed that on the day of judgment, Christ asked him who he was, and he replied that he was a Christian. But the objection followed: "You lie; you are a Ciceroan, not a Christian." And Christ commanded that he be beaten with rods. In the end, Jerome (in his vision) exclaimed: "Lord, if ever I should possess secular books, if I should read them, it would mean that I have renounced You." "This," Jerome adds, "was not a fainting spell, nor an empty dream."

After this, for several years, Jerome's letters contain only isolated quotations from the classics. However, after some time, he again peppers his discourse with verses from Virgil, Horace, and even Ovid. Yet, he appears to have quoted them from memory, especially considering that some are repeated multiple times.

In the vividness of expression regarding the feelings evoked by the collapse of the Roman Empire, Jerome's letters surpass all known correspondence from his contemporaries. Here is what he writes in 396:
"The spirit shudders to count the calamities of our time. For over twenty years, Roman blood has flowed daily between Constantinople and the Julian Alps. Scythia, Macedonia, Dardania, Dacia, Thessaly, Achaia, Epirus, Dalmatia, and Pannonia are laid waste, ravaged, and pillaged by the Goths, Sarmatians, Quadi, Alans, and Huns... The peace of Rome is crumbling, yet our stubborn neck does not bend! What, think you, is now in the hearts of the Corinthians, Athenians, Lacedaemonians, Arcadians, and all of Greece, ruled by barbarians? And yet I have named only a few cities that once comprised no small kingdoms."

Jerome goes on to recount the atrocities of the Huns in the East and concludes with this sentiment: "Otherwise, for a true depiction of the calamities, Thucydides and Sallust would have been mute."

Seventeen years later, three years after the sacking of Rome, Jerome writes:
"O disgrace! The world is collapsing, yet our sins do not crumble. The renowned city and the head of the Roman Empire have been destroyed by a single fire. There is not a single land where there are not Roman exiles. Sacred churches, once holy, have turned to dust and ash, and we abandon ourselves to greed. We live as if we are to die the next day, and we build as if we shall live forever in this world. Walls gleam with gold, ceilings shine with gold, capitals of columns are adorned with gold, while naked and hungry Christ dies in the guise of a beggar at our doors."

This passage is found serendipitously in a letter addressed to a friend who has resolved to dedicate his daughter to eternal virginity; the greater part of the letter concerns the rules to be followed in raising girls committed to chastity. It is curious that, while deeply lamenting the downfall of the Ancient World, Jerome simultaneously regards the preservation of virginity as a matter of greater importance than the organization of victory over the Huns, Vandals, and Goths. His thoughts never turn to any possible measures of practical policy; he never condemns the vices of the fiscal system or the corruption of relying on an army composed of barbarians. The same holds true for Ambrose and Augustine; indeed, while Ambrose was a politician, he cared only for the interests of the Church. Should we be surprised that the Empire collapsed when all the best and most vigorous minds of the era were so far removed from worldly concerns? Yet, on the other hand, if the fall of the Empire was inevitable, then the Christian perspective was remarkably suited to impart strength of spirit to people and enable them to maintain their religious hopes when earthly hopes proved to be vain. The expression of this viewpoint (in the work "On the City of God") was St. Augustine's highest merit.

In this chapter, I shall speak of St. Augustine only as a man; his theological and philosophical views will be the subject of discussion in the next chapter.

St. Augustine was born in 354, nine years after Jerome and fourteen years after Ambrose; he was a native of Africa, where he spent most of his life. Augustine's mother was a Christian, but his father did not accept Christianity. Augustine himself adhered to Manichaeism for a long time, then became a Catholic and was baptized by Ambrose in Milan. Around 396, he became the Bishop of Hippo, near Carthage. He remained there until his death in 430.

The early period of St. Augustine's life is much better known to us than that of most other church figures, for he himself recounted it in his "Confessions." This book has had famous imitators, among whom Rousseau and Tolstoy are the most notable; however, in my opinion, it had no worthy predecessor. In some respects, St. Augustine bears a resemblance to Tolstoy, though he surpasses him in intellect. St. Augustine was a passionate man, in his youth quite far from the model of virtue, yet an inner impulse drove him on the path of seeking truth and righteousness. Like Tolstoy, in his later years, St. Augustine was consumed by a sense of sin, which made his life harsh and his philosophy inhumane. Augustine resolutely fought against heresies, yet some of his own views, when repeated by Jansen in the seventeenth century, were declared heretical. However, before the Protestants adopted his views, their orthodoxy had never been challenged by the Catholic Church.

