The reading for the rest of the Decameron follows the similar format and contains similar themes from the first part of the reading. I shall not bore you by repeating my last post.
Here is a big word from class: "paratextual mechanics"
or "forming apparatus." This refers to the surrounding context of the story at hand, and is enormously helpful in understanding the motivation of a narrative. In the Decameron, we can read the plague as the embodiment of chaos, while the group of ten kids provide us a microcosm of contemporary moral views. Furthermore, there was a real anxiety during Boccaccio's time about the vulgar, corrupting nature of books, especially when women are the one's reading. Even if a story isn't as explicit as any of Boccacio's, most tales written for entertainment build up to a catharsis, a release, a moment where the story ends and the plot is fulfilled. What is especially terrifying is how personal of an activity reading is. Those who are in positions of power, whether of the state or of the household, felt that the intimate act of reading silently could potentially stir readers to scheme and rebel against higher powers.
The other thing discussed was the nature of love: fleeting; unavoidable; coping mechanism; we submit to it. We could even think of this in terms of a love versus ingenuity relation. Ingenuity signifies 'art' and 'creativity,' and the word 'art' is related to 'artifice' and 'artificial.' The word love is loaded and carries with it numerous different interpretations.
Finally, the other major point is the power relationships found in these tales; specifically, the narrative form Boccaccio writes of by creating a relation between the duped and the deceiver (Bernabo and Ambrogliuo in II. 9 is a good example). Is deception motivated by love, or vice versa? In the stories, who gets the last laugh? These are some useful ideas to bear in mind.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Sunday, February 20, 2011
"The Decameron" by Giovanni Boccaccio (selected readings pt. 1)
I just finished the tenth story of Day 3 about putting the devil in hell. And I LOLed.
It actually made me LOL more than did Aristophane's Lysistrata.
LOLs aside, I think the comical aspect of The Decameron speaks to the general loss off faith during Boccaccio's time. Augustine's Confessions is arguably the most pro-religion book we've read so far, second only to the Bible. Dante's Inferno also presents religious ideas, but struggles to deal with theological inconsistencies. Finally, we have here The Decameron which, to me, is a sharp critique on religion and divinity in general. That is not to say that religion loses its appeal over time, but that the ideas of the people that make up religion are inevitably influenced by the circumstances of their time.
The Black Death, as was touched upon in Thucydide's History of the Pelopennesian War, wreaks havoc, inspires carnage, and tears apart the most fundamental of human ethics. It is, after all, death parading through the streets of Boccacio's Florentine, forcing people to decide how they will live life in the face of imminent death. Traditions are forgotten, and people naturally come to question the Justness of God for allowing the plague to claim the lives of innocent good Christians. This is all well-documented and explained by Boccaccio himself in the Introduction.
Irony governs most, if not all, of the stories told by this band of ten young Florentines. More specifically, these ribald tales of love and lust intertwined with Christianity invariably end in some wicked twist of Fate, which often originates from some form of human deception. For instance, in the first story from the first day, Ser Ciapelletto blatantly lies during his confession. When he cries to the Father that he had one last grave sin to confess, I half-expected him to say that the whole confession was a lie. Ciapelleto dies but is made a Saint. This immediately brings into question the authenticity of the church.
Yet at the same time, Panfilo (the story-teller) had earlier invoked the power of God for creating the world, and goes on to say that his story less concerned with "the judgment of God, but with that of men" (I. 1. 25). Despite the more obvious attack on the church, Boccaccio presents a potentially redeeming value of Christianity in Panfilo's disclaimer. This could be understood in two ways: one is that people misunderstand God's doing, and are unable to fully comprehend the rationale of God since he is All-knowing; this puts an emphasis on God's judgment. The second interpretation places an emphasis on the judgment of people. Poor judgment has caused them to sin without shame, consequently provoking God to send down a plague to cleanse the world of sinners. In either case, the reasons for the plague relate to human fault, which explains the corruption of Church members as ruining the Church's image.
