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1[Author’s note1]

2Even though Augustine is (apart from Cicero) the personality from antiquity we know best, over the centuries there have been many attempts to retell his biography and to fill the extant testimonies with new life. Some of these texts are not only concerned with Augustine’s biography, but also address his afterlife by describing miraculous apparitions of the saint or by presenting him as a teacher of timeless philosophical truths or even as a first person narrator who looks back on his own biography from a timeless vantage point. The latter version of Augustine’s afterlife is found, for example, in Abdelaziz Ferrah’s novel Moi, saint Augustin (published in Algiers in 2004). Comparing the peculiar narrative frame of this novel to other texts that feature post mortem apparitions of Augustine will help us better understand how the church father’s role functions in the modern Maghreb.

3The earliest vita Augustini, written in late antiquity by his disciple Possidius, bishop of Calama in North Africa, is a vivid example of how already Augustine’s contemporaries tried to preserve and transmit his legacy. This early biography is not very interested in miracles and apparitions (preferring instead to emphasize the edifying effect of Augustine’s prolific writings2), but medieval lives of the saint, like Jacob de Voragine’s Legenda Aurea, sometimes include apparitions of Saint Augustine after his death. In one episode in the Legenda Aurea, a miller is cured from ulcers on his shin by a vision of Saint Augustine3. In another, a monk is said to have seen Augustine in a vision as he was seated in his episcopal ornate on a radiant cloud4. Saint Bernard is reported to have had a vision of Saint Augustine during the matutine prayers5, and a Burgundian monk named Hugo, who had venerated the bishop of Hippo throughout his life, is escorted to heaven by Augustine and his canonicals6. These stories dwell on Augustine’s miraculous connection to the divine and mark him as a powerful saint and patron for the medieval Christian reader. They also serve to promote the veneration of Augustine, whose remains are enshrined in the North Italian city of Pavia7.

4Modern reworkings of Augustine’s life tend to focus on the saint’s human side. Several recent novels, both from Europe and from the Maghreb, focalize through the perspective of historical characters mentioned only briefly in Augustine’s own writings. Notably his anonymous partner of 15 years, who was clearly an important person in his life but is mentioned by him only in passing8, has gained the attention of Maghrebian and European writers alike9. This view from the periphery exonerates modern writers from having to delve too deeply into the tortuous and often intimidating legacy of the church father – no easy material even for specialists – while at the same time, it opens up the possibility of creatively rewriting his biography and gaining a fresh look at his personality.

5In contrast, scenarios in which Augustine returns from the dead focus all the attention on Augustine himself, investing him with a special form of authority that regular human narrators do not have. This perspective is also interesting because, as we shall see, it situates the texts in a long tradition of similar scenes in world literature and therefore offers ample avenues of comparison. It also opens up questions of authority and reliability which are especially important for historical novels from the modern Maghreb.

6Generally speaking, literary underworld scenes can be divided into three major categories:

71. Scenes in which a living person enters the underworld to fulfill a specific task or obtain specific information (e.g., Hercules capturing Cerberus, Aeneas asking his deceased father for help);

82. Scenes in which a person (living or on the verge of death) has a vision of the underworld, sometimes with wider implications for his or her view of the world (Aeneas seeing the various sections of the underworld, Dante wandering the Inferno, Purgatory, and Heaven in the Divina Commedia);

93. Scenes in which two or more people, at least one of them dead, discuss various matters, not necessarily related to the underworld (Petrarch discussing with Saint Augustine in his work De secreto mearum curarum)

10Closely related to these scenes is a literary technique in which a deceased person narrates the story to the reader. In this case, the frame of the novel, rather than a single scene, is set in the netherworld. Features of the three types of literary underworld scenes may be combined: for example, Aeneas asks his deceased father for help (i. e. he requires specific information), but also gains a vision of the layout of the underworld).

