Among the most celebrated of all the historical Catholic figures, Augustine, more than most, shaped the theology of the church like a master sculptor, influencing many generations that came after him. The doctrines he spearheaded arose from various controversies that plagued North Africa during his time as bishop, but those doctrines persist to this day, even reaching beyond the church, into the very halls of government.
Show Transcript
Shalom, and welcome to our history podcast. This is a production of Kingdom Preppers.org. I’m your host, Kingdom Prepper, and you’re listening to: Churchianity: Two Thousand Years of Leaven. We continue with our history.
Part 8: Augustine of Hippo
Of all the western church fathers, none is seen as a more towering figure than Augustine of Hippo, whose influence dominated the Middle Ages, particularly in the Latin-speaking world. Even now, he is still regarded as a major theological influence for both Catholics—given his views on the ancient church and the relevance of its sacraments—and Protestants—given his views on grace and salvation.
Some hold him in an even greater light than I have proposed here. Dr. Dorsey Armstrong, associate professor of English at Purdue University, says of Augustine:
“His was a mind the likes of which the world has only rarely seen.”
That great mind, she goes on to say:
“. . . helped shape the very landscape of the middle ages in almost all its facets: the political, the religious, the intellectual, the social, and more. Even several centuries after his death, thinkers would return to this man and his writings for guidance and answers to myriad questions.
“He was so well-read, it seems impossible that he would have found the time to do so much writing. And he wrote so many texts, it seems impossible that he could have been an active and involved bishop for his congregation. Yet he was all of these things, and more. . . . His writings were the single most influential body of work for all the great medieval minds that followed.
“He was destined to become the most important figure in the Catholic church; not only in the Middle Ages, but arguably right up to the present day.”
We have reached a point in our historical narrative where we begin to move from the period of late Antiquity into what historians consider the early Middle Ages. And in the late fourth and early fifth centuries, a major shift begins to take place, where the church is being shaped from within by highly influential leaders. Ambrose was one such figure, who we touched on in the last podcast. Jerome was another. He was commissioned to translate the Scriptures into what became the Latin Vulgate. Other prominent figures were their contemporaries, and put together, these men are considered “doctors of the church.”
Associate professor, Ryan M. Reeves, who we’ve quoted in past episodes, describes the role of a church doctor as follows:
“In Catholic history, and in Catholic practice, a doctor of the church is someone who’s given this honorific, or this title as a way of saying that their theology, their writing, is synonymous, you might say, with Catholic teaching in general. Now, it doesn’t mean that it rises to the rank of papal proclamation, but it does mean that all Catholics are, in a way, engaging with their thinking. From the Protestant perspective, it’s more of honoring the significant changes in writing and deep reflection on Scripture that these men provide to the Church in the West. In both the West, and the East, but increasingly—since many of these men are Latin speakers—it’s the West that sees these great figures as part of their heritage. Well, by far, the most significant figure from this generation—from this period of frenzied activity—is Augustine. Really, you can’t be hyperbolic about the influence and the importance of Augustine. Augustine is a man astride two periods of time. In fact, in many ways Augustine almost embodies the change from the late antiquity period to the early Medieval period. His writings sort of usher in all that would come after it. He’s a bit like Luther in that way. Luther stood astride the modern world. Well, Augustine stood astride the late Antiquity, or the Ancient world, and the early Medieval world. Augustine’s works are some of the most important works of all of Church history, in fact. Again, it wouldn’t be hyperbolic to say that outside of the New Testament, no single figure more shaped the Christian world view or the theology of the entirety of everyone that came after him, than Augustine.”
Born a Roman provincial in a minor commercial North African town called Tagaste in 354, Augustine, an Algerian of Berber stock, soon exhibited a gift for learning that was not missed by his parents. His father, Patricius, was a Roman official and a pagan at heart—though he would be baptized prior to his death. His mother, Monica, was a devoted Catholic who would later be granted sainthood by the church. Smitten as they were with their only child, the two exhausted their savings by sending Augustine to a nearby town to study. But young Augustine would get up to worldly exploits and would wander aimlessly with his companions after his parents’ money ran out.
