You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.

One intrigue with the saints is their uncanny openness in respect to their sins and weaknesses.  We see the imperfections and outright betrayals of the apostles in the Gospels—many of which could have been redacted by less-than-honorable authors—then there are the famous lines of St. Paul, when I am weak, then I am strong.  The autobiographies and letters from St. Faustina to St. Therese down to St. Francis and beyond contain striking notes of poverty and a regard of one’s own nothingness.  It may be that the extent to which a saint is great is measured by his equal disregard for himself.  Of course, self-hatred has little to do with this; rather, the saints focus considerably more on God, such that when they do note their acts, it is typically in reference to anything that stole their attention from Him.  Among these culprits are sin and concupiscence, but also the leveraging of labors and sufferings to justify venial offenses or forgetfulness of God.

Saint Augustine spends a good first portion of his Confessions in dialogue with himself—his former youthful and unconverted self.  Here he discusses the tragedy of his sins and time in estrangement from God.  Importantly, Augustine draws out a theme of self-estrangement as well. He knows as a wiser and humbler convert that distance from God begets distance from self, and that a true life demands a union of the two.  His discourses read almost as a personal extension of the Book of Lamentations, except his present-self bemoans the infamous actions of his youth like the prophets and psalmist cry over Israel.  His life taken in its whole offers an apt and splendid mosaic of the story and fulfillment of the people Israel as reaching fruition in Jesus Christ.  Israel found herself again and again infertile and barren in correlation to her idolatries; with right worship came brideship and an Israel made capable of being mother to the multitudes.  Augustine was special in respect to nature: his brilliant mind and inquisitive keenness captured the attention of the likes of St. Ambrose among others prior to his conversion.  But with grace the true Augustine was born.  From this birth the Church received her perennial and praiseworthy elucidations of nature and grace, stalwart rebuttals to Donatism, and numerous books—among them the beloved Confessions (to name just a scrawny sampling of his contributions).  

The Confessions reads as a genuine, heartfelt, and above all honest assessment of self.  St. Augustine manages to put himself through a sort of retroactive self-imposed “final judgment” but advances his criticisms on the advent of saving grace and redemption in his life.  His model offers us a useful and prudential example of self-reflection; it neither stresses sin to the point of despair or self-hatred, nor elevates a vestige of mercy at the expense of genuine contrition.  If the present schema of culture evinces anything in this area, it is that people tend to frankly hates themselves or falsely love themselves.  True charity of self incorporates a hearty reality-check of sinfulness as well as a grace-check of God’s mercy—both of which are found wanting in Catholic circles.  For as much as St. Augustine bemoans his past sins, he does not stay petrified in self-remorse but makes constant examinations in the repose of a God who loves him very much.  What’s more, is that Augustine knows this.  Perhaps, as he famously remarks, a little too late—yet, most readers would say, just on time.  In a culture that desperately demands transparency—but often uses it to flagship intimate details meant to be private, and similarly, one that praises authenticity whilst hiding behind false personas that “fit” trending narratives—here we have an account that is prudently forthright.  He says more than most.  He also leaves us pondering and does not permit his words to infringe upon mysteries better left to the echoes of the heart, while still conveying those intimacies in his cries of pain and joy.

St. Augustine’s Confessions, in particular, offer a prescient account of the impact of choices, good and bad, and how they direct the course of one’s life.  Because he spent much of his youth embroiled in sin and fleshy pursuits the distance with which he found himself from God speaks for itself: he lacked regard for things divine, much to the sorrow of his mother, St. Monica;  likewise, the attentiveness with which he considers God and speaks to him as a friend permeates the later pages of his memoir and readers alike can almost feel the personal nearness and predilection he has for his Creator.  What we ultimately witness in Confessions, then, is an account of conversion, and one that demonstrates the happiness and peace that comes from a humble relationship with God.  It is not written as an “apology,” that is, as a body of writing meant to promulgate or defend the faith; but rather, as a collection of personal ponderings and attempts to understand self, reality, and God.  It is a journal exquisite for what Augustine chooses not to hide, which is everything.