One of the first events of his life recounted in the "Confessions" occurred during his childhood, and it does not particularly distinguish him from other children. It appears that, along with several companions of his own age, he stole pears from a neighbor's tree, though he was not hungry, and his parents had better pears at home. Throughout his life, Augustine never ceased to regard this act as an almost incredible manifestation of wickedness. The theft of pears would not have been so grievous had Augustine been driven to it by hunger or by an inability to obtain pears by other means; but, as it was, it constituted a blatant crime, motivated by a love of vice for its own sake. This is what renders Augustine's act so profoundly abominable. And he prays to God for forgiveness:

"Behold, this is my heart, O God; this is my heart, upon which You took pity and showed mercy when it was on the brink of destruction. Let this very heart confess before You what it sought in being wicked without any justification and in allowing my wickedness to have no cause but the wickedness itself—so that is to say, to be wicked for the sake of wickedness. Horrible and loathsome is evil, and yet I loved it; I loved my own destruction. I loved my faults, my weaknesses, my fall; I do not speak of the object of my passions, my attachments, my downfalls—no, but my very weaknesses, my fall, the sin dwelling within me, I loved. My soul is unclean and sinful; it has fallen from the heights of Your heavenly abode into this vale of exile if it finds pleasure not so much in the sinful objects as in sin itself."

In a similar vein, Augustine dwells for seven entire chapters on some stolen pears taken by mischievous boys. A modern mind might perceive this as a manifestation of painful sensitivity, but in Augustine's own time, this was regarded as righteous and a sign of holiness. The sense of sin, which was extraordinarily strong during Augustine's time, arose among the Jews as a means to reconcile faith in their own greatness with the evident shattering of hopes. Yahweh was all-powerful and showed particular care for the Jews; why, then, did they not prosper? Because they were mired in vice: they were idolaters, they intermarried with pagans, they failed to uphold the law. Indeed, God concentrated His thoughts on the Jews, but since righteousness is the highest good, and the path to it lies through suffering, the Jews had to be punished first and see in their punishment a sign of God's fatherly love.

Christians replaced the chosen people with the Church; however, with one exception, this made little change to the psychology of sin. The Church, like the Jews, found itself in a difficult situation: it was torn by heresies, and individual Christians, under the weight of persecution, became apostates. Yet among Christians, the notion of sin underwent a significant transformation, to which it had largely been subjected among the Jews: this change consisted in the substitution of the idea of collective sin with that of individual sin. Initially, it was believed that the entire Jewish people had fallen into sin and faced collective punishment, but later, the notion of sin became more personal and thus lost its political character. When the Jewish people were replaced by the Church, this transformation became essential, as the Church, as a spiritual organization, could not fall into sin; however, an individual sinner could sever his religious connection with the Church. The concept of sin, as we have just mentioned, is intertwined with the belief in one's own greatness. Initially, greatness was attributed to the entire Jewish people, but later—to not the Church as a whole, since the Church could never fall into sin, but to individual Christians. Thus, Christian theology fragmented into two parts, one concerning the Church as a whole and the other concerning the individual soul. In later times, Catholics emphasized the former, while Protestants focused on the latter; yet in the teaching of St. Augustine, who felt no sense of dissonance between these two parts, they exist in perfect balance. Those who are saved are precisely those whom God predestined for salvation; this expresses the direct connection of the soul with God. But no one will be saved unless he is baptized and thus becomes a member of the Church; this makes the Church the intermediary between the soul and God.

The notion of sin is an integral part of the concept of the direct connection between the soul and God, for it explains why the benevolent Deity may inflict suffering upon people and why, despite this, there can be nothing more profound in the created world than individual souls. It is no wonder, therefore, that the theology that formed the basis of the Reformation owed its origin to a man consumed by a wholly abnormal sense of sin.

But let us set this topic aside. Now, let us consider what is said in the "Confessions" regarding some other matters.

Augustine recounts how he effortlessly learned the Latin language, on his mother's knees, but grew to detest the Greek language, which he was forced to study in school, for he was "compelled to know it through harsh threats and punishments." Until the end of his life, Augustine's knowledge of Greek remained weak. One might suppose that, developing the thought contained in this contrast, Augustine would derive a moral lesson advocating gentle methods of upbringing. However, in reality, he declares the following:

"And from this, it is self-evident that the acquisition and assimilation of such knowledge is far more effective through free curiosity than through timid and frightened coercion. But even this freedom is restrained by the strict necessity of Your laws, O God, Your strong and mighty laws, which, from the rod of teachers to the tortures of martyrs, everywhere mix in a saving bitterness that brings us back to You from the harmful pleasures that lead us away from You."

The chastisements from the schoolteacher, though they failed to teach Augustine Greek, healed him from the pernicious joy of frivolity and thus were a welcome aspect of his education. For those who regard the question of sin as the foremost concern of human existence, this perspective is entirely logical. Augustine goes even further, asserting that he sinned not only as a schoolboy, when he lied and stole food, but even earlier; indeed, an entire chapter (Book I, Chapter VII) is devoted to proving that even infants are steeped in sin—gluttony, jealousy, and other abominable transgressions.