11All of these scenes portray the underworld as a powerful and meaningful place that surpasses normal human experience. Except for the specific scenario in which a hero like Hercules or Orpheus descends into the underworld to fulfill a task such as capturing Cerberus or bringing back Eurydice, the idea that superior knowledge can be gained from contact with the deceased is dominant in these scenes. Inhabitants of the underworld know more than the living and can share their superior wisdom if they wish to do so. For this reason, underworld scenes are closely related to visions in which a deceased appears to a living person either in sleep or in a sort of rapture or to scenes of necromancy, in which the deceased is forced to speak to the living. While the goal of transmitting superior knowledge and guidance is often the same in both scenarios, underworld scenes are distinct from visions in that the protagonist enters and leaves the underworld alive, while in a vision or in necromancy, the deceased comes back to earth.

12The idea that deceased persons may be seen by the living and even communicate with them is a staple beginning in ancient texts. In addition to underworld scenes, there are ghost stories told at the dinner table for entertainment10, as well as also serious discussions of strange encounters and experiences that the narrator tries to understand. In his letters, Pliny the younger relates two ghost stories and combines them with the experience of a young politician (which he considers ‘true’). In this episode, a personification of Africa appears to the young man and foretells his magnificent career as a future governor of Africa proconsularis (Plin. ep. 7.27). The true significance of the vision is discovered only in hindsight, when the young politician has already achieved the post: at the moment of the supernatural encounter, however, the vision is not unambiguous11.

13For most of his life, the historical Augustine does not give much weight to such experiences12. There are no supernatural apparitions or miracles connected to his conversion13, and the young Augustine shows little interest in them. The only miracles and apparitions he accepts are those found in the First Testament and the gospels (de vera religione 25.47 and de utilitate credenda 17.35)14. In his own time, he rejects the idea of miracles, because they are no longer necessary in a world in which the Christian faith has already taken root. His attitude changes around 414/415, when the relics of Saint Stephen are being transferred to the North African city of Uzalis, where they are said to work miracles. Augustine now believes that miracles are still occurring in his own time, and in conf. 9.12, he talks about a miraculous “healing” from a toothache he experienced himself15. Around the same time (414/415 CE), Evodius, bishop of Uzalis, who had arranged for Saint Stephen’s miracles to be collected16, and who is a close companion and compatriot of Augustine from Thagaste (see conf. 9.17 and 9.31), asks Augustine’s opinion on the alleged apparitions of the deceased and on prodigious dreams (Aug. ep. 158). He quotes instances in which the deceased have been seen by several people entering and leaving houses and mentions a dream in which angels prepare for the arrival of a recently deceased young man from his monastery. His primary concern is understanding how these visions occur and whether they are trustworthy: i. e. if they convey superior knowledge about the fate of the deceased young man in the afterlife, for example. In his response (ep. 159), Augustine does not provide a conclusive answer. He notes that mental activity, either in dreams or while awake, is a normal human experience, even though humans are at a loss to explain what causes these mental images and how exactly they work. If these normal processes of the mind are inexplicable, how much more so the rare perceptions of the deceased who seem to convey superhuman knowledge17. While Augustine in this letter seems to group visions of the deceased under the workings of the mind, in his work on prophecies of demons he attributes their ‘prophecies’ to their extraordinarily long life. Because demons have been around for centuries and have extremely perceptive senses, they possess a superior knowledge on the causes of things and their hidden interconnections18. This advantage enables them to make well-founded assumptions about the future, which are then, from humans’ limited perspective, perceived as prophecies. In both cases, Augustine seems to prefer a logical, if sometimes hidden, explanation for the knowledge that is being conveyed, even if he does not rule out the possibility that supernatural apparitions are possible19. He also has a nuanced attitude on the different forms of ‘miracles’ and their role in God’s plan20.

14Augustine’s view is very different from the miracles, prophecies and encounters with the underworld enshrined in classical Latin literature, especially in Vergil’s Aeneid, Rome’s national epic since the Augustan period. Even though Roman readers, at least in Late antiquity, do not necessarily take the story of the Aeneid at face value21, it still remains a powerful reference point, as it encodes important elements of traditional Roman identity. For this reason, the prophecies in the Aeneid become the target of Augustine’s critique, especially in De civitate Dei, in which he tries to defend the Christians against the accusation that they caused Rome’s downfall by abandoning traditional Roman values and religious rites. He points out that the prophecies in the Aeneid, meaningful as they are for a Roman audience, are no prophecies at all because Vergil invented them after the event and projected his own view of Rome’s place in the world into the past and into the sphere of the divine22. In reality, these predictions are not supported by any divine authority23.