Eventually, he was able to continue his studies in Carthage, the North African hub for political, economic, and cultural engagement in that Latin-speaking region of the continent. While he focused on his studies of rhetoric, which was among the highest pursuits in the Roman world at the time, Augustine also indulged in the many worldly pleasures Carthage had to offer. This soon led him to take on a concubine who bore him a son named Adeodatus, interpreted as, “given by the deity,” meaning the Creator, Yah. The child died while still in his teens.
As a student of rhetoric, Augustine, like many others of his day, was readying for a career as either a lawyer, politician, or other public functionary who was required to speak and write with a certain elegance that was convincing, even if what was being conveyed was not true. Of this period in Augustine’s life, Philip Daileader, an associate professor of history, says:
“Late in adolescence, he explored Christianity to a certain extent. He was curious about the Christian religion, but, upon reading the Christian bible, he found its Greek to be very plain and poor, and he’s an aspiring rhetorician to whom style is everything. And so, he decides that Christianity is not for him, and instead, he becomes a Manichaean.
“The religion of Manichaeism had emerged from the Persian empire during the third century. Its founder is a somewhat obscure figure by the name of Mani. Mani is familiar with Christian writings, but Manichaeism should not be regarded as an offshoot of Christianity because it incorporates elements of Persian religion, and even of Indian religion as well.”
By the time of Augustine, Manichaeism had spread throughout the Mediterranean basin, and it was a lot like Gnostic movements before it, drawing on certain astronomical observations to form some of its teachings. Those who practiced Manichaeism viewed Christianity and its crude writings as something worthy of ridicule and derision, and this ridicule was used as a lure to attract new members. With this, the young Augustine could agree, as he too viewed the Scriptures as an inelegant body of writings riddled with violence, deceit, war, and other barbaric acts. But what truly drew him to the movement was the question of evil, and the particular view Manichaeism held toward it.
Philip Daileader elaborates on that view:
“Manichaeism maintained that good and evil were equally powerful and equally eternal, and neither one nor the other would be able to vanquish their opponent. Matter and the material world—everything that you see around you—has been created by Satan, therefore the material world is wholly evil, and wholly corrupt; the spiritual world is wholly good. In Manichaean cosmology, particles of the good spiritual world had become trapped here in the material world. And it is the duty of Manichaean believers to liberate these particles of good so that they can return to the spiritual realm where they belong. And the way for Manichaeans to liberate the good that is trapped in the evil, material world is through personal asceticism, and through vegetarianism.
“Augustine was attracted to Manichaeism because it answered an important question that was bothering him; and that was the question of why evil exists in the world.”
The answer Manichaeism offered was that evil existed because Yah, who is purely good, is powerless—in their view—to do anything about it. That answer satisfied a young Augustine for a time, as he followed the religion for almost a decade. However,
“Manichaeans were regarded with horror by contemporary Catholics, and indeed they looked upon Manichees the way that inhabitants of Middle America looked upon Communists in the 1950s: the mere mention of the name ‘Manichee’ would make the little hairs on the back of your neck stand straight up. When Monica found out that Augustine had become a Manichee she refused to let him in the family house.”
Ryan M. Reeves picks up our historical narrative:
“In 374, after his education was done, Augustine sort of sets up a shop—you might say he hangs a shingle—and he teaches rhetoric in the city of Carthage. And he’s there for eight or nine years, and then he decides to try his hand at a big city, a more prestigious city. Now, given that we know that Augustine self-identifies as an African, for him to move to the city of Rome as he does, is telling. He’s chasing the bright lights. And he moves to Rome and again he opens up a school of rhetoric, sort of, a life of tutoring students in the subject of rhetoric. Now, he doesn’t like it while he’s there. There’s just parts of the city and parts of the culture there that don’t really fit with what he wanted or what he expected.”
