Happiness, according to Augustine

In Book thirteen of De Trinitate, Augustine articulates an argument about happiness that he used and developed in many other works (e.g. City of God 19.1–4). In it, he comes to the conclusion that despite the furious disagreements about it, in some limited way, we all actually understand what happiness involves. And it is this: happiness is having what you want when you want what you ought to want.

Oscar Wilde once said that “There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.” What do you think of Augustine’s view?

Augustine’s argument for short bibliographies

“The members of the Old Academy held and taught these views; so Varro asserts on the authority of Antiochus, Cicero’s master and his own, though Cicero makes out that on many points Antiochus had more in common with the Stoics than with the Old Academy. But what does it matter to us? For we ought to form our judgement on the actual facts of the case, instead of attaching importance to knowing what any particular individual thought about them.” (City of God 19.3)

I’m happy with that principle.

The local church and its mission—the community

A church gathers; but it exists apart from these gatherings. It could not exist without them, but because they do happen, a church is more than them. Something exists through these gatherings. That something is a community.

This idea is expressed in rich and diverse ways in the Bible. In Ephesians 2:11–22, the reconciliation of Jews and Gentiles in Christ prompts Paul to use a series of rich descriptions of the social significance of what has taken place. Paul speaks of “one new humanity” (verse 15), reconciled in peace (17) on the basis of shared access (18). The gentiles are “fellow citizens” and “members of the household of God” (19, cf. 12), part of a temple of God in the Spirit (20–22). Here, as elsewhere, it is hard to avoid the conclusion that what is spoken of is more than a meeting. It is a community that is brought into existence, a “fellowship” (koinônia) of Jesus (1 Cor 1:9), a “household” of God (Gal 6:10), a “brotherhood” (1 Pet 2:17).

What, though, is a community? Oliver O’Donovan puts it this way:

“Community” means a sphere in which things are held in common rather than in private, as “ours” rather than “yours” or “mine.” The essence of community is “communication,” the exercise of sharing things or transmitting them among two or more people… Those who are partners to communication form a community. They become a “we” in relation to the object, whatever it is, that is common to them. (Common Objects of Love, 26–27)

That “object” is Christ, through His Spirit. This is what we share (cf. Phil 2:1), and therefore what binds us together. Saint Augustine described it like this:

The children of grace… form a community where there is no love of a will that is personal and, as we may say, private, but a love that rejoices in a good that is at once shared by all and unchanging—a love that makes ‘one heart’ out of many (Acts 4:32); a love that is the whole-hearted and harmonious obedience of mutual affection. (City of God, 15)

The church is a community constituted by a sharing in Christ through love. What a beautiful thing the church is (at least when seen by faith).

 

Saint Augustine on the problems with multiplying gods

In book VI, chapter 9 of City of God, Augustine lets himself go somewhat in criticizing the pagan tendency to multiply gods with specific functions:

When a male and a female are united, the god Jugatinus presides.  Well, let this be borne with. But the married woman must be brought home: the god Domiducus also is invoked. That she may be in the house, the god Domitius is introduced. That she may remain with her husband, the goddess Manturnæ is used. What more is required? Let human modesty be spared. Let the lust of flesh and blood go on with the rest, the secret of shame being respected. Why is the bed-chamber filled with a crowd of deities, when even the groomsmen have departed? And, moreover, it is so filled, not that in consideration of their presence more regard may be paid to chastity, but that by their help the woman, naturally of the weaker sex, and trembling with the novelty of her situation, may the more readily yield her virginity. For there are the goddess Virginiensis, and the god-father Subigus, and the goddess-mother Prema, and the goddess Pertunda, and Venus, and Priapus. What is this?  If it was absolutely necessary that a man, laboring at this work, should be helped by the gods, might not some one god or goddess have been sufficient? Was Venus not sufficient alone, who is even said to be named from this, that without her power a woman does not cease to be a virgin? If there is any shame in men, which is not in the deities, is it not the case that, when the married couple believe that so many gods of either sex are present, and busy at this work, they are so much affected with shame, that the man is less moved, and the woman more reluctant? And certainly, if the goddess Virginiensis is present to loose the virgin’s zone, if the god Subigus is present that the virgin may be got under the man, if the goddess Prema is present that, having been got under him, she may be kept down, and may not move herself, what has the goddess Pertunda to do there? Let her blush; let her go forth. Let the husband himself do something. It is disgraceful that any one but himself should do that from which she gets her name.  But perhaps she is tolerated because she is said to be a goddess, and not a god. For if she were believed to be a male, and were called Pertundus, the husband would demand more help against him for the chastity of his wife than the newly-delivered woman against Silvanus. But why am I saying this, when Priapus, too, is there, a male to excess, upon whose immense and most unsightly member the newly-married bride is commanded to sit, according to the most honorable and most religious custom of matrons?