15For traditional pagan Romans, the fact that Vergil wrote the Aeneid in Augustan times and looked back into a mythical past is of course no objection against an inherent truth expressed in Vergil’s poem. Poets are presented as divinely inspired, and the constant presence of Gods and divine prophecies assures the reader that the message conveyed by the Aeneid is supported by the world order of which the gods are representatives. Early on, the reader knows that Aeneas will reach his final destination, that he will found the city that is the predecessor to Rome and that he embodies virtues that they can recognize as their own. Familiarity, rather than fear or estrangement, dominates the atmosphere in the Aeneid.

16The same atmosphere of familiarity is pervasive in one of the most famous literary texts in which it is not a supernatural being, but Augustine himself who intervenes from the underworld to lend guidance to a hapless mortal. In Francesco Petrarch’s dialogue De secreto conflictu curarum mearum, a personification of Veritas (“Truth”) appears to the writer and helps him answer his philosophical and literary questions. She does this by introducing Augustine to him who, she says, is the most apt interlocutor, because Franciscus has always loved him and being loved by one’s students enhances success in teaching. It is telling that Petrarch immediately recognizes Augustine, even before Veritas reveals his identity: The combination of his African dress and his Roman eloquence makes it clear that the stranger must be the bishop of Hippo. The church father then enters into a philosophical dialogue with Franciscus. While Augustine’s opinions in this dialogue are sometimes distinctly un-Augustinian and therefore puzzling to a reader who is familiar with Augustine’s writings24, the setting and the way the dialogue is framed suggest an atmosphere of deep familiarity between the Italian Humanist and his North African interlocutor: Right at the beginning of the dialogue, the speaker greets the fair virgin whose identity he does not yet know with the words Aeneas directs at his mother Venus when she appears to him in human disguise at the shores of Carthage (Verg. Aen. 1. 327-328: o quam te memorem, uirgo ? namque haud tibi uultus / mortalis). But while Venus keeps her true identity a secret, Veritas reveals to the astonished Franciscus her name. He is thus more fortunate than his model Aeneas. At the same time, the interaction between the two suggests that classical ancient texts are a valid tool for interpreting the experiences of the present25.

17At the same time, the idea of a woman who is in some way connected to the supernatural world and who introduces a seeker to a male authority who subsequently sheds light on some of his most important questions is borrowed from Vergil’s Aeneid: In book 6, Aeneas is led into the underworld by the Sibyl of Cumae and reunited with his father Anchises who then reveals to him important aspects of the future and his own destiny26. Given that the persona of Franciscus is introduced as an avid reader of Saint Augustine’s works, he is probably also familiar with Augustine’s famous reaction to the prophecies in the Aeneid: These ‘prophecies’ are not valid because they are given by Vergil only in hindsight, and they are uttered by gods who are no more than demons27. The Franciscus of the Secretum is thus moving in a context which is heavily indebted to literary models and therefore has a familiar ring to Petrarch’s persona as well as to the reader, who is supposed to read a Latin treatise and therefor be steeped in the tradition of Latin literature28.

18The fact that the dialogue is not in Italian but in Latin, the language of philosophy and higher education, also means that it is written in a language shared by the historical Petrarch and the historical Augustine. Supervised by Truth herself, their literary personae immerse in a conversation that is marked by trust and respect. They built their argumentation on a shared familiarity with Latin literature. When Augustinus quotes from the Aeneid to strengthen his argument that tears of sorrow or remorse are in vain if there is no change in one’s mindset, he insists that of many possible examples he just chose one, because it is “a household example” (domesticum exemplum), i. e. well known to his interlocutor Secretum 1.14:

Aug. Hoc inceperam, atque hoc prosequor : contigisse tibi hactenus quod multis, quibus dici potest versus ille Vergilii : ‘mens immota manet, lacrimae volvuntur inanes’. Verum ego, etsi multa congerere poteram, unico tamen eoque domestico exemplo contentus fui.

