Confessions

In converting to Manicheism, Augustine joined one of the largest religions of the time, and yet its influence was dwindling, especially in the Roman Empire. A few years after Augustine became a Manichee, Theodosius declared Christianity the only legitimate religion and issued a decree of death for Manichean monks (Melton, J. Gordon. Faiths Across Time: 5,000 Years of Religious History. Vol. 1, ABC-CLIO, 2014, p. 361), though if this trend concerned Augustine, he makes no note of it. In fact, the religion remained influential during this time, and Augustine’s choice to become a Manichee was likely at least in part one of political expediency, a benefit he continued to enjoy even after the time he claimed to have abandoned the religion (O’Donnell, James. “St. Augustine.” Encyclopedia Britannica, 9 Nov. 2021).

Manichees followed Mani, a third-century Iranian prophet, who taught that life was a dualistic struggle between a good world of light and an evil world of darkness. They viewed Jesus as a prophet and incorporated some elements of his ministry, presenting them side-by-side with those of non-Christian holy figures such as Zoroaster, Buddha, and above all Mani himself.

For demoting Jesus and partitioning God’s omnipotence as well as for their association with Rome’s Persian adversaries, Manichees were targeted by Christians as a threat. This insecurity manifests in the horror and indignation with which Augustine reflects on his time under their sway, emotions he may have exaggerated to appease those who doubted he had truly left Manicheism behind. Although he lists several specific Manichean beliefs as evidence of the religion’s absurdity, their unbalanced worldview, predicated more on material elements of creation than the God who created them, disturbs him most. Augustine compares Manichean teachings to “plates on which they served me not you but the sun and moon, which are your beautiful works, to be sure, but still your works, not yourself” (48).

This unbalanced focus plays right into the theory of sin Augustine articulates in reflecting on the pear episode. Indeed, he compares Manicheism itself to theft, invoking a Biblical proverb to suggest that such a belief system is a vain attempt to wrest power and greatness away from God: “But I stumbled upon that bold woman devoid of prudence […] sitting outside on her stool and inviting me: Come and enjoy eating bread in secret, and drink sweet, stolen water” (50).

Augustine’s convictions regarding Manicheism’s blindness and especially the righteousness of Christianity are stirringly articulated. He provides examples such as his mother’s dream in an attempt to prove that the Christian God is real and works to move Augustine’s heart. Readers of faith may view these arguments as convincing, and yet there is the distinct possibility that, had circumstances been different, Augustine might have stuck with Manicheism or perhaps found another faith, defended that creed just as vehemently, and made Christianity the subject of his ridicule. This question arises when Augustine, ever frank, confesses to once viewing the Bible as “unworthy” when compared with “Cicero’s dignified prose” (47). Augustine rationalizes this judgment by claiming he himself was then unworthy of the Bible’s wisdom. Ultimately, these are unprovable value judgments on each side, which are all any believer can call on to justify one faith over another.

Augustine writes extensively of the flexibility of God’s justice, the ability of Christian doctrine to persist in safeguarding central values while adapting to the specific needs of any given time and place, a versatility he asserts that Manicheism lacks. Of course, any set of values can be interpreted and enforced with excessive rigidity. Perhaps the Manicheism of Augustine’s day was more susceptible to this sort of fundamentalism than Christianity at that time, but there are countless counterexamples from history of the teachings of Christianity being interpreted and implemented with excessive orthodoxy.

Augustine himself falls prey to this tendency when subdividing criminality. Despite acknowledging that justice fluctuates according to context, he writes of “vices contrary to nature […] always to be detested and punished” (52), providing the example of “the sins of the Sodomites” (52). Certainly, the story in Genesis of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, with God’s wrath written out as direct quotations, presents the sins of those cities’ inhabitants as incontrovertible violations of divine law, and yet those very sins are never explicitly defined in scripture. Augustine labels them “perverted lust” and claims that men were not made “to have that kind of relationship with each other” (52), suggesting the common interpretation that the crime was homosexuality, or at least sexual in nature. However, religious scholars are divided on the matter, with many modern experts contending that the crime is not sexual at all but rather relates to inhospitality (Britannica, The Editors of Encyclopaedia. “Sodom and Gomorrah.” Encyclopedia Britannica, 31 Aug. 2021). That Augustine presents a fairly specific interpretation of these sins as his sole example of the existence of allegedly incontrovertible crimes against nature calls into question his entire argument for the exceptionality of Christian justice.

Again, Augustine’s narrative in Book III underscores the primacy of human relations and their power to effect both good and ill. He minimizes his lustfulness by placing it against “the din of scandalous affairs rag[ing] caudron-like around me” in Carthage (42), an influence that recalls the pear episode. More positively, Monica places enormous weight on the priest’s labeling Augustine as “a son of tears like yours” (57), and, considering Augustine ends Book III with this detail, he found it important, too. Augustine, Monica, and the priest all seem to view compassion between humans as a uniquely potent manifestation of God’s grace.