On a different note, The Decameron to Dante's Inferno similarly place marked emphasis on the sinfulness of deception. Just as Boccaccio's tales highlight the issue of deceit and hypocrisy at both the individual level (Ambrogiuolo the swindler II. 9) and institutional level (corrupt Papacy I. 2), Dante's lower levels of Hell correspond with counterfeiting frauds and traitors of the state. There is a notable connection between the two texts because they equally frown upon the same evils and sins that threaten to subvert a stable society and weaken the Church's standing by forcing paranoia and suspicion upon the masses.
I would rather not read too much into the countless subtexts hidden in Boccaccio's stories. From the reading thus far, I've come under the conclusion that these stories are analytically as rich as Aesop's Fables, where common themes of human nature are quite explicitly suggested. Instead of looking too much into each story (there are one hundred and we have only one week!), it is helpful to think about them in terms of the similar themes that arise--of deception, fraud, lies, corruption, and even of hope.
[After-class notes]
It actually made me LOL more than did Aristophane's Lysistrata.
LOLs aside, I think the comical aspect of The Decameron speaks to the general loss off faith during Boccaccio's time. Augustine's Confessions is arguably the most pro-religion book we've read so far, second only to the Bible. Dante's Inferno also presents religious ideas, but struggles to deal with theological inconsistencies. Finally, we have here The Decameron which, to me, is a sharp critique on religion and divinity in general. That is not to say that religion loses its appeal over time, but that the ideas of the people that make up religion are inevitably influenced by the circumstances of their time.
The Black Death, as was touched upon in Thucydide's History of the Pelopennesian War, wreaks havoc, inspires carnage, and tears apart the most fundamental of human ethics. It is, after all, death parading through the streets of Boccacio's Florentine, forcing people to decide how they will live life in the face of imminent death. Traditions are forgotten, and people naturally come to question the Justness of God for allowing the plague to claim the lives of innocent good Christians. This is all well-documented and explained by Boccaccio himself in the Introduction.
Irony governs most, if not all, of the stories told by this band of ten young Florentines. More specifically, these ribald tales of love and lust intertwined with Christianity invariably end in some wicked twist of Fate, which often originates from some form of human deception. For instance, in the first story from the first day, Ser Ciapelletto blatantly lies during his confession. When he cries to the Father that he had one last grave sin to confess, I half-expected him to say that the whole confession was a lie. Ciapelleto dies but is made a Saint. This immediately brings into question the authenticity of the church.
Yet at the same time, Panfilo (the story-teller) had earlier invoked the power of God for creating the world, and goes on to say that his story less concerned with "the judgment of God, but with that of men" (I. 1. 25). Despite the more obvious attack on the church, Boccaccio presents a potentially redeeming value of Christianity in Panfilo's disclaimer. This could be understood in two ways: one is that people misunderstand God's doing, and are unable to fully comprehend the rationale of God since he is All-knowing; this puts an emphasis on God's judgment. The second interpretation places an emphasis on the judgment of people. Poor judgment has caused them to sin without shame, consequently provoking God to send down a plague to cleanse the world of sinners. In either case, the reasons for the plague relate to human fault, which explains the corruption of Church members as ruining the Church's image.
On a different note, The Decameron to Dante's Inferno similarly place marked emphasis on the sinfulness of deception. Just as Boccaccio's tales highlight the issue of deceit and hypocrisy at both the individual level (Ambrogiuolo the swindler II. 9) and institutional level (corrupt Papacy I. 2), Dante's lower levels of Hell correspond with counterfeiting frauds and traitors of the state. There is a notable connection between the two texts because they equally frown upon the same evils and sins that threaten to subvert a stable society and weaken the Church's standing by forcing paranoia and suspicion upon the masses.
