I
ran into an apt but unusual word in a fresh translation of St. Augustine’s
Confessions by Garry Wills. The word is,
“nill” for “will not”, or for “negate.”
Here is the sentence that I find so remarkable:
“This is all I
wanted, to nill my own will, will yours.”[1]
How
difficult that is! For Augustine it was
as painful a process as it is for us. He
says, “But where I was going no ship or carriage or walking could take me … Not
only going but arriving there was simply a matter of willing it—but willing it
with a strong and unified will, not a partial and wounded will, one jerking and
lunging, part of it surging, part of it sinking,”[2]
On this side of
the decision to surrender there is uncertainty; we cannot see the way before
us, and looking at ourselves we cannot see how we can possibly take the next
step. What Augustine discovered with
much despair and tears was that “there is a sickness of the soul, weighed down
by compulsions that impede its response to the truth. In that sense there are two wills, each
halfhearted, each lacking what the other has.”[3] Within each one of us there are those same
two wills struggling against each other.
With Augustine we cry out, “Give me chastity and continence, but not
yet.”
But
this was neither academic nor impersonal.
He says, “But I, in my hesitation over whether to serve the Lord at
last, as I had long been disposed to do, was the same man willing as was
nilling, both were me. For my willing
was as halfhearted as my nilling. I was
at war within, was exiled from myself.”[4]
What was it that
held him back? “The triflingest things,
the very hollowest things of the hollow-headed, had stalled me – my entrenched
lusts, plucking me back by my fleshly clothing, whispering low: Can you cast us
off? And: From this moment, never more to be with us! And: From this moment, never to do this! …
they no longer flaunted themselves before me on my way, but were tittering
behind me, as if furtively picking at me while I pulled away from them, trying
to make me look back.”[5]
We may think
that we do not struggle with the same things that Augustine was struggling
with, but we have our own interior conflicts.
One of the problems with making up our minds to actually diet is our
difficulty with accepting that what is called for is a surrender to a new
pattern of living, not just doing without a few things until we get our weight
down to a more comfortable level. With
Augustine hear the voice of our favourite temptations saying, “Can you cast us
off? And: From this moment, never more to be with us! And: From this moment, never to do this!” Temporary dieting is one thing, surrendering
to a new way of living is another.
There is in
Augustine’s Confession the pain of abandonment of long fondled lusts and
desires that tugs at the human soul (psyche – soul, self). This is not easy stuff to endure, but the
warning of St. Benedict sounds in my ear, “death lies close by the gate of
pleasure.”[6] Augustine then hears Lady Self-Control
teasing with smiling insistence, “Why do you stand alone, which is no standing
at all? Throw yourself on him! Do you think he will not stay your fall? Give up fear, and throw yourself—he will
catch you, and will heal you.”[7]
The
surrender when it comes, comes with sweet relief. He picks up the book in the garden and reads,
‘“Give up indulgence and drunkenness, give up lust and obscenity, give up
strife and rivalries and clothe yourself in Jesus Christ the Lord, leaving no
further allowance for fleshly desires.’
The very instant I finished that sentence, light was flooding my heart
with assurance, and all my shadowy reluctance evanesced.”[8] It is at this point that he finally is able
to declare, “This is all I wanted, to nill my own will, will yours.”[9]
The
conflict of St. Augustine is the conflict of everyman. That is the crunch point … willing and
nilling, that calls us all to renewed surrenders. Letting go is scary, because, after all it is
the self that we are letting go. It is
Jesus who said, “Whoever would save his life (psyche – soul, or self) will lose
it, but whoever loses his life (soul, or self) for my sake will find it.”[10] We are hard learners and often must reach the
point of utter helplessness before we let go, be still, let drop, relax, and
know that he is God.[11] Then, O the blessed relief of being out from
under.
I
have long been drawn to an image of commitment in Exodus, “When you buy a
Hebrew slave, he shall serve six years, and in the seventh he shall go out for
nothing … But if the slave plainly says, ‘I love my master, my wife and my
children; I will not go out free,’ then his master shall bring him to the door
or the door post. And his master shall
bore his ear through with an awl, and he shall be his slave forever.”[12] Forever is a very long time. Lord, I would be your slave, your bondservant
forever.
I
note the mixed, very human motives. The
master has given the servant a wife and she has born him children in his
servitude. He loves his master, and he
also loves his wife and children. I
can’t help reading this with a little “upstairs, downstairs” overtone from my
own cultural background. To be
downstairs in that context is not to be in a place of disgrace, but in a place
where one’s service gives positive shape and meaning to one’s life. That is a far
cry from the abusive slavery of the American South. Take for instance the character of Bunter,
Valet to Lord Peter Wimsey, in the Dorothy Sayers novels. Bunter is an honourable and admirable man. As for me, I am the bondservant of the King
and it is my delight to serve Him!
I am drawn
particularly to the finality of the decision; one bears visibly the mark of his
slavery by wearing an ear ring. The New
International Version translation of Psalm 40 picks the theme up with clarity,
“Sacrifice and offering you did not desire, but my ears you have pierced; burnt
offerings and sin offerings you did not require. Then I said, ‘Here I am, I have come—it is
written about me in the scroll. I desire
to do your will, O my God, your law is written in my heart.”[13]
In effect, with
Augustine, I pray, “This is all I wanted, to nill my own will, will
yours.” You, Jesus, my Lord, give my
life the only meaning I have. My life is
hidden with you in God.[14] You, are in your Father, and you are in me,
and I in you.[15]
There
is implicit suffering both in the Surrender of the Christ to his bond service
to the Father, and in my own humanity and weakness. From time to time I shrink from suffering,
but with Paul, “I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am
filling up what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions for the sake of his body,
that is, the church.”[16]
The surrender to your will, O my God,
and the sufferings you endured are reflected in the Letter to the Hebrews where
Psalm 40:6-8 is directly applied to you.
You lived your earthly life in perfect surrender to the will of your own
Father, you taking the form of a servant[17],
nilling your own will, and praying for us and in us, “Remove this cup from
me. Yet not what I will but what you
will.”[18]
You in me, and I in you; you make for me
the perfect surrender that I cannot make but only desire, but desire it I do,
and strive for it ‘I will’ to do, praying my own prayer in your words, “Thy
kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” You bid me follow you, and then you give me
the grace to do so, saying, “Work out your own salvation in fear and trembling,
for it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure.[19] My
Lord, “This is all I wanted, to nill my own will, will yours.”[20]
[1]
Garry Wills, Saint Augustine: Confessions, (London:Penguin
Classics, 2006), IX, 1:7.
[2] Ibid. VIII, 5.
[3] Ibid.
[4] Ibid.
[5] Ibid.
[6] The Rule of St. Benedict, Ch. 7,
On Humility
[7] Ibid.
[8] Ibid.
[9] Ibid. IX, 1:7
[10] Matthew 16:25
[11] Psalm 46:10
[12] Exodus 21:2, 5-6
[13] Psalm 40:6-8
[14] Colossians 3:3
[15] John 14:20
[16] Colossians 1:24
[17] Philippians 2:7
[18] Mark 14:36
[19] Philippians 2:12b-13
[20]
Garry Wills, Saint Augustine: Confessions, (London:Penguin
Classics, 2006), IX, 1:7.
