Augustine stands out as one of the writers of the ancient world we know best, as he gives of himself so much in his extensive works. His reflections on the Christian life remain perennially relevant. Sometimes, his monitions speak to issues that we still feel today, such as the temptation to steal fruit or spend too much time reading Virgil. In other areas, such as the application of Augustine’s thinking to the world of social media, more thought and imagination is required, and this is where Autumn Alcott Ridenour’s book comes in.
This book is a theological meditation on a number of themes (related to restlessness and belonging) centred on Augustine, and – testimony to Ridenour’s own considerable breadth as a theologian – drawing in a much wider cast of other thinkers. The themes include knowledge and wisdom, image, presence, and Sabbath. Ridenour does some wide-ranging and extensive thinking to apply this (mostly familiar) territory to the new and all-consuming world of social media, AI, and omnipresent screens – the ‘digital empire’.
She finds that social media intensifies the Augustinian condition of restless desire. Modern technology hungrily amplifies and expresses our disordered loves. Christians must intentionally reflect on this, re-ordering their practices and habits, by re-appropriating the Sabbath and re-prioritizing the face-to-face.
I quibble with her account of Augustine in one or two places, such as the repeated glossing of totus Christus as the ‘body of Christ in time’ (p. 124) – the point of totus Christus is that the whole Christ consists of head and body. My more significant criticism is that I was hoping this book would help me mine new treasures in Augustine’s own writings. Ridenour’s method is to use Augustine as just the first of a procession of theologians who will address each subject in turn.
To take Chapter 5, ‘Sabbath Vision as Belonging’ as an example. After a couple of pages setting the context, Ridenour gives a beautiful summary of Augustine’s treatment of Sabbath. She then brings in Barth, Rabbi Heschel, Brueggemann, Moltmann, Marva Dawn, Pieper and others, succinctly summarizing their contributions. However, when all this learning is powerfully and engagingly applied to the world of AI and social media in the final pages of the chapter, Augustine is not mentioned. Augustine therefore functions primarily as an entry point to the theological theme rather than as a source whose texts are mined for contemporary application. It is fair to say, though, that his presence is felt on every page, shepherding the discussion which retains a broad Augustinianism throughout.
Readers approaching this book from a specifically Anglican perspective may particularly appreciate the eleven ‘Virtues for the Digital Empire’. Drawing on deep wells of tradition, Ridenour discusses how ‘embodied communities of love’, such as the church, can foster ‘moral vision, virtue, and action’ (pp. 239–57) in the face of the digital empire.
Throughout this book, the witness of a very diverse group of theologians is used to craft a common voice, warning us how we are dehumanized by technology. Those looking for an account of the positive benefits of social media will be largely disappointed. My experience of reading this book left me newly conscious of my own restlessness. It is perhaps the digital world which we all inhabit which has made me more fit to scan and scroll than to dwell reflectively in a text. Ridenour’s book encourages me to take up Augustine himself in hard copy and in a room away from screens.