Expanding on the state of Rome during the time Augustine taught there, Professor Dorsey Armstrong says:
“Rome, at this time, was a seething hotbed of recalcitrant pagans, heretical Christians—like the Arians—and, hypocritical mainstream Christians, who sought after, and used their high religious offices, for personal and political gain. This state of affairs prompted Augustine to quip that, ‘The church extends its reach throughout the whole world, Rome excepted.’ Disillusioned with Rome, Augustine began more and more to go to Milan, to hear the bishop there, a man named Ambrose, preach on the bible.”
A chance meeting with the prefect of Rome, Symmachus—the very Symmachus who debated Ambrose—changes the fate of Augustine, and he ends up landing a coveted position in the city he prefers. James J. O’Donnell, the author of Pagans, writes:
“At least a provincial governorship is what he was aiming for when Symmachus sent him along to Milan and the imperial court in the summer of 384 with a recommendation for the senior professorship there. Within a few months, he was delivering high ceremonial oratory in honor and in the presence of the emperor. That it was a child emperor probably only made the drama more pompous and the effort of glorification more strenuous.”
Ryan M. Reeves gives us a clear perspective on what this professorship meant in terms of status in this period of Roman history.
“This job, this professorship of rhetoric, is set up, frankly, to be one of the most important and the most prestigious platforms from which anyone who is a student or a teacher of rhetoric can hold. And it’s telling that Augustine wins this post. He becomes professor of rhetoric in Milan, the imperial city. Now, again, notice, Milan is an important city. It is where the imperial court is, and since so much of the rhetorical discipline is giving speeches on behalf of politicians, and being involved in politics, to hold the professorship of Milan essentially holds the highest chair of rhetoric in the most important city in the West in terms of politics. He has, you might say, reached the top, and he’s done so in 384, at only the age of 30.”
We’ll be back with more exciting scriptural history . . . in a moment.
[MUSICAL INTERLUDE]
We now continue with our podcast.
Augustine put a few hard questions to the Manichees and expressed some of his doubts to them during their gatherings. Some told him that his questions were profound, but only the great Fautus, a supposed enlightened teacher of Manichaeism, could provide suitable answers. Well, when Fautus arrived to answer Augustine’s puzzling questions, he proved to be no better than the local teachers of Manichaeism. At this point, Augustine had steadily become disillusioned by the religion of the Manichees, and he sought a new avenue for answers to his burning theological questions.
While in Milan, a man named Simplicianus—who had tutored Ambrose in theology—introduced Augustine to Neoplatonism. Unlike the dualism of the co-eternal good and evil concept found in Manichaeism, Neoplatonism, which involved mystical contemplation, taught that there was only one source for all things, and that both good and evil emanated from this ineffable source, seen as the One. Evil, it was held by Neoplatonists, resulted from those who drifted away from this source, and the farther removed one was, the more inferior they were, and thus evil was able to manifest within their lives. Moral evil is the result, then, of moving away from the One, according to Neoplatonists. This answer satisfied Augustine following his disappointment with Manichaeism, and he became a Neoplatonist.
But one final doubt remained, and that was the supposed crude writings that formed the Scriptures, a book that figured prominently in the lives of Christian Neoplatonists. How could something like that emanate from the Creator? It was Ambrose who dispelled his doubts on that matter. Augustine’s mother, Monica, who stayed with him in Milan for a time, urged him to visit Ambrose’s church to hear his sermons—Ambrose was then the most famous speaker in the city of Milan. Following these visits, Augustine, finding Ambrose to be both substantive and acute in a philosophical and theological sense,
“[O]ften sought Ambrose out for a private audience.”
Says Dr. Dorsey Armstrong.