I would rather not read too much into the countless subtexts hidden in Boccaccio's stories. From the reading thus far, I've come under the conclusion that these stories are analytically as rich as Aesop's Fables, where common themes of human nature are quite explicitly suggested. Instead of looking too much into each story (there are one hundred and we have only one week!), it is helpful to think about them in terms of the similar themes that arise--of deception, fraud, lies, corruption, and even of hope.
[After-class notes]
- Boccaccio is an Ovidian Scholar, and he must also have been influenced by Dante and Augustine
- Like Ovid, Boccaccio presents a situation, but does not explicitly take sides.
- The Decameron was considered a work of 'extended fiction;' the term 'novel' didn't exist yet
- Love here is primarily understood in its 'eros' aspect
- Love <=> Plague
- Augustine abhors love that has nothing to do with God; he is disgusted with the body
- Dante expresses sympathy for those who fall in love
- Boccaccio takes a less serious tone; love becomes less of an immoral concept
- The idea of "end justifies the means," or pragmatism
- Ciapelleto (I. 1) is venerated despite his immoral past
- Alatiel (II. 7) lies to her father that she is a virgin, but this allows her a happy marriage and gives her family stability
- contrary to Augustine, who is concerned with the individual
- This book is aimed at a female audience, but what problem does it address? Is it the problem of love itself, or the confinement of women? How does Boccaccio view women?
- Lady Zinerva (II. 9) must disguise herself as a man to bring justice to her honor
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Dante's "Inferno" (last half)
As I was finishing reading about people getting mutilated and tortured, I was drifting in and out of this semi-conscious trance. I only realized how tired I was after reading the same five lines over and over.
Speaking of which, I'm not sure if Dante would have been tired after traversing the numerous levels, pockets, and sections of Hell. Book 17 onwards seemed a bit repetitive, but I suppose that's because the ghastly novelty of Hell had lost its initial appeal.
Nevertheless, I wish to touch some ideas from the last half of Inferno.
The main theme surrounding Dante's deeper levels of hell revolves around this idea of sinning against other people, the community, or the state. Terms like 'fraud,' 'falsify,' and 'traitor' bear a significance in that they affect not only the sinner, but also the community at large. Perhaps this lends itself to Dante's Judeo-Christian ideology that places an emphasis on God's creations. That is, to betray your country or to disseminate vast amounts of counterfeit money is ultimately a betrayal of God's trust as well as an ill-treatment of God's subjects, all of whom owe their existence to him.
Furthermore, as was discussed in class previously, fraud and acts of cunning are deliberately planned by the perpetrator. They require premeditation and willful intent. Lust and rage, on the other hand, deserve less severe punishments because they are impulse-driven and the extent of damage reaches to the familial level at most. Traitors and frauds undermine the social and economic stability of an empire. And so in a time when empires conquered and were conquered, Dante accordingly suggests that subverting the security of a society is an egregious act deserving of supreme punishment.
Another thing I noticed was that Virgil's role as a guide expanded to take on many other tasks. Several times, Virgil is actually leading Dante by the hand, or even carrying Dante. At one point, Dante compares Virgil to a mother protecting her child. This perhaps speaks to Dante's reverence of Virgil as a great poet.
Speaking of which, I'm not sure if Dante would have been tired after traversing the numerous levels, pockets, and sections of Hell. Book 17 onwards seemed a bit repetitive, but I suppose that's because the ghastly novelty of Hell had lost its initial appeal.
Nevertheless, I wish to touch some ideas from the last half of Inferno.
The main theme surrounding Dante's deeper levels of hell revolves around this idea of sinning against other people, the community, or the state. Terms like 'fraud,' 'falsify,' and 'traitor' bear a significance in that they affect not only the sinner, but also the community at large. Perhaps this lends itself to Dante's Judeo-Christian ideology that places an emphasis on God's creations. That is, to betray your country or to disseminate vast amounts of counterfeit money is ultimately a betrayal of God's trust as well as an ill-treatment of God's subjects, all of whom owe their existence to him.