When Augustine reached his adolescent years, he was beset by carnal desires. “And where was I, and how long did I wander far from the true comforts of Your house? Throughout my sixteenth year, madness and fury of fleshly lusts, excused by the shamelessness and licentiousness of humanity yet forbidden by Your law, possessed me, and I completely surrendered to them.”

Augustine's father showed no concern to thwart this evil, limiting his attentions to assisting with Augustine's studies. Conversely, Augustine's mother, St. Monica, sought to instill in him a sense of chastity, but to no avail. Even she refrained from suggesting that her son marry, fearing that “the hopes I provide might be shattered by an early marriage.”

At the age of sixteen, Augustine moved to Carthage, where “pernicious passions of illicit love began to overwhelm me. I had not yet surrendered to this love, but it was already nesting within me, and I did not love the open paths to it. I sought the objects of love because I loved to love; the direct and lawful path of love was repugnant to me… To love and be loved was pleasing, especially when accompanied by sensual delight. I defiled the life-giving feeling of love with the impurities of lust; I mingled the clear radiance of love with the hellish fire of lust.” With these words, Augustine describes his relationship with a mistress whom he loved truly for many years and with whom he had a son, whom he also cherished; later, after his conversion, he took much care regarding the religious upbringing of this child.

The time came when Augustine and his mother decided that it was time for him to contemplate marriage. He was betrothed to a girl whose choice was approved by his mother, and it was deemed necessary to sever ties with his mistress. “With the departure of my concubine,” he states, “as the primary obstacle to my impending marriage, my heart—accustomed to her and addicted to illicit love—suffered the most severe and painful wound. My concubine returned to Africa [Augustine was living in Milan at this time], leaving me with a son, illegitimately conceived with her, and she immediately made a vow before You, Lord, that she would know no other man.” However, since the girl was too young and the marriage could not take place for another two years, Augustine, in the meantime, took another mistress, less formal and less acknowledged. The torments of conscience increasingly overwhelmed him, and in his prayers, he commonly pleaded: “Grant me purity of heart and chastity of restraint, but not yet.” Ultimately, even before the time for his marriage arrived, religion triumphed, and Augustine dedicated the remainder of his life to celibacy.

Let us return to an earlier time. At the age of nineteen, having gained experience in rhetoric, Augustine, influenced by Cicero, turned once more to philosophy. He attempted to read the Bible but concluded that it lacked the spiritual grandeur of Cicero. It was at this time that Augustine became a Manichean, which deeply grieved his mother. By profession, he was a teacher of rhetoric. He delved into astrology, to which he later grew hostile, for it teaches that “by the decree of heaven you must inevitably sin.” Augustine read philosophical works as far as they were accessible to him in Latin; he particularly noted Aristotle’s “Categories,” which he claimed to have understood without the aid of a teacher. “What benefit did it provide me that around that same time I reread all the works on the so-called liberal arts and sciences that I had the opportunity to read, and I did so without difficulty in understanding them, even though at that time I was enslaved to the service of shameful passions? I was like a man standing with his back to the light and all that it illuminated, and my vision… remaining in shadow and darkness without being illuminated by the light.” At this time, Augustine believed that God was a vast luminous body, and he himself was a part of that body. Concerning the views of the Manicheans, Augustine simply states that they are mistaken, rather than providing a detailed account of their doctrines.

It is noteworthy that the first motivating factors that led St. Augustine to break away from Manichean doctrine were scientific in nature. He recalled—so he recounts—what he had learned about astronomy from the writings of the best astronomers: “...I compared all this with the words of the foolish Manichean, who wrote and babbled excessively about these subjects. Yet I found in him no satisfactory explanations for the so-called solstices or equinoxes… nor for the mean time between these, when day and night are equal, that is, the so-called equinox, nor for eclipses of celestial bodies, nor generally regarding all such matters, which are satisfactorily resolved in the writings of philosophers. Here I, so to speak, was unwittingly convinced by the strength of philosophical arguments, while there, in those disconnected and ignorant fancies of the Manicheans, validated by the knowledge I already possessed, I could not arrive at any conviction.” Out of caution, Augustine notes that scientific errors in themselves do not serve as a sign of religious errors, but only become such when these errors are presented with an authoritative guise as truths known through divine inspiration. It would be interesting to know what Augustine would have taught had he lived during Galileo's time.

