Broadly, a poetic snoozefest. Augustine is an eloquent writer, but I found Confessions to be extremely dry; in many parts, it’s reminiscent of a hymnal. In other parts, Augustine seems to ramble on while hyperfixated about a very small quotation of Scripture, or just a single word or concept. For example, a large portion of the book is dedicated to the concept of time, before ending with his statement that “I confess to you, Lord, that I still do not know what time is…” Truly, as Augustine puts it, “What wonderful profundity there is in [God’s] utterances!…the depth is amazing, my God, the depth is amazing.” And he does indeed attempt to find that depth at every opportunity.
I was pleasantly surprised by some of Augustine’s statements. Take, for example, his admonition for prideful exegetes and support of the plurality of biblical interpretation:
…Moses meant whatever he meant in those books [Genesis through Deuteronomy]… See how stupid it is, among so large a mass of entirely correct interpretations which can be elicited from those words, rashly to assert that a particular one has the best claim to be Moses’ view, and by destructive disputes to offend against charity itself, which is the principle of everything he said in the texts we are attempting to expound.
— Augustine
How mysterious you are, God, dwelling on high in silence!
— Augustine
Towards, the end, I think Augustine sums up his own book quite nicely:
My Lord God, I pray you, see how much we have written, how much indeed on only a few words! How much energy and time would at this rate be required to expound all your books!
— Augustine