19Shortly afterwards, he tells Franciscus that he has not made a sufficient effort to liberate himself from his troubles, and that he should remember Ovid’s verse that wanting something is not enough, you must crave it in order to be successful. Franciscus acknowledges that he understands and accepts Ovid’s idea, and that he had thought his desire was strong enough by Ovid’s standards (Secretum 1.15: Aug. An non succurrit illud Ονidii : velle parum est ; cupias, ut re potiaris, oportet. Fr. Intelligo, sed et desiderasse putabam). Later in book 1, when Augustinus and Franciscus discuss the detrimental effect of worldly worries on the mind, Augustinus quotes a passage he has found “somewhere in Cicero”. Franciscus chimes in and correctly names the Tusculan Dialogues as its source29. Time and again, the reader is thus reminded that Augustine is not really teaching anything new to Franciscus, but is instead reminding him of helpful passages from his own engagement with the classics30. The argumentation thus runs along familiar lines in the tradition of philosophical debates that hark back all the way to antiquity: Boethius’ De consolatione philosophiae has long been recognized as one of the models for Petrarch’s work31, and the fact that he does not mention it while quoting from a host of ancient authors, has sparked a scholarly debate32. In the Consolatio, the personified Philosophia tries to console the imprisoned Boethius, she too admonishes him to remember and apply the philosophical teachings he has been studying since he was a young man. Medieval and early modern debates, an additional model for Petrarch’s dialogue, also evolve on the backdrop of a shared education and familiarity with all the relevant academic writings. Given these models, it is not surprising that Petrarch’s Augustine does not come back from the afterlife with a superior knowledge that transcends human capacities. Instead, he conducts the dialogue much the way an experienced philosopher would.

20The heavy reliance on ancient pagan texts, another feature Petrarch’s Secretum shares with Boethius’ Consolatio, is nevertheless surprising in the mouth of the church father Augustine. While the historical Augustine is of course imbued by classical erudition and has no qualms about showing it, his first point of reference is Scripture, and his argumentation is ultimately a theological one. While this background is not completely absent (in Secretum 1.13 Augustine refers to his conversion scene in the garden of Milan as described in his Confessions, and Franciscus acknowledges that he has read it33) it is not at the center of the learned debate in the Secretum. Researchers have long pointed out that by creating a setting that resembles traditional philosophical dialogues and then having his Augustine argue in a most un-Augustinian way, Petrarch cloaks his new, humanistic view on antiquity in a veil of superficial familiarity34. His access to the ancient world is not regulated by Fides (or any of the traditional personifications that serve as judges in a medieval disputatio), but by Veritas herself. It is Veritas who introduces Augustine and gives him credit, but in contrast to the typical endings of medieval debates, there is no final verdict35. Veritas remains silent, letting Augustine and Franciscus speak for themselves. The fact that Augustinus is brought back from the afterlife by Veritas underscores his authority, but it does not seem to entail any superhuman knowledge. His return from the dead is first of all a narratological strategy to bridge the time gap that separates him from his admirer Franciscus.