“His goal, as had been the case with Faustus, was to have many of his questions about faith, addressed more directly. Eventually, this led Augustine to an important conclusion about biblical exegesis, which was that the bible could be used as a tool to instruct people on a variety of levels, from the simplest and most literal, up to the most complex and symbolic. This recognition or realization was crucial, because up until this time, Augustine had considered the bible to be, in many sections, an unsophisticated text that was not well-written. Whereas, now he came to recognize, and appreciate, its complexities.”
His intellectual difficulties with Christianity and its particular set of writings solved, Augustine now faced a new problem that arose from his present state of mind. If he was going to be a Christian, he would be one all the way, nothing lacking. That to him meant living a life along the lines of the monastic ideal, coupled with Neoplatonism. This would force him to end his career in rhetoric and even forego all pursuits of pleasure. It was his love of that pleasure that caused him to stall his conversion to Christianity.
The time for his conversion did come, however, and it came at a point when a battle of wills was raging within him while he sat alone in a garden. Following his conversion, he was baptized by Ambrose and immediately began a new life, abandoning Neoplatonism, quitting his teaching post, and setting out for North Africa to live as a monk, his son and mother Monica in tow. But on the way to Africa, Monica died, forcing him to remain in Rome for several months, grief-stricken. When he finally arrived in North Africa, coming upon Tagaste, he sold much of his property, donated money to the poor and settled in a place called Cassiciacum, where his son Adeodatus died.
His only son an heir dead, Augustine again focused his attention on living a secluded life in a monastery, where he could devote himself to prayer and biblical study, as he originally planned.
“What he found instead was a second chance at fame and glory.”
Writes James J. O’Donnell.
“He took it. Visiting the coastal city of Hippo (modern Annaba, Algeria), mingling with the local Christians, he fell in with, as Ambrose had, enthusiastic Christians who pressed him to accept ordination as a priest. He wept at the idea when he thought of what he was giving up, underwent ordination, then fled home to Tagaste, not sure what he would do. He could have made good an escape, but he went back to Hippo and took up responsibilities he would very much rather have avoided. Perhaps he remembered Ambrose’s own career and decided to attempt something like it.
“What emerged was the Augustine of history. As priest for five years, then as bishop for thirty-five, he made this ordinary provincial city, known only as a port for shipping grain from Africa to Rome, into the base for his expanding fame. His preaching built his local reputation while his writing extended his reach into the rest of the Latin world.”
Augustine’s position as bishop of Hippo involved pastoring a community that looked to him for guidance. He also presided over the ecclesiastical court, spending many hours daily judging matters brought to him by the people, to whom he provided counsel. He also wrote extensively. Throughout his career, he also adopted a monastic community life, which extended to his clergy, and this would be imitated widely within Catholicism.
One major problem with the city of Hippo was that it was largely Donatist, and Augustine spent a considerable amount of time addressing the issue, which threatened the North African church. The Donatism problem arose during the Great Persecution under Emperor Diocletian, which we covered in the fifth episode of this podcast series. Author Kevin Madigan gives us a historical overview:
“A group of African bishops was convinced that a bishop of Carthage, Caecilian, had been consecrated by three bishops, one of whom, Felix of Apthungi, was considered a traitor for surrendering sacred books over to the Romans. In the eyes of these bishops, called the Donatists (after Donatus, one of their number), this offense was so egregious that it made Caecilian’s ordination invalid. He was a traitor (traditor; literally one who had handed over the scriptures), one whose ordination was ruined by collaboration with the diabolical state. By the time Augustine arrived in Hippo, the Donatist church there was larger than the Catholic, and a century-long schism between the two looked as if it might remain permanent.”
To put it in simpler terms, this was the main gripe of the Donatists: if a priest capitulated, or surrendered to the Romans during the persecution under Diocletian, and, for fear of his life, ended up handing over—or even worse—burning the scriptures to satisfy their demands, that priest was a bad priest, and nothing he put his hand to should stand. His baptisms were null and void, his consecration of other priests was rendered invalid, according to the Donatists, along with every other thing he did while in office.