Furthermore, as was discussed in class previously, fraud and acts of cunning are deliberately planned by the perpetrator. They require premeditation and willful intent. Lust and rage, on the other hand, deserve less severe punishments because they are impulse-driven and the extent of damage reaches to the familial level at most. Traitors and frauds undermine the social and economic stability of an empire. And so in a time when empires conquered and were conquered, Dante accordingly suggests that subverting the security of a society is an egregious act deserving of supreme punishment.
Another thing I noticed was that Virgil's role as a guide expanded to take on many other tasks. Several times, Virgil is actually leading Dante by the hand, or even carrying Dante. At one point, Dante compares Virgil to a mother protecting her child. This perhaps speaks to Dante's reverence of Virgil as a great poet.
Monday, February 14, 2011
"The Divine Comedy: Inferno" by Dante Alighieri (Bk 1-17)
I found Dante's Inferno very intriguing, just as anyone would be curious to know what hell is like--supposing it exists. I also found myself wondering why I found it so. Perhaps we are captivated in the same way horror films and roller coasters hold mysterious sway over us--either out of sheer curiosity or for thrill's sake. Or may be it's really a genuine desire to understand the mysterious, something that distinguishes us as humans in search of "truth" and "meaning."
Anyway, just putting this out there because it was such a LitHum moment.
From a very big-picture perspective, the major contrast in Inferno is the juxtaposition of the world and the underworld; and by extension, reality and fantasy. The story itself is reminiscent of Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland, where the story begins in ambiguous fashion. The reader is unsure of what Dante means by "I had lost the path that does not stray" (1. 3). It could be taken literally, meaning that Dante really lost his way and randomly ended up in Hell. It could be taken figuratively, meaning Dante had strayed from the path of goodness, and is given a sinner's tour of Hell. Or it could be that Dante has been sleeping all along, and this could end up just being an elaborate dream. The first few pages of Inferno seem deliberately vague, giving the reader tremendous freedom in choosing how to contextualize the story.
After the first few Cantos, however, the underworld becomes more real and tangible, while the living world fades into a misty past--as Dante descends deeper into Hell, Hell becomes 'real-er.' One way to think of this is the increasing amount of fear Dante has at each level. In the upper echelons of Hell, Dante's encounter with sinners of incontinence happens in a disconnected manner; the conversations with the Shades (souls of dead people) is very detached, making Dante more connected with the living-world. At the Wall of Dis, however, Dante becomes genuinely fearful that Virgil will be forced to abandon him in the underworld forever. Several levels deeper, Virgil warns Dante that looking at the Gorgon sister Medusa would really petrify him. The increase in depth is followed by an increase in the concreteness of the underworld, making the above-world seem a dim memory far away.
Inferno also conveys a more developed notion of fear than do the other books we've read. The Old Testament calls for a devotee to fear God, so do Aeneas and Augustine subject themselves to the will of God(s) out of fear. Dante was literally pissing himself while at Dis when he thought he'd be doomed there forever, so in response Virgil comforts him, "Forget your fear, no one can hinder our passage; One so great has granted it" (8. 104-5). Instead of fearing God for his magnificence and power, Dante is told that he should be fearless simply because God is so great and powerful that there is nothing to fear. At the same time, by the choice of God and three women above, it could be that Dante is given this special tour of the underworld because he is inherently less sinful than other people. In this case, the concept of being 'good' becomes more developed because a true subject of God is implied to be fearless since there is nothing to fear.
On a final less abstruse note, the placement of characters from other books we've read into different levels of hell is something worth noting because it reveals Dante's position on these books. For instance, Achilleus is found at the level of Lust, while Hektor is above him in limbo. The Aeneid counterpart of Achilleus, daring Turnus, however, is found in limbo along with Aeneas. The Aeneid argues that Turnus was driven mad by the gods to make war with the Trojans, so Dante accordingly absolves him of any sin by placing him in limbo.