21In Maghrebian novels featuring Augustine, the church father also sometimes returns from the dead, but he is not the familiar Christian saint of the Legenda Aurea or the learned teacher of philosophy of Petrarch’s Secretum. In Abdelaziz Ferrah’s novel Moi, saint Augustin, published in 2004 in Algiers, ‘Augustin’ retells his biography from the afterlife. Having him speak from this vantage point invests him with an authority a normal human narrator cannot have. But just as in Petrarch’s Secretum, this special position does not seem to grant him access to the divine and its prophetic power: Unlike Anchises in the Aeneid, the Augustines of Petrarch and Ferrah do not reveal the future. There are notable differences between them, too: Unlike Petrarch’s Augustine, who is introduced by Veritas herself, in Ferrah’s novel he does not derive his special position from any authority, but simply from the fact he has been witnessing human history and the reception of his own life and works as it unfolded after his death in 430 CE. His superior knowledge thus often refers to historical facts that would normally be anachronistic for a person from antiquity: He compares the imperial Roman agentes in rebus to the Nazi Gestapo (Ferrah, 2004, 22836) and hesitantly likens his partner Tamelsa to Macchiavelli, pointing out, at the same time, that this an anachronism37. His longevity grants him knowledge, but unlike Anchises in Vergil’s Aeneid, there is no sign that he is aware of any divine plan for the world and his interlocutors. His role is therefore closer to the historical Augustine’s idea that the superhuman longevity that is characteristic for demons also grants them superhuman, yet limited knowledge38. But while the demons, in Augustinus’ view, use their historical knowledge to interpret the future and inflate their own importance, in Ferrah, Augustin employs his knowledge to interpret the past. His primary concern is the way in which the reception of his historical persona has unfolded in the Western world and the way it has idealized him in an unduly fashion. Most importantly, the way Europeans looked at him has obscured his local African roots. Ferrah’s Augustine is steeped in Berber tradition, and these traditions are more important to him than the honors he received from his European admirers. At the beginning of the novel, Augustine mentions his beatification by the Catholic Church and points out that it had never been his intention to become a saint39. Augustine’s reputation as a saint is first attributed to the will of an unspecific group of addressees (“vous”) but then tied closely to the Catholic Church which is explicitly called the Roman Church. Ferrah’s emphasis on “Rome” is striking because Augustine is held in high esteem by the Protestant Churches as well, both for dogmatic reasons and for the fact that Martin Luther was an Augustinian monk40. But it is the references to Roman traditions that have shaped the history of the modern Maghreb: French settlers justified the colonization of the Maghreb with their revival of ancient “Latin Africa” (“Afrique latine”) of which Saint Augustin was an important part. In his Life of Saint Augustin, French writer Louis Bertrand illustrated this concept41. Soon, it was merged with the idea that the Catholic traditions of France implied a special connection to that North African saint and that laying claims to his home region was a logical consequence of this connection42. The colonists’ view that Roman North Africa was part of the French/European cultural heritage casts its shadow also on the reception of antiquity in the newly independent states of Tunisia and Algeria. Autocrats like Ben Ali liked to point out the magnificent ancient sites of their countries which did not have to fear comparison with European Roman monuments, and Augustin appeared on Maghrebian coins and stamps. All these forms of reception explicitly or implicitly emphasized the fact that the Roman heritage of North Africa was similar to the Roman heritage of Europe (or even surpassing it in its splendor) and that the modern states of the Maghreb were therefore on equal terms with the former colonialists. By having his Augustin challenge the image that the “Roman” Catholic Church has helped shape of him, Ferrah points to a very different perception of the local Roman past: He is not stressing the traits that made Augustine a “European” saint, but creates an Augustin who is distinctly African and a Berber43. The differences start with the name (in the novel, Augustin says that his true name was Aurègh), extend to his native language (unlike the historical Augustine, Ferrah’s Augustin speaks an ancient form of Tamazigh and learns Latin only in school44) and also affect the way he counts the years (the Berber spring festival of tafsout is mentioned several times45). While Petrarch creates a world in which Augustinus and his dialogue partner Franciscus argue over philosophical questions but never about the rules of their conversation, Ferrah’s Augustin alienates the reader by questioning basic assumptions about his person. While Petrarch’s characters comment on the basis of a shared knowledge of literary history, Ferrah’s Augustin often lectures his addressee (and the reader) about North African history and literature (see e. g. Ferrah, p. 44-52 and 176-178). He comes back from the afterlife not to remind them of what they know, but of what they do not know. Interestingly, though, just as Petrarch cloaks his Augustinus’ un-Augustinian theories in a veil of superficial familiarity, Ferrah hides familiar details under the surface of a seemingly alienated past The reader may not know much about ancient history, the reader may hold false assumptions about Augustin as transmitted by the European tradition, but as long as the reader is a Berber, the unfamiliar Augustin who emerges in Ferrah’s novel shares many traits with him. The name Aurègh resonates with local onomastic traditions, the fact that Ferrah’s Augustine learns Latin in school mirrors the experience of Berber children who learn French in the as a foreign language in a school system shaped by colonial traditions46. Augustine leaving for Europe to find better working conditions may also resonate with a local reader. Many other details in the novel reinforce this sense of familiarity amidst the unfamiliar. The landscape of Africa plays a big role in the imagination of Ferrah’s Augustin, monuments and sites from modern Tunisia and Algeria form the backdrop of the novel’s action47, and local Berber costumes are practiced by the novel’s characters48.