As for such priests:
“They branded them as traitors.”
Says Professor Paul Freedman of Yale University.
“And they said that they could not form legitimate sacraments. Therefore, you, in North Africa, where the Donatists were strong, you as an ordinary Christian had better do a background check on your priest. Because your marriage is illegitimate, your baby is going to hell, your whole participation in the church is, as it were, short circuited by this defect.”
The Donatist view had no end either. If a priest was considered good in the eyes of the public, and the priest who consecrated him was also seen as good, but the priest who ordained the priest who ordained the priest, going back a hundred or more years, had been thought to be a traitor, then all the priests who flowed out of his original ordination were considered illegitimate priests. The leaders of the church knew that they could not organize a large, supposedly universal body along those lines, particularly one that was spread throughout the world. The organization the Donatists had in mind would lead to sectarianism, being limited in scope. As they saw it, the church should represent the bride of the Messiah, being without spot or blemish, and of which only the blameless could be members.
Moreover, as Kevin Madigan writes:
“Like Noah’s ark, it contained only a small minority of the pure. Sacraments dispensed by those disgraced and even contaminated by collaboration with empire, or associated with those who were, were ineffective and even polluting.
“Augustine’s view of church was that it was a ‘mixed body’ of saints and sinners. . . . Wheat and tares (the parable [Matthew 13:24–30] to which Augustine habitually alluded in the controversy) would not be separated until the end of time. Noah’s ark? It stank of animals, the stench a symbol of sin that all would have to tolerate. The baptized were made up of the morally mediocre for the most part, fallible sinners whose need for forgiveness was virtually constant and for whom the forgiving church was established.”
Thus, the church, backing Augustine’s reasoning, would tolerate its large flock of “morally mediocre” members, its “fallible sinners,” who, in repeated acts of blasphemy, would continue to be forgiven by Catholic priests. These morally mediocre members funded the church’s extravagances, after all. What is more, Yeshua’s field in that parable, according to verse 38 of Matthew 13, was “the world.” Augustine saw that world as the church, which changes the parameters of Yeshua’s parable. But that is the way a master of rhetoric operates.
Augustine, who never fully shook off his Manichaean or Neoplatonist views, would spearhead many popular doctrines, some as a result of his debates with a British monk named Pelagius, who taught—among other things—that it was possible for a believer to attain perfection on his or her own by merely living righteously, and that this perfection was in fact mandatory on the part of all Christians. To stem the controversy that Pelagius created with that and other claims, Augustine formulated the doctrines surrounding the Christian view of sin, grace, predestination, free will, and justification.
The Donatist controversy also led Augustine to elevate the importance of church sacraments. And he formulated the argument used for what he considered a “just war,” an argument still used unjustly by national powers to this day. But as Professor Philip Daileader aptly put it:
“Augustinian thought was going to be an incredibly powerful influence in Europe for well over a millennium. And Augustine’s ideas about human nature, about history, about Rome and classical culture and paganism; on the relations between religious and secular authority, are going to be read and debated and argued over for a long time to come.”
If Constantine was Christianity’s King David, Augustine was its Moses.
That wraps it up for this episode of Churchianity: Two Thousand Years of Leaven. A production of Kingdom Preppers.org, this episode was written, produced, and hosted by yours truly, Kingdom Prepper. All praise, honor, and glory are due to my boss, Yah Elohim, and to his right hand, Yahushua HaMashiach. You can access the transcript for this episode on our website. Yah willing, our history will continue in the next podcast. Shalom.
Keywords: Patricius, Tagaste, doctors of the church, church doctor, sacrament, Jerome, Latin Vulgate, late antiquity, Simplicianus, biblical exegesis, Donatist, Donatism, Caecilian, traditor, Felix of Apthungi, Pelagius, churchianity, two thousand years of leaven, history of Christianity, church history, Hebrew history, kp, kingdom preppers
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