Augustine on Time

One last passage from Confessions. Book XI begins a discussion of the first words of the the Bible, “In the Beginning God made the heavens and the earth”. This leads Augustine to a discussion of time. Twenty-five chapters later, Augustine writes these words:

I confess to you, Lord, that I still do not know what time is. Yet I confess too that I do know that I am saying this in time, that I have been talking about time for a long time, and that this long time would not be a long time if it were not for the fact that time has been passing all the while. How can I know this, when I do not know what time is? Is it that I do know what time is, but do not know how to put what Iknow into words? I am in a sorry state, for I do not even know what I do not know! (Confessions, XI:25)

As well as being quite funny, I find Augustine’s interest in this issue fascinating. I have only just begun to think a little about time, and have a sense that I need to do it more (though if Augustine couldn’t work it out, I’ve got bucklies). Does anyone know anything really interesting to read on this?

Augustine on the Bible

I made up my mind to examine the holy Scriptures and see what kind of books they were. I discovered something that was at once beyond the understanding of the proud and hidden from the eyes of children. Its gait was humbl, but the heights it reached were sublime. It was enfolded in mysteries, and I was not the kind of man to enter into it or bow my head to follow where it led. But these were not the feelings I had when I first read the Scriptures. To me they seemed quite unworthy of comparison with the stately prose of Cicero, because I had too much conceit to accept their simplicity and not enough insight to penetrate their depths. It is surely true that as a child grows these books grow with him. (Confessions, III:5)

Its [The Bible's] plain language and simple style make it accessible to everyone, and yet it absorbs the attention of the learned. By this means it gathers all men in the wide sweep of its net, and some pass safely through it and come to you. They are not many, but they would be fewer still if it were not that this book stands out alone on so high a peak of authority and yet draws so great a throng in the embrace of its holy humility. (Confessions, VI:5)

Augustine’s understanding of the Scriptures and their interpretation was a world away from us. Yet I am struck by how insightful these descriptions remain, and how true they ring to my experience.

Augustine on Science

I had read a great many scientific books which were still alive in my memory. When I compared them with the tedious tales of the Manichees, it seemed to me that, of the two, the theories of the scientists were the more likely to be true. For their thoughts could reach far enough to form a judgment about the world around them, though they found no trace of him who is Master of it. You, Lord, who are so high above us, yet look with favour on the humble, look on the proud too, but from far off. You come close only to men who are humble at heart. The proud cannot find you, even though by dint of study they have skill to number the stars and grains of sand, to measure the tracts of constellations and trace the paths of planets. (Confessions, V:3)

It seems to me that this judgment remains timely. Science can discover what the universe is like and has the power to dispel many myths; yet when it tries to reach beyond itself to declare on ultimate questions, it is not surprising that it cannot come good on its promises.

Augustine on telling your own story

In his Confessions, which I have recently been reading, St Augustine journeys back in his memory to his childhood and adolescence, though it gives him some displeasure to recount what he regards as a shameful past. In Book II, he makes this fascinating explanation for his doing so:

I must now carry my thoughts back to the abominable things I did in those days, the sins of the flesh which defiled my soul. I do this, my God, not because I love those sins, but so that I may love you. For love of your love I shall retrace my wicked ways. The memory is bitter, but it will help me to savour your sweetness, the sweetness that does not deceive but brings real joy and never fails. For love of your love I shall retrieve myself from the havoc of disruption which tore me to pieces when I turned away from you, whom alone I should have sought, and lost myself instead on many a different quest. (II:1)

Augustine seems to be aware that the question of his self is at stake in his telling his story. He says he thinks through his earlier life in order to “retrieve” himself. I think there is something very wise here: what is at stake in my testimony, my own story about my life, is my self, whether I will be a whole, or whether I will ultimately be lost. I’d be interested to hear how other respond to this.