Dido, on the other hand, is found at the level of Lust. But wasn't she 'infected' with mad love and 'wounded' by the shafts of Cupid's arrows of wild passion? Dante, again, could really just be expressing his interpretation of the Aeneid, because Virgil anyway comes across in writing as an ardent misogynist.
[After-class edit]:
Actually, Dido is found in the level of Suicides. So although she was caused to be lustful by the gods, she ultimately still brought about her own end.
Some things as discussed:
In short, Dante lived far later than did Homer, Virgil, and Ovid. This picture tries to contextualize Dante's influences.
Anyway, just putting this out there because it was such a LitHum moment.
From a very big-picture perspective, the major contrast in Inferno is the juxtaposition of the world and the underworld; and by extension, reality and fantasy. The story itself is reminiscent of Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland, where the story begins in ambiguous fashion. The reader is unsure of what Dante means by "I had lost the path that does not stray" (1. 3). It could be taken literally, meaning that Dante really lost his way and randomly ended up in Hell. It could be taken figuratively, meaning Dante had strayed from the path of goodness, and is given a sinner's tour of Hell. Or it could be that Dante has been sleeping all along, and this could end up just being an elaborate dream. The first few pages of Inferno seem deliberately vague, giving the reader tremendous freedom in choosing how to contextualize the story.
After the first few Cantos, however, the underworld becomes more real and tangible, while the living world fades into a misty past--as Dante descends deeper into Hell, Hell becomes 'real-er.' One way to think of this is the increasing amount of fear Dante has at each level. In the upper echelons of Hell, Dante's encounter with sinners of incontinence happens in a disconnected manner; the conversations with the Shades (souls of dead people) is very detached, making Dante more connected with the living-world. At the Wall of Dis, however, Dante becomes genuinely fearful that Virgil will be forced to abandon him in the underworld forever. Several levels deeper, Virgil warns Dante that looking at the Gorgon sister Medusa would really petrify him. The increase in depth is followed by an increase in the concreteness of the underworld, making the above-world seem a dim memory far away.
Inferno also conveys a more developed notion of fear than do the other books we've read. The Old Testament calls for a devotee to fear God, so do Aeneas and Augustine subject themselves to the will of God(s) out of fear. Dante was literally pissing himself while at Dis when he thought he'd be doomed there forever, so in response Virgil comforts him, "Forget your fear, no one can hinder our passage; One so great has granted it" (8. 104-5). Instead of fearing God for his magnificence and power, Dante is told that he should be fearless simply because God is so great and powerful that there is nothing to fear. At the same time, by the choice of God and three women above, it could be that Dante is given this special tour of the underworld because he is inherently less sinful than other people. In this case, the concept of being 'good' becomes more developed because a true subject of God is implied to be fearless since there is nothing to fear.
On a final less abstruse note, the placement of characters from other books we've read into different levels of hell is something worth noting because it reveals Dante's position on these books. For instance, Achilleus is found at the level of Lust, while Hektor is above him in limbo. The Aeneid counterpart of Achilleus, daring Turnus, however, is found in limbo along with Aeneas. The Aeneid argues that Turnus was driven mad by the gods to make war with the Trojans, so Dante accordingly absolves him of any sin by placing him in limbo.
Dido, on the other hand, is found at the level of Lust. But wasn't she 'infected' with mad love and 'wounded' by the shafts of Cupid's arrows of wild passion? Dante, again, could really just be expressing his interpretation of the Aeneid, because Virgil anyway comes across in writing as an ardent misogynist.
[After-class edit]:
Actually, Dido is found in the level of Suicides. So although she was caused to be lustful by the gods, she ultimately still brought about her own end.
Some things as discussed:
- Dante is more of a protagonist than a hero.
- What compels Dante?
- Ambiguity of the plot-->representative of the "restlessness of the human spirit."
- Courtly love-relationship of Dante and Beatrice precedes 'Godly' relationship/spiritual progress.
