I saw Augustine today, weeping under a fig tree as he watched me thumb through his Confessions on the toilet. In 4th century Hippo, people probably shat communally as they sat atop stone lavatories designed to accommodate multiple “participants.” “Noli spectare. Perturbat me . . .”—this circumstance was, perhaps, not as convenient for light (or heavy) reading as is our current situation.So, naturally, I could understand his confusion and disappointment as I skimmed over his conversion experience—the climactic triumph of his spirit over flesh—in such close proximity to excrement, which probably happens to be a good distance from the regenerate soul on the ladder of spiritual ascendance.
I know Whitman wouldn't have minded and, in fact, would have welcomed this proximity, but I had the distinct feeling that Augustine was not pleased in the least. So I nodded, gently lay the book aside and began to think about the nature of sacred texts—particularly whether or not they created or should be reserved for sacred spaces (unlike the one I currently occupied).
I pictured myself in a dusty, candlelit, Faustian study, hunched over the yellowish brown leaves of some ancient manuscript as I painstakingly decode the esoteric symbols that accompany the text. Or, better yet, humbly seated beside a wooden prayer bench in a sunlit reading room as a single beam of light like a dove descends from heaven to anoint a particular passage before my eyes.
When Augustine gazed into the future to picture me reading his Confessions, I must have been kneeling in this reading room; surely he did not suppose his most intimate work would be the subject of my powder-room perusal. It’s not that Augustine is necessarily too stiff or spiritual to read on the toilet; it’s just that I don’t want to spoil his expectations.
I wonder if secondary sources pertaining to Augustine are also off limits—perhaps, as long as I just skip over quoted passages? Only, this seems like a slippery slope because, technically, I’m not reading a first-hand account to begin with—I’m reading Henry Chadwick’s translation, which is only one translation in a long chain of translations and reinterpretations extending all the way back to the 4th century.
And here in lies the problem—every new reading is new translation, meaning it must be the sense of the text that is sacred rather than the words on the page—and the sense seems inescapable.
Initially, I intended to suggest that bathroom reading might be a sort of litmus test for sacred texts—if you feel guilty reading it on the toilet, perhaps it’s sacred. However, for Augustine, all truth is God’s truth—all signs, natural and conventional, point to God. So whether I’m reading his Confessions or a list of the non-active ingredients in my toothpaste, I cannot escape the sacred.
Maybe he’s not so surprised or disappointed after all.
5 comments:
Nice post, Champ. Sounds like you believe that meaning is socially constructed by writer and reader together. But could A have been trying to write about an absolute Truth in all that morass?
Thanks, Boss. I hope all is well in Oxford. I guess you're probably working on your second sleep cycle about now. I wish I were there; I’m sure you’re facilitating some excellent expatriate discussions.
Yes, to the writer/reader cooperative construction; however, I don't think either contributor is operating autonomously (and, more importantly, neither does Augustine). And yes to a referent (divine Logos or Absolute Truth) that substantiates and subsumes the entire system of signification—despite Derrida.
P.S. Excellent pun.
So...
Do you agree with A that the sacred is "inescapable"? If so, what do you think causes the inescapability? If all truths point to God's truth, does that mean all texts (insofar as they are true) are sacred? Or is sacredness (like meaning) created through a combination of reader and W/writer? In other words, is the text sacred itself, or is the "sacred-feeling" a result of God's influence on the reader, or is it a result the the reader's attitude (ie, the fact that reader is searching for truth)?
These are not new questions, of course, but I'd like to hear your opinion. Maybe if I'd read Confessions recently the questions would be better-informed. :)
Hey Susan, your questions have really challenged me to think through some of these issues—so thanks, I guess ☺. I should add that any appearance of certainty in this response is completely illusory.
Yes, I agree that the sacred is inescapable—“Where can I go from thy spirit? Or where can I flee from thy presence?”—right? It seems to me that the notion of textuality combined with the idea of a referent (divine logos) that ultimately generates and aggregates every sign in the system of signification necessitates this conception. While de Saussure suggests that “instead of preexisting ideas, we find in all foregoing examples values emanation from the system,” (General Linguistics) Augustine writes, “In you [God] are the constant causes of inconstant things. All mutable things have in you their immutable origins. In you all irrational and temporal things have the everlasting causes of their life” (Confessions 1.9).
I think that all “texts” are potentially sacred because all signs necessarily signal beyond themselves. So, by referring or pointing to what is other than themselves, signs make knowledge of transcendence possible. However, I don’t think this negates social construction; I’m just wondering if the materials with which society constructs have their “immutable origins” in an original Word. So, to answer your question, I guess I think “the sacred” is both socially constructed and divinely instituted. (Can I have my cake and sleep with it too?)
What do you think?
After several hours in a hot car with nothing else to think about...I think I agree with you. Probably. Semiotics is a slippery thing for me. :) I think that sanctity, like love or justice, exists outside any given system of language. I also think that the words we use to describe sacred experiences (or love-ly ones, etc.) in part define what sacred is. Am I being coherent? :) The sacred exists outside of lanugage, but in talking about it, we give it shape-- or at least context. I think that's pretty close to what you were saying.
So what divine truth are you learning from toothpaste tubes these days? :)
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