I finally (sort of) get Gus

Friday, Aug. 21, 2015

About a year ago, as part of my ongoing efforts to learn more about this faith that I profess, I bought a copy of “The Confessions of Saint Augustine.” 

I have to admit the man’s reputation intimidated me; he is, after all, one of the four Great Doctors of the Western Church. However, after attending a presentation on St. Augustine given by Fr. Christopher Gray, and shortly thereafter hearing Fr. Carl Schlichte bring up “Gus” in a talk, I decided I should make his acquaintance.

Of all of Augustine’s works, I chose the autobiographical “Confessions” because it seemed the most approachable. It started off well; in the first paragraph I recognized his famous quote “for Thou madest us for Thyself, and our heart is restless, until it repose in Thee.” However, right after that Augustine begins a debate about whether it is more important to call on God or to praise him, and moves from that to asking whether God is “wholly everywhere, while nothing altogether contains you?” 

This sort of debate is not what I expected from an autobiography, and trying to wrap my brain around the philosophy made my head hurt, so I put the book down.

I picked it up again a couple of months later, only to drop it again because I was put off by all of his rhetorical questions and the numerous asides in praise of God. 

Deciding I would just read a compilation of Augustine’s most famous quotes and be done with him, I was dismayed when, shortly before leaving Utah, Archbishop Wester mentioned St. Augustine in a homily. Considering that an omen, I took “Confessions” with me on retreat, when I’d have plenty of time to ponder what I was reading.

The third time proved a charm, if an imperfect one. After trudging through the impenetrable (to me) theological questions at the beginning, I found myself enchanted with Augustine’s use of language and his ability to put into words some of my own inchoate prayers. There’s this: “The house of my soul is narrow; enlarge it, that you may enter in. It is in ruins! Repair it!” and this: “I, poor wretch, foamed like a troubled sea, following the rushing of my own tide, forsaking Thee. …”

Then, too, a very human man emerges: St. Augustine admits that, as a young man, he indulged in the “pernicious pleasures” of a rich life. Even after he became Bishop of Hippo and dedicated himself to an ascetic life, he wrote that he daily endeavored to resist the temptation of overeating and drinking, noting that “what is enough for health, is too little for pleasure.” 

Nearing the end of the book, I felt that I finally was getting a good grasp on Augustine. Then came the penultimate two chapters, and once again I wanted to throw it across the room, because he delves into questions such as how God made the universe, and what Moses really meant by “in the beginning.” Although I understood each individual word on the page, his overall argument eluded me, so after a while I just plowed through to the end, hoping that at least something would stick. 

I might return to Augustine when my theological understanding is more mature, to see if I can garner more from his work. For now, though, I’ll just confess that when I reached the last page, I muttered aloud with heartfelt sincerity (although I’m sure for an entirely different reason than the author intended) the last two words: “Deo gratis!”