22A similar, yet more playful strategy is employed by Kebir Ammi in his novel Thagaste. The novel is set in 388 CE, at the moment of the return of the newly converted Augustine to his native village of Thagaste and consists of short monologues in which Augustine himself and several other personalities offer their view on Augustine’s homecoming. The political situation in the novel is tense, the Roman occupation bears down on the residents of Thagaste, and Augustine’s father would rather see Augustine fighting the Romans than living as a monk in his native land. From the individual statements it becomes clear that the various speakers not only know Augustine, but also each other: They are for the most part residents of Thagaste, bound together by their shared connection to the land and by a complicated interpersonal network and a shared history. Even though Augustin’s illustrious career outside the village and his surprise return make him stand out, he is still very much part of the fabric of this rural African community. While Petrarch creates a sense of belonging by the literary erudition shared by Augustinus and Franciscus, and Ferrah ties his Augustin/Aurègh to his native Africa by a shared local Berber experience, Ammi makes his Augustin an inextricable part of the network of local village gossip. He is seen and commented on by a plethora of local people and serves as a unifying theme that binds the various perspectives together. At the same time, all these comments are marked as strictly subjective. Each chapter in the book bears the name of an individual (some of them fictitious, some historically attested, like Augustine’s father Patricius and Augustine’s friend Nebridius49). Among them is a certain (fictitious) Rabbi Akiba, who plays a special role in that he comes back from the afterlife to comment on what he sees in Thagaste50. He is a playful character, a regular customer in the taverns of the afterlife, and he stands out by his irreverent remarks. In this case, the speaker does not hold the authority that is usually granted to persons who come back from the afterlife to share a message. His perspective is no more reliable than that of the other characters (and maybe even less so given that he is a drunkard). But Akiba’s presence in the novel is still important because he creates a link to past generations and, by coming back from the deceased, a link between Augustine’s timely existence and the realm of eternity. The rigorously individualized views we get of Augustine in the novel are more than a glimpse into a fragmented history. No single perspective, including that of Akiba, may be perfect, but they all capture some aspect of an outstanding individual whose importance is not limited to his own time51. Familiarity is achieved through the ordinary behavior of the people who inhabit the novel, none of whom, not even the ghosts of the deceased, wield ultimate interpretative power.

23Stories about Saint Augustine returning from the afterlife have a long and fascinating history. They go back, if not to his first biographer Possidius, at least to the sources auf Jacob de Voragine’s Legenda Aurea. The apparitions invest Augustine with a certain authority, but they are constructed in a very different way. In the Legenda Aurea, visions of Augustine bring healing to the sick, comfort the dying, or convey important aspects of the church father’s character. The addressees of the visions recognize Augustine even when there are no outer characteristics to identify him, and when there is no direct communication. Familiarity is created through the veneration of the saint and the common bond created by the Christian faith. Traditions of what to expect from a typical patron saint probably also play a part, while Augustine’s own nuanced attitude towards apparitions and miracles is not discussed. In Petrarch’s Secretum, on the other hand, Augustine is first recognized by Franciscus by his African dress and his eloquence, details he could have deduced from Augustine’s writings, and familiarity is then created by a shared mastery of classical, mostly pagan texts and of the rules of philosophical debates. This familiarity overrides the fact that the content of the dialogue is more humanistic than truly Augustinian, and it works because the ideal reader of the Secretum shares the erudition of its characters. Magrebian authors, in the tradition of César Benattar’s Cinéma aux enfers (1927), also have Augustine occasionally come back from the afterlife. In Abdelaziz Ferrah’s novel Moi, saint Augustin, Augustin/Aurègh recounts his biography up to his conversion from the afterlife.

24But while Augustine’s superior knowledge is, in Petrarch, embedded in an atmosphere of familiarity, in the Maghrebian novel the vantage point of a narration from the afterlife is used to create a sense of distance. Ferrah’s Augustine reminds his readers that the church made him a saint, but that was not what he intended to be, nor is it everything he was. He then goes on to recount his other, African and Berber self, which has gone unrecognized for centuries, even though Augustine remains one of the most famous authors worldwide. The apparition from the afterlife that marks Augustine as a distant figure in Ferrah’s novel also opens up new possibilities: the sense of unfamiliarity leaves room to discover him from a fresh and distinctly non-European perspective.