Communion and Contemplation

Musings on the greatest scene in Augustine's Confessions

St. Augustine and St. Monica contemplate heaven

“And when our conversation had arrived at that point, that the very highest pleasure of the carnal senses, and that in the very brightest material light, seemed by reason of the sweetness of that life not only not worthy of comparison, but not even of mention, we, lifting ourselves with a more ardent affection towards the Selfsame, did gradually pass through all corporeal things, and even the heaven itself, whence sun, and moon, and stars shine upon the earth; yea, we soared higher yet by inward musing, and discoursing, and admiring Your works; and we came to our own minds, and went beyond them, that we might advance as high as that region of unfailing plenty.” - St. Augustine, Confessions, Book IX, Chapter 10.

When we speak of the contemplative life, we imagine a lone monk, somewhere on a vast hillside, gazing both at the vista beyond and somewhere deep within. Or perhaps that’s only me, dreaming of the walls beyond my cubicle. But it seems no stretch to say that we imagine the contemplative life as a solitary affair.

There is, of course, precedent for this. Many a saintly hermit have graced the Christian tradition.

But if you know anything of mainstream monasticism—an admittedly oxymoronic phrase—you know that the life of monks is both contemplative and communal.

As a great admirer of monks, it’s alarming to note that we seem to excel at neither contemplation nor community today.

Perhaps this is due, in part, to these two going together more than we realize.

I have no easy fixes for our epidemic of loneliness or our seeming allergy to extended contemplation. Sure, it would be easy to point to the devices in our pockets and their billion dollar appetites for our attention. But you know that, and that path is well-trodden.

Instead of pointing at the problems, I propose we meditate upon one of the most profound scenes of shared contemplation. May its beauty give birth to desire, our rudder for action.

Augustine’s Confessions is one of the great literary treasures of the West, filled with piercing psychological insights. But it’s not a solitary moment of self-investigation I find most stirring in Augustine’s fine prose. It is in Book IX, chapter 10, in one of his final moments with his mother, Monica.

There, staring out the window—and the ocular vision seems as important as the intellectual—the two move their thoughts from the garden to the heavens, asking what it is to enjoy God forever. Among many things missing in action in our modern world is this very practice: speaking the language of God. The one we purportedly worship is so often eclipsed in our common conversations. This is a great loss, not only to our lives, but also our theologizing.

Monica and Augustine have no such trouble. Speaking of God is natural for them, and it is their vehicle for contemplation.

Aristotle tells us that knowledge proceeds from wonder, and I’d venture that wonder is watered in contemplative community.

As Augustine and Monica converse, they are not seeking any terminus; they are seeking to move ever further, each step yielding a further horizon.

This is the contemplative community we need.

It is contemplative as we seek from wonder, and as we allow ideas to ascend ever higher, not falling for false summits. it is thus also sustained, requiring a stamina in our attention spans that we too often lack. And it is contemplative in its subject, seeking God himself.

But it is also communal. Together they ascend higher, leap-frogging and standing on each other’s shoulders with every verbal volley. They are, as two, more than one.

These two, of course, are saints. But is that not all our callings?

They have the two greatest virtues: Love for God and love for one another, and this leads to the joy of communal contemplation.

This is closer to us than we realize. Our theology needs not be done in lonely offices curved over our computers.

Augustine and Monica show us here that theology is at home staring out at the sea, sat around campfires and kitchen tables, or truly anywhere we can, together, seek to go further up and further in.