Most admirably, Theodosius displayed profound humility when he submitted to ecclesiastical discipline. Urged by his advisors to avenge a grievous crime committed by the people of Thessalonica—a crime he had promised the bishops to pardon—he ordered a massacre. When the church called him to account, he did not resist. He performed public penance, his imperial majesty prostrate in tears, moving the people to weep more for his humiliation than they had feared his anger. This Christian emperor, who had overthrown pagan temples and protected the church, carried with him from this world the good works that merit eternal happiness. All earthly blessings—empire, wealth, health, life itself—God bestows on good and bad alike. But the true happiness of the Christian ruler lies in using temporal power to serve eternal ends, in humility before God, and in the hope of that heavenly city where true felicity awaits.
Augustine transitions his argument from refuting the worship of gods for temporal advantages to addressing those who worship them for eternal life. He reviews the previous five books, asserting that reasonable readers will find his refutation of worshipping false gods for earthly gain sufficient, despite the obstinacy of critics who irrationally hate Christianity. Adopting Varro’s esteemed division of theology into mythical, natural, and civil kinds, Augustine prepares to demonstrate that neither the mythical nor the civil kinds can secure future happiness. He begins this new contention by citing the Psalms against vanities, distinguishing between the errors of the common people and the more tolerable philosophers who repudiate fables. Augustine then poses the critical question of whether one should worship the many subordinate gods created by the one God, rather than the Creator Himself, to attain the life after death.
Having posed the question of whether subordinate gods warrant worship for the sake of eternal life, Augustine now dismantles that proposition by exposing the absurd
Augustine begins his argument by exposing the fundamental irrationality of seeking eternal life from the multitude of minor deities to whom the pagans have assigned jurisdiction over the most trivial and temporal aspects of human existence. He employs a reductio ad absurdum, likening such requests to the foolishness of a theatrical mimic who asks wine from the Lymphs or water from Vulcan. If it is ridiculous to seek a specific earthly element from a god who presides over a different element, it is infinitely more absurd to ask these same impotent gods for the gift of immortality. Augustine emphasizes that these gods have already been proven incapable of granting even terrestrial kingdoms, a power far inferior to that of bestowing eternal life. Furthermore, he notes that these deities often fail in their own limited spheres of influence. He argues that if the worship of these gods actually produced the specific benefits they were thought to control, one might grant them some limited power. However, the reality is that the worshippers of the goddess Juventas do not necessarily possess remarkable vigor in their youth, nor do her despisers inevitably die young or succumb to premature old age. Likewise, the bearded Fortuna Barbata does not reliably bestow handsome beards upon her suppliants, nor does she withhold them from those who scorn her. Since their worship is demonstrably vain regarding the petty temporal advantages they are purported to control, it is the height of madness to trust they possess the power to grant the supreme good of eternal beatitude.
To substantiate his critique, Augustine introduces the authority of Marcus Varro, the most learned and esteemed Roman scholar on heathen theology. He praises Varro’s erudition and acumen, noting that even Cicero regarded him as the most acute and learned of men, yet he identifies a critical dilemma in Varro’s work. Despite his vast knowledge, Varro upheld the worship of gods he likely knew to be ridiculous, fearing the neglect of state religion more than the defense of truth. Augustine examines the structure of Varro’s Divine Antiquities in detail to demonstrate the artificial nature of these pagan institutions. Varro composed forty-one books of antiquities, which he divided into two main sections: human things and divine things. He devoted twenty-five books to human affairs and sixteen to divine matters. In the section on human things, Varro followed a systematic plan, allocating six books to each of four categories: men, places, times, and things. To these twenty-four books he added one introductory book that spoke of all these topics conjointly. In the section on divine things, Varro preserved a similar order, focusing on the performance of sacred rites by men in places and times. He embraced these four elements in twelve books, allotting three books to each category: three for the men who perform rites, three for the places where they are performed, three for the times at which they are performed, and three for the rites themselves. However, because it was necessary to specify to whom these rites were performed, he added three final books concerning the gods themselves, bringing the total to fifteen. With the inclusion of an introductory book, the divine section totals sixteen books. Varro further subdivided these books with meticulous precision: the first three books on men treat of high priests, augurs, and the fifteen men presiding over sacred ceremonies; the three books on places cover chapels, temples, and religious locations; the three books on times discuss holidays, circus games, and scenic plays; and the three books on rites address consecrations, private sacred rites, and public sacred rites. The remaining three books enumerate the gods themselves, divided into certain gods, uncertain gods, and the select gods.
Augustine observes that Varro wrote of human things before divine things because the state existed before its religious institutions. Augustine argues that this arrangement proves these “gods” are human inventions, akin to a painting or a building created by men, rather than divine beings who precede nature. Varro himself admitted that if he were founding a new city, he would write according to the order of nature, but since he was describing an old one, he followed its customs, thereby implicitly acknowledging the falsity of the civil theology. Augustine contends that Varro’s subtle arrangement reveals his preference for truth over custom, as he placed the false institutions of men after the true history of human affairs, effectively confessing that he was not writing about the divine nature, but about human error. By placing human history before divine institutions, Varro inadvertently testified that the gods were fabricated by the city, not that the city was founded by the gods.
The original text of this work is in the public domain. This page focuses on a guided summary article, reading notes, selected quotes, and visual learning materials for educational purposes.