Rating: - Close, but not Augustine's Voice
It's hard to love St. Augustine. Even as one of the most influential religious thinkers in the history of Christianity--the image of heaven as a holy city, the City of God, was his idea--and as the author of his Confessions, arguably the first confessional biography (and a model for many of the literary memoirs we've lately been swamped with), he presents a cold and prickly figure. It's not so much that he doesn't give us the goods about his early, sinful life--he does, sometimes in great detail--but the guy who ranks his theft of a cartload of pears among his greatest mistakes is unlikely to impress our jaded sensibilities. What we want in a biography of Augustine, is an interpreter--not of his works, but of his life: we want to know the drama of this man's life, and to feel afresh his importance today.
That's just the issue here. Throughout the Confessions, which Garry Wills, in his new short biography of St. Augustine (one of a series of excellent short lives published by Penguin Putnam) more accurately translates as Testimony, we find ourselves in the presence of a man who has a lot to say, but speaks in a voice that sounds alien to most late-twentieth-century ears. The child of a pagan father and a Christian mother who would later be venerated as St. Monica, Augustine grew up on the fringe of the Roman Empire, in Africa. Torn between his mother's strict Christian discipline (legend has it that she allowed her child only two small cups of water a day, in order to mortify the `sinful' flesh--a story that Wills, perhaps wisely, omits) and the lure of the old pagan order which still held sway in much of government and civic life, it's small wonder that Augustine went where the money was. For the first part of his life, the part he would later describe as gravely sinful, he followed the career path many young Romans aspired to--to great effect: at the time of his conversion to Christianity, he held an advisary position in the court of the Emperor.
Along the way, however, he picked up an interest in philosophy, particularly the fashionable (and most unchristian) Manicheanism, which holds that the universe is a battleground between equally-matched and eternally-opposed forces of good and evil. It was his misgivings about the truth of his beliefs--no doubt also the influence of his mother, whom he brought along on his travels to Italy--that prompted his conversion, famously described in the Confessions. Sitting under a fig tree in his garden one day, reading the letters of St. Paul with a friend while wrestling with his doubts, Augustine heard what sounded like a child's voice from a nearby house, repeating the refrain of a nursery rhyme or game: Tolle, lege; tolle, lege--'Pick up and read, pick up and read.' He opened the book he had laid aside, read the first sentence on which his eyes fell--"Be clothed in Jesus Christ"--and a saint was born.
That's the famous story, the part of his Confessions most often read and retold today. But Augustine's long life (he would live another thirty years, eventually becoming the Bishop of Hippo in northern Africa, and writing his monumental book The City of God), would be spent amid the spiritual and political controversies of the Church in the fourth century A.D. Unlike our recent spate of memoirs--and of much less interest to contemporary readers--Augustine's biography here is a political one, less concerned with his personal spiritual transformation that with the religious politics of Roman Africa in the years just before Rome's fall. This is where, and largely why, Wills' biography loses its interest and pales beside the testimony of the saint.
It does not help that Wills repeatedly fails to enliven Augustine's story, keeping the flesh-and-blood man behind a scrim of political reportage and undoubtedly learned commentary on Augustine's theology, and a critical reading of his many written works. The composition of The City of God, for instance, is clouded over in background detail:
"Augustine spent fifteen years writing the twenty-two books of The City of God, that `great and trying labor'.... They were years of increasing desire for some measure of temporal peace. Augustine's hopes for enlightened leadership, first lodged in Marcellinus, then cruelly disappointed, were partly revived when another Christian official, Boniface, came to Africa in 417 as commander (count) of the Roman military force. Augustine sent him a long statement of the Donatist policy he had created for Marcellinus. Since Boniface had important frontier duties, keeping the Saharan tribes from Christian Africa, Augustine wrote for him in 418 a little treatise on military morality--war should be waged only when it is necessary to peace, and then with the minimum necessary violence; truth should be observed even toward the enemy; mercy to the vanquished precludes use of the death penalty."

And so on, and so on--making a short book feel long and dry. It's hard to remember, while we read this, that one of the most splendid conceptions of divine grace ever committed to paper is taking shape in the background--the scratching of Augustine's quill is drowned out by the noise from the street outside.
Not that we lose sight of much that Augustine wrote: hardly any of the saint's extant sermons or treatises are left unmentioned here, but few are actually summarized to the point of intelligibility, or quoted at length enough to allow us to get a flavor of the man's thoughts. In fact, so much discussion is spent here on the meanings of texts not quoted, or on the interpretation of single words and phrases, that Augustine, the man whose Confessions have unjustly earned him a rather scandalous reputation, gets lost in a fog of worldly detail. Often it's difficult to tell just where our hero is, what he's doing in his daily life, and why it matters in the larger scheme of things. The tone of the book is dry enough to make Augustine's common-law marriage--at the age of sixteen, making him a father a year later--and his eventual spurning of the woman he called his `concubine,' first for the prospect of a socially advantageous marriage, then for God, all seem rather dull. Where, we want to ask, is the drama of the sinful life that Augustine himself conveys in his Confessions?
And this is the saint we want--and perhaps the saint we need. There's no shame in admitting that when we read his biography, we want to know not the brilliant prose stylist and theologian, not the provincial magistrate and church politician, but the man who sinned, suffered, doubted and finally found his faith--a faith that would change the world for centuries to come--in the voice of a child overheard in a garden. If Wills' book can be said to have failed this task, it is because he has given us the words of Augustine, but not his voice.