I was ready. And to their cries and
lamentations would I arise, reborn and glorious, and take my well-earned
and rightful place in the City of God.

At times, between dreams and visions in which I was verily and before my
time in the City of God, I conned over in my mind old discussions and
controversies. Yes, Novatus was right in his contention that penitent
apostates should never again be received into the churches. Also, there
was no doubt that Sabellianism was conceived of the devil. So was
Constantine, the arch-fiend, the devil's right hand.

Continually I returned to contemplation of the nature of the unity of
God, and went over and over the contentions of Noetus, the Syrian.
Better, however, did I like the contentions of my beloved teacher, Arius.
Truly, if human reason could determine anything at all, there must have
been a time, in the very nature of sonship, when the Son did not exist.
In the nature of sonship there must have been a time when the Son
commenced to exist. A father must be older than his son. To hold
otherwise were a blasphemy and a belittlement of God.

And I remembered back to my young days when I had sat at the feet of
Arius, who had been a presbyter of the city of Alexandria, and who had
been robbed of the bishopric by the blasphemous and heretical Alexander.
Alexander the Sabellianite, that is what he was, and his feet had fast
hold of hell.

Yes, I had been to the Council of Nicea, and seen it avoid the issue. And
I remembered when the Emperor Constantine had banished Arius for his
uprightness. And I remembered when Constantine repented for reasons of
state and policy and commanded Alexander--the other Alexander, thrice
cursed, Bishop of Constantinople--to receive Arius into communion on the
morrow. And that very night did not Arius die in the street? They said
it was a violent sickness visited upon him in answer to Alexander's
prayer to God. But I said, and so said all we Arians, that the violent
sickness was due to a poison, and that the poison was due to Alexander
himself, Bishop of Constantinople and devil's poisoner.

And here I ground my body back and forth on the sharp stones, and
muttered aloud, drunk with conviction:

"Let the Jews and Pagans mock. Let them triumph, for their time is
short. And for them there will be no time after time."

I talked to myself aloud a great deal on that rocky shelf overlooking the
river. I was feverish, and on occasion I drank spa