Opening (Augustine, Book 19 — quoted)
"As I see that I have still to discuss the fit destinies of the two cities, the earthly and the heavenly, I must first explain, so far as the limits of this work allow me, the reasonings by which men have attempted to make for themselves a happiness in this unhappy life, in order that it may be evident, not only from divine authority, but also from such reasons as can be adduced to unbelievers, how the empty dreams of the philosophers differ from the hope which God gives to us, and from the substantial fulfillment of it which He will give us as our blessedness."
Disclaimer: I can’t imitate the exact voice of the TV character Ally McBeal, but below is an original piece that captures the distinctive high-level characteristics associated with her: quick, neurotic inner monologue; legal-turned-poetic rhetorical turns; conversational aside to the audience; sudden musical/visual beats; and a self-aware, comedic vulnerability. The result is a pastiche inspired by those features, not a verbatim imitation.
Scene: A small, sunlit conference room at a Boston law firm. A round table. A single laptop, a stack of briefs, a glass of tap water that Ally (our speaker) keeps refilling. A faint harp motif plays when she thinks of the ‘heavenly city’; a staccato piano sting when she thinks of the ‘earthly city.’
Lighting: Warm spotlight on Ally when addressing the room; a cooler, diffused wash for inner-monologue moments. Occasional visual ‘bubble’ hallucination above her head with legalese snippets that pop and burst.
Ally-esque inner monologue (legal cadence + rhetorical musing)
(Voice: brisk, slightly breathless; cadence clipped by legal terms — "objection," "sustained," "overruled" used as rhetorical punctuation.)
(Ally, to herself — rapid, punctuated)
Okay. Two cities. Two destinies. Two very different closing arguments. The earthly city — think: billable hours, strategic settlements, the shiny briefcase promise of happiness. The heavenly — think: something less billable, more…binding? No. More covenantal. Deep breath.
Procedure first: I have to explain how people try to manufacture happiness. That’s the prima facie claim. They marshal reasons like evidence; they put forward philosophies like exhibits_A, B, and C.
But Augustine — and I’m filing this — wants the judge (read: reader, read: human hope) to see the contrast. Not just theological proof, but reasons that might sway the unbelieving juror. It’s a two-pronged argument, legal and pastoral. Elegant. Dangerous. Human.
(An aside: notice his syntax — long, cumulative sentences that pile reasons on reasons like a careful cross-examination. The rhythm itself is rhetorical — an accumulation that seeks to overwhelm doubt.)
So how do I give this courtroom drama a final speech? With a lawyer’s scaffolding and a poet’s mercy. Short counts, then crescendos. Start cool, then land the moral: philosophers dream; God gives fulfillment. Boom. That’s the verdict I’m trying to sell.
Final mock speech (delivered; stage & voice directions included)
(Ally stands. She smooths her jacket, glances at the audience as if they might be a jury, then exhales.)
Ally (addressing the room):
Ladies and gentlemen — colleagues — skeptics: we are in the business of proposals. We draft motions for tomorrow’s happiness, we sign them with the ink of intention, we notarize them with late-night optimism. These are the drafts of the earthly city.
Count one: The earthly city promises happiness by construction. They promise it with strategy, with commerce, with law. They promise it with what Augustine would call reasoning — and I hold these reasonings up like exhibits. They glitter; they convince. But they rest on shifting foundations: reputation, property, appetite. All admissible evidence, all fragile as a pressed-flower in a briefbook.
Count two: The heavenly city offers a different evidentiary standard — not merely argument, but fulfillment. Augustine asks us to compare the dreams of philosophers — hypotheticals, syllogisms, beautiful but thin — with the gift that comes from outside our bargaining table: hope grounded in a promise that is not our own work.
(She pauses. Harp motif. Her voice softens.)
Rhetorically, this is an antithesis: the dream versus the promise; the architects of happiness versus the giver of blessedness. To make that antithesis evident to 'unbelieving' jurors — Augustine’s phrase — we must translate. We must move from syllogism to story; from legal maxims to human faces: the widow who remembers a kindness, the child who forgives before knowing how to litigate, the person who receives what she cannot bill for.
Grammar matters here. Augustine’s long sentences are not indulgence; they are choreography: premise, elaboration, appeal, crescendo. I use short sentences first — to get attention — then longer ones to let the argument breathe. Syntax as orchestration.
So: to those who rely on the empty dreams of philosophy — the abstract ethicists and the sleek utilitarians — I say, you have excellent prose, admirable structure, but you cannot bind the soul’s hunger with syllogisms alone. To those who rely on divine hope, I say: your evidence is not merely textual authority; it is story, fulfillment, a testimony of transformed lives.
(Beat. A small laugh — nervous, warm.)
Verdict? I cannot deliver proofs like a judge slamming a gavel. But I can frame a case: that the earthly city’s schemes, however clever, are contingent; that the heavenly city’s hope is presented as a promise that will not disappoint. That, in short, is the difference between dreaming and being blessed.
So file your motions. Draft your theories. But know this: the richest settlement is not the one you negotiate for yourself; it is the one promised, and paid in a currency beyond accounting: mercy, completed hope, and the fulfillment of that which philosophers only imagine.
(She sits. The harp motif resolves into silence. A bubble with the words "hope" and "proof" pops above her head.)
Artistic & Rhetorical Justifications
- Legal cadence: Using legal vocabulary and procedural structure (counts, exhibits, verdict language) maps Augustine’s methodical, reasoned argument onto a lawyerly frame — making the theological argument accessible to a modern, skeptical audience.
- Syntax and sentence rhythm: Short sentences capture attention and create dramatic beats; longer, accumulative sentences mirror Augustine’s own rhetorical style and emphasize cumulative evidence. This alternation replicates the persuasive dynamics Augustine uses.
- Antithesis and parallelism: The contrast between "dreams" and "fulfillment" is foregrounded by parallel clauses and mirrored imagery, a classical rhetorical move Augustine himself employs.
- Inner monologue devices: Rapid asides, musical cues, and visual bubbles emulate a TV-style inner life — they externalize cognitive processes (doubt, legal reasoning, compassion) and keep the delivery intimate and immediate.
- Stage directions & blocking: Physical gestures (smoothing jacket, refilling water) and lighting cues ground the philosophical in the human, emphasizing that argument is lived as well as thought.
- Grammatical choices: The deliberate insertion of legalistic nominals ("the earthly city," "the heavenly city") gives nouns weight, while verbs of gift/fulfillment ("gives," "fulfills") shift agency toward the theological claim being defended.
Final note: The pastiche aims to do what Augustine sought: translate profound theological contrasts into language and images that can persuade both the devout and the doubtful — here, through a persona who thinks like a lawyer, feels like a neurotic romantic, and performs like someone used to making people listen. Theatricality is not decoration; it is persuasion.