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.
Willing and Nilling and the Bondservant
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, IX, 1:7.
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