In an effort to resolve Augustine's doubts, a Manichean bishop named Faustus, regarded as the most learned member of the sect, met with him and entered into conversation. “But I first noticed that this man lacked knowledge of the liberal arts and was almost unfamiliar with them, save for grammar, and that by the established and customary order. However, since he had read some speeches of Tully Cicero and very few of Seneca's writings, as well as some artistic works by poets and his sect's writings, yet only those written in eloquent Latin, and since he engaged in daily exercises in rhetoric, it is not surprising that he had developed an extremely refined ability for bombast, which became all the more enticing and engaging as it was seasoned with a touch of wit, infused with amiability and courtesy, and moreover supported by a majestic and commendable bearing.”

Faustus proved utterly powerless to resolve Augustine's astronomical difficulties. The Manichean books, Augustine asserts, “...are filled with endless fables about the heavens and the stars, about the Sun and the Moon,” which do not agree with what has been discovered by astronomers; yet when Augustine proposed these questions for Faustus's consideration, he openly confessed his ignorance. “And for this, I respected and valued him all the more. To me, restrained modesty and an awareness of one's ignorance are far better than boastful arrogance and pretensions to knowledge; such was Faustus in all matters that were more difficult and refined.”

One cannot help but marvel at the tolerance of this judgment; one would not expect to encounter it in that century. Moreover, it stands in stark contrast to Augustine's attitude toward heretics in the later period of his life.

Now Augustine decided to move to Rome, not because, as he claims, the work of a teacher yielded greater profits there than in Carthage, but because, as he had heard, the education of youth was more proper and serene there. In Carthage, however, the students caused such disorder that teaching had become nearly impossible; yet in Rome, it turned out that, although there were fewer disturbances, students cunningly evaded payment for tuition.

In Rome, Augustine continued to maintain ties with the Manicheans, but he no longer held the same confidence in their correctness. He began to contemplate that the Academics might be right, who “doubted everything, asserting that man cannot grasp the truth.” Nevertheless, Augustine still agreed with the Manicheans, believing that “when we sin, it is not we who sin, but some other nature sins within us,” and he maintained that evil is a kind of substance. From this, it is evident that even before his conversion, as well as after his transition to Christianity, Augustine's thoughts were preoccupied with the problem of sin.

After spending a year in Rome, Augustine was sent by Prefect Symmachus to Milan in response to the city's request for a teacher of rhetoric. In Milan, he met Ambrose, renowned "among the famous men of the world." Augustine came to love Ambrose for his kindness and began to favor Catholic teaching over that of the Manicheans; however, his conversion was momentarily delayed by the skepticism he had adopted from the Academics. "But at the same time, I could not and did not want to wholly entrust the healing of my troubled soul to the philosophers, as I found no saving name of Christ among them."

In Milan, Augustine's mother joined him, profoundly influencing the final steps toward his conversion. A devout Catholic, Augustine consistently wrote of her in a tone of reverence. Her arrival was particularly timely for Augustine, as Ambrose was too burdened with affairs to engage in private conversations with him.

A particularly intriguing chapter follows, in which Augustine compares Platonic philosophy with Christian doctrine. The Lord, he asserts, ensured that he became acquainted with "some books of the Neoplatonic school, translated from Greek into Latin. In these books, I read many passages [from the Holy Scriptures], although expressed in different words, yet containing the very same meaning, for example, that 'In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God'; that 'He was in the beginning with God'; that 'all things were made through Him, and without Him nothing was made that was made'; that 'in Him was life, and the life was the light of men'; that 'the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it.' And although the human soul 'bears witness to the light,' it is not itself the light, but rather that 'the Word of God, Himself God, is the true light that enlightens every man coming into the world'; that 'the same Word was in the world, and the world was made through Him, and the world did not know Him.' However, I did not find the following words: 'This Word God came to His own, and His own did not receive Him; but to those who did receive Him, to those who believe in His name, He gave the right to become children of God.' Likewise, I did not read in these books that 'the Word became flesh and dwelt among us'; I searched in vain for the words, 'He humbled Himself and became obedient to the point of death, even the death of the cross'; nor did I find the words, 'that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow.'

The overall meaning of these words is that Augustine discovered in Platonism a metaphysical doctrine of the Logos but found no doctrine of incarnation and the resulting doctrine of human salvation. A semblance of these doctrines existed in Orphism and other mystical religions, but apparently, Augustine was not familiar with them. In any case, none of these religions were connected to a relatively recent historical event, as was Christianity.

Breaking away from the Manicheans, who were dualists, Augustine came to believe that evil does not arise from some substance but from the perversion of will. He found particular solace in the writings of St. Paul.

Finally, after a passionate internal struggle, Augustine was converted to Christianity in 386; he left his teaching, his mistress, and his fiancée, and after a brief period of solitude devoted to reflection, he was baptized by St. Ambrose. His mother rejoiced, but soon death interrupted her life. In 388, Augustine returned to Africa, where he remained until the end of his days, fully dedicating himself to episcopal duties and composing polemical works against various heretics—Donatists, Manicheans, and Pelagians.