- Emphasis on Faith over good-work
- Levels of Hell: emphasis on
- intent (e.g. fraud apparently requires more intent than does wrath)
- extent of sin (e.g. traitors/counterfeiters completely undermine stability of society, thus affecting more people)
- Why is Virgil the guide, instead of St. Augustine or some other angel?
In short, Dante lived far later than did Homer, Virgil, and Ovid. This picture tries to contextualize Dante's influences.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
"Confessions" by Saint Augustine (Bk 6-10)
Books 1-7 follow a rather monotonous storyline. Most of it is a litany of Augustine's confessions. But from Book 8 onwards, things start picking up. And then things start to get real in Book 10 (and 11).
There were three instances in the reading that stuck out to me: Augustine's conversion, the death of his mother, and his thoughts on why there is evil in the world. I found these to be major 'plot drivers' in the sense that they marked major points of tension that arose in his spiritual maturation.
One way to understand the structure of Confessions is to think of each of Augustine's stories as tension points. They build up in pressure and suspense but are always followed by a cathartic release. Each time he is troubled, he finds solace and support in God. Book 8 is where Augustine's search for truth reaches a culmination as he chooses the word of God over the secular. The equivalent of a climax could perhaps be found in 8.29, where he hears a child singing "Pick up and read," which inspires him to pick up a religious book containing a quote that galvanizes his instant conversion to God and renunciation of the secular.
This leads to the second point about Monica, Augustine's mother. The single term I would ascribe to Monica after reading all this is "servant." Although somewhere in the footnotes there is mention that she had done un-Christian things and engaged in alcoholism, she is portrayed by Augustine as the single most important reason he finally believed in God. And she is, for the most part, somewhat the ideal Christian homemaker. In Augustine's words, "She exercised care for everybody as if they were all her own children. She served us as if she as a daughter to all of us." (8. 22)
In one of Monica's final intimate conversations with her son, she says that Augustine's submission to God was all she wanted her whole life, and so she had nothing else to live for. She says, "I see you despising the world's success to become his servant. What have I to do here?" (8. 26) The key point here is the word "servant." Being a good Christian is, apparently, being one who is subservient to one's Creator and His will. And so, the interesting point I see here is that Monica embodies subservience. Augustine's conversion in a garden at Milan marks a similar transition into becoming a servant of God.
Finally, the discussion on evil in Book 7 marks another major point that is less of a plot-driver, and more of an example where the "confessions" of Augustine become a rhetorical device; he seems to be doing more introspection and thinking and less confessing. He begins to describe a major theological problem that still faces the church today: that is, if there is an Almighty Creator, and if he is perfect and good in every aspect, then why are his creations so horribly wretched and capable of great evil?
He so far seems to only describe the problem, and does not directly address it. Augustine topically addresses this issue by saying that in the universe, "there are certain elements which are thought evil because of a conflict of interest." (7. 19). It's not a clear-cut answer he gives, but I do realize that he delves more into this issue later on. [In Book 11 he goes on to say that there was "no time before creation" and how the nature of time can be used to resolve this issue. I myself am not clear about it.]
[If you're interested ten-dollar philosophy terms like "distension of time," you should definitely read into Book 11. I thought it was part of the required reading so I read into it, and it was mind-blowing to say the least.]
There were three instances in the reading that stuck out to me: Augustine's conversion, the death of his mother, and his thoughts on why there is evil in the world. I found these to be major 'plot drivers' in the sense that they marked major points of tension that arose in his spiritual maturation.
One way to understand the structure of Confessions is to think of each of Augustine's stories as tension points. They build up in pressure and suspense but are always followed by a cathartic release. Each time he is troubled, he finds solace and support in God. Book 8 is where Augustine's search for truth reaches a culmination as he chooses the word of God over the secular. The equivalent of a climax could perhaps be found in 8.29, where he hears a child singing "Pick up and read," which inspires him to pick up a religious book containing a quote that galvanizes his instant conversion to God and renunciation of the secular.
