Uti and Frui

Saint Augustine speaks about two different attitudes that we can have toward the realities that we encounter in our life: one is the attitude of use (uti) and the other is the attitude of disinterested contemplation or delight (frui). Uti refers to using something for the sake of an end outside of and extrinsic to itself, for an other end than itself, whether that be our own benefit or some other matter. On the other hand, frui refers to delighting in and cherishing something for its own sake, simply because it is good and worthy of such a response; and thus it is the gratuity of sheer for-its-own-sake-ness. There is obviously a domain of rightful uti in the life of each one of us—for example, working and eating and exercising and sleeping and many other things are done, not fundamentally because we find them meaningful or valuable in themselves, but because of what they serve, what they facilitate and make possible (though of course in utilitarian things we can also tap into a wellspring of fruitfulness and also the sheer fruition of beauty in the reality itself). There are, on the other hand, things before which no utility is possible or appropriate; for instance I cannot turn the gratuitous beauty of a sunset to my own ends, even if I may wish to do so. In fact, the sunset shall have its effect within me, it shall do things only whenever I do not try to make it do anything, but simply let it be what it is for its own sake, let its beauty speak its word and sing its song in itself and in me.

In fact, a paradoxical truth is that whenever I relate to reality, not in mere uti, but in the gratuity of love and contemplation—without seeking any other end, even my own enrichment—I am spontaneously enriched in the deepest way by the beauty that God has made, and which he himself ceaselessly affirms and in which he delights; I am enriched by the unique dignity and irreplaceable dignity of who God has made the other person to be, or of the beauty he has poured out into this particular reality that he has made, be it a flower, or a sky, or a landscape, or music, or anything else. This is the fruition of authentic frui, which overflows of its own nature to enrich and to bear fruit. It is something far different than productivity, which is born of uti; utility leads to productivity and frui leads to fruition, to authentic creativity and fruitfulness, to conceiving and giving birth, and thus to co-creation. And indeed we could say that a contemplative frui, a loving gaze upon the dignity, value, and unique beauty of reality is precisely the wellspring of authentic love—and thus love is not merely obedience to an external command, which is also legitimate and necessary, though it organically leads to a fuller receptive-responsiveness. Love is a way of treating other persons and things first of all because it is a way of being, a stance of receptivity and responsiveness, that allows them to be, and that shares in God’s own delight and contemplation before all that he has made: “God saw all that he had made, and behold it was very good” (Gen 1:31).
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When I truly love someone or something, I cannot help but devote time and attention to that which I love, seeking to foster and care for and enhance that upon which my affection has been fixed. And this attitude of frui is in fact far more fruitful and effective than mere uti could ever be. For example, if I write fairy stories in order to turn a profit or even to try to convince other people of certain truths, utilizing the stories for a purpose other than themselves, they shall be far less profound and indeed far less effective and fruitful, than if I wrote them simply because I love them. This, in fact, is what it most authentically means to exist for the praise of God’s glory, which every created thing already intrinsically does, and which is a mystery we are also meant to embrace and to enhance through our attention and activity, our contemplation and creativity; it means to live and to love gratuitously, recognizing that all is God, all is God’s sacrament, all shines with his mysterious light, embracing reality simply because it is beautiful, because God lives in it and it sings forth his wonders. The example of fairy stories is an apt one, for part of the genius of imaginative fiction, and specifically of what we term in our contemporary culture “fantasy,” is that it reconnects us to the gratuity and for-its-own-sake-ness of life and being, and teaches us again how to engage with reality, with the narrative and the drama of existence, precisely because of its mysterious beauty, its adventure, its romance, rather than as a burdensome task or a moralistic demand. It opens us again to wonder and play and contemplation, to contact with what G.K. Chesterton term “the ethics of elfland,” which is in fact the only true foundation upon which mature responsibility and activity in this world can be built and can flourish in the abundance that God originally intended. We see this clearly in the Garden of Eden before sin, in which Adam’s “tilling and keeping” of the beauty of creation entrusted to his care was held wholly within his primal wonder and playful responsiveness to all that God had made and given to him in sheer generosity. His work was identical to his play and was held by playfulness, just as God’s own creative activity in the world, and his own creation of the world in the beginning, is but an expression of the eternal playfulness ever existing in the intimate life shared by the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit at the heart of the Trinity. Thus human play is in fact a reflection of and a share in the innermost disposition and act of God himself, of the Holy Trinity, who is the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit eternally united in a ceaseless act of reciprocal play which goes by the name of intimacy.