This leads to the second point about Monica, Augustine's mother. The single term I would ascribe to Monica after reading all this is "servant." Although somewhere in the footnotes there is mention that she had done un-Christian things and engaged in alcoholism, she is portrayed by Augustine as the single most important reason he finally believed in God. And she is, for the most part, somewhat the ideal Christian homemaker. In Augustine's words, "She exercised care for everybody as if they were all her own children. She served us as if she as a daughter to all of us." (8. 22)
In one of Monica's final intimate conversations with her son, she says that Augustine's submission to God was all she wanted her whole life, and so she had nothing else to live for. She says, "I see you despising the world's success to become his servant. What have I to do here?" (8. 26) The key point here is the word "servant." Being a good Christian is, apparently, being one who is subservient to one's Creator and His will. And so, the interesting point I see here is that Monica embodies subservience. Augustine's conversion in a garden at Milan marks a similar transition into becoming a servant of God.
Finally, the discussion on evil in Book 7 marks another major point that is less of a plot-driver, and more of an example where the "confessions" of Augustine become a rhetorical device; he seems to be doing more introspection and thinking and less confessing. He begins to describe a major theological problem that still faces the church today: that is, if there is an Almighty Creator, and if he is perfect and good in every aspect, then why are his creations so horribly wretched and capable of great evil?
He so far seems to only describe the problem, and does not directly address it. Augustine topically addresses this issue by saying that in the universe, "there are certain elements which are thought evil because of a conflict of interest." (7. 19). It's not a clear-cut answer he gives, but I do realize that he delves more into this issue later on. [In Book 11 he goes on to say that there was "no time before creation" and how the nature of time can be used to resolve this issue. I myself am not clear about it.]
[If you're interested ten-dollar philosophy terms like "distension of time," you should definitely read into Book 11. I thought it was part of the required reading so I read into it, and it was mind-blowing to say the least.]
Sunday, February 6, 2011
"Confessions" by Saint Augustine (Bk I-V)
For the most part, the Confessions is reminiscent of the Book of Job in the Old Testament, except that in this case it's written in the first-person, and Satan is more like a guilty conscience, or a superego if you will. Bear in mind that Augustine would have been in his mid-forties when he wrote this, so I'm making a guess that he is going through some kind of mid-life crisis, and realizes that he's growing old, perhaps becoming subconsciously more aware of the stark reality of death.
I don't know whether that is true or not, but at least for me it helps contextualize his depressingly melodramatic confessions to god.
Augustine praises god profusely and continuously scolds himself for having sinned so much. I found it particularly funny when he began to recount his juvenile days. He had stolen some tasteless pears from a nearby orchard with his friends and in his confession seemed genuinely shameful of something he did over 20 years ago. Augustine describes how "Wickedness filled me" (2. 29) as he and his boys furtively stole into the night. I have to admit I chuckled a bit as I was reading this part.
Of course it was stealing nonetheless. But including juvenile delinquencies in your confessions to God seems borderline extreme to me; may be even comical. In any case, I suppose he's using this trivial example to elaborate on a more profound point--the inherently sinful nature of humans.
The Confessions (so far) follows the general arc of a strictly chronological autobiography that is dictated by how sinful Augustine's life has been. Early on in Book 1, he investigates selfish instincts in infants as a proxy for his own infancy. One brother would jealously "glare" (1. 9) at his other baby brother as he is given milk. He also describes how newborn babies would, because they lack the ability to communicate, violently thrash about to get what they want (1.70), further attesting to early signs of selfishness. In school at Carthage, Augustine describes how he disliked Greek literature because of how hypocritically adulterous the gods are portrayed as. He admits that he only did well in reciting Greek stories to escape the cane and be praised for his intelligence. As a young boy, he was defiant of god and only concerned with personal self-benefit.
The other general theme that all of Augustine's confessions seem to point to, besides the nature of human imperfections, is the wholly perfect nature of god. God, to Augustine, is both transcendent and immanent, which creates a theological inconsistency. The death of his close friend (Bk 4) naturally makes Augustine very sad. The problem is, god created all of this. All humans, and thus all human relations and emotions, are god's creations. If god is ultimately perfection embodied, then how can he create something imperfect, or how can the products of his creation possibly be unhappy?
So these are the two concepts, or themes, I picked up in my reading of the first five books: inherently sinful humans in juxtaposition with an immaculate and transcendent Creator. They are two intricately bound notions, and are mutually dependent--one cannot exist without the other (the absence of one would at the very least detract from the agency of the other.) In this sense, they could possibly relate as binary opposites.
The plot of Confessions does not pick up speed, unlike other epics we've read so far. But Augustine does go into meticulous detail in his confessions on why he claims that his mistakes define him as a human. So far, his confessions represent a struggle to find out what why the Creator made humans, and whether humans could even conceivably come close to perfection.
I don't know whether that is true or not, but at least for me it helps contextualize his depressingly melodramatic confessions to god.
Augustine praises god profusely and continuously scolds himself for having sinned so much. I found it particularly funny when he began to recount his juvenile days. He had stolen some tasteless pears from a nearby orchard with his friends and in his confession seemed genuinely shameful of something he did over 20 years ago. Augustine describes how "Wickedness filled me" (2. 29) as he and his boys furtively stole into the night. I have to admit I chuckled a bit as I was reading this part.
Of course it was stealing nonetheless. But including juvenile delinquencies in your confessions to God seems borderline extreme to me; may be even comical. In any case, I suppose he's using this trivial example to elaborate on a more profound point--the inherently sinful nature of humans.
The Confessions (so far) follows the general arc of a strictly chronological autobiography that is dictated by how sinful Augustine's life has been. Early on in Book 1, he investigates selfish instincts in infants as a proxy for his own infancy. One brother would jealously "glare" (1. 9) at his other baby brother as he is given milk. He also describes how newborn babies would, because they lack the ability to communicate, violently thrash about to get what they want (1.70), further attesting to early signs of selfishness. In school at Carthage, Augustine describes how he disliked Greek literature because of how hypocritically adulterous the gods are portrayed as. He admits that he only did well in reciting Greek stories to escape the cane and be praised for his intelligence. As a young boy, he was defiant of god and only concerned with personal self-benefit.
The other general theme that all of Augustine's confessions seem to point to, besides the nature of human imperfections, is the wholly perfect nature of god. God, to Augustine, is both transcendent and immanent, which creates a theological inconsistency. The death of his close friend (Bk 4) naturally makes Augustine very sad. The problem is, god created all of this. All humans, and thus all human relations and emotions, are god's creations. If god is ultimately perfection embodied, then how can he create something imperfect, or how can the products of his creation possibly be unhappy?
So these are the two concepts, or themes, I picked up in my reading of the first five books: inherently sinful humans in juxtaposition with an immaculate and transcendent Creator. They are two intricately bound notions, and are mutually dependent--one cannot exist without the other (the absence of one would at the very least detract from the agency of the other.) In this sense, they could possibly relate as binary opposites.
The plot of Confessions does not pick up speed, unlike other epics we've read so far. But Augustine does go into meticulous detail in his confessions on why he claims that his mistakes define him as a human. So far, his confessions represent a struggle to find out what why the Creator made humans, and whether humans could even conceivably come close to perfection.
Welcome to the Oracle
This blog is intended for anyone in LitHum, whether you're currently in my section, cramming for the final sometime in the very near future, or an alumni so painfully nostalgic of the core that you must find an outlet to relive your undergraduate experience.
These posts will contain merely fragmented notes and thoughts I have on the reading. Hopefully, if I have the time, I can start making mini book summaries that should come in handy during finals week.
Cheers.
These posts will contain merely fragmented notes and thoughts I have on the reading. Hopefully, if I have the time, I can start making mini book summaries that should come in handy during finals week